#Made this in mind that he’s reminiscing about his younger siblings | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoshigray · 5 days

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hey love can i request brothers bff cho and how he's just down bad for you 🤍🤍🤍

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg wait, i fucks with this baddd

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Choso x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - masturbation (m!) - oral (m! receiving) - tit/breast fucking (m! receiving) - cowgirl position - pet names (baby, darling, honey, sweetie) - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up) - implied that reader is big chested - Choso crushing on you hard, lmao - mention of drool/spit.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨��𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

Choso knew better than to be attracted to you, the sibling of his best friend ever.

Your brother and Choso have been buddies for a while, meeting during his part-time job at a burger joint as servers and finding out they have so much in common. Being older siblings, lovers of rock music, and relating to so much together, the two often hung out after work and became pretty good friends. Just two people vibing out in each others’ company, and there was nothing to make this relationship complicated!

“Hey, Choso, I’ve told you about my sister before, right?”

You greeted him with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Choso!”

Well, that is until you came and absolutely rocked Choso’s world.

You were the younger sibling of two; a college senior comes home biweekly to take care of laundry and then drives back up for your education. By your gorgeous face and alluring figure, Choso was struck by your image from the first time his eyes ever laid on you. You were such a kind spirit, always so sweet to him and others surrounding you — you’d want to hang with the boys whenever you had the chance while you were visiting, which was hellish for the brown-haired man.

You’d laugh along with the jokes, making Choso’s heart skip uncontrollably, and the way you’d lean to him when you’re sleepy watching a movie with them pushed the guy on the verge of shutting down. He could never get tired of how you’d say his name; it came out so dear from your lips as if he could be under your spell at any second. And it didn’t help that you’d walk around the house with shorts on, the lower fringes constantly threatening Choso on whether they’d creep up to see the mere crevice of your ass.

As said before, he knew better than siblings of best friends were off limits. However, you were becoming too much for him. It’s been half a year of seeing you, and there has never been a day or night where you haven’t popped up in his head one way or another, particularly when his mind would think of you in the most…lustful ways.

He was spending the night at yours after spending a night out drinking with you and your brother, using the basement bedroom to sleep. Sleep evades him; however, he uses this space to deal with the erection he’s been dying to indulge in this entire night instead. His teeth pull the bottom of his shirt, dark jeans discarded to the floor, and his hand pumps his shaft that’s freed from his boxer briefs.

He throws his head back, reminiscing about you and your outfit from the pub. The way your breasts were tucked in nicely by the window of your bodycon dress, yet the cleavage was too tempting for his eyes not to notice. The dress sculpted your curves dangerously, Choso fighting the urge to put his hand on your hip to feel your clothed skin. And your lipgloss made your lips shine; every time you spoke to him was a test for him not to kiss you right there in front of your brother. It was so cruel how you looked so good for him!

He grunts at the memory, teeth grinding while he strokes his long cock. Precum exuding from the urethra slides down to the base and wets his fingers. “Fuuck, Y/n,” your name is said in choked moans, the horny man fisting himself in a faster motion. Brown eyebrows are trenched, and his abdomen begins to flex. Shit, I’m so close, so cl—

“Choso?”

He never in his life froze still in an instant, and his heart goes to a complete stop, too. No way.

“Ca–…May I come in?”

No words are said from either side, so Choso’s heat immediately shifts to icy cold when he hears the door open, and your frame is all he sees. You’re still wearing the beautiful dress, yet your face is molded into an expression of utter anxiousness. Sweat goes down Choso’s forehead, oh fucking shit!

“I came down to see if you were okay and needed anything,” your eyes were downcast to the floor, chewing on your lips during this awkward situation. “But…I heard you say my name and…”

Oh, it was so over for him. All Choso could do was stare at you in dread, entirely shocked that you saw him masturbate at the thought of you! You were fidgeting with your dress, perplexed about how to handle this predicament, too. He was so done for; not only was he thinking of you, the sibling of his best friend, and using said thoughts of you, but now you are aware of how he pictures you in his fucked up head! Yup, he can never walk into this house again. “S–Sorry, Y/n! I’ll just go and—“

“Can I help?”

Again, his body goes rigid mid-stride of getting off the bed after pulling his underwear up. ….What?

“I mean, can I…help you with that?” You meekly walk into the room and close the door behind you. “I am the one who made you like this, so…I’m okay with it if you are…..”

Choso blinks, too alarmed to make any movements. “But, your brother…” You’re quiet for a few seconds before you spook him by taking steps in his direction. He gulps thickly when your figure crawls on the bed, too close for his brain to comprehend. You take his hand with your soft ones and bring his fingers to your lips to kiss, and his breath hitches when you suck and lick his digits. The boner stuffed in his briefs twitches at the sensation of your tongue running against the underside of his middle finger and sucking on it.

You peer at him, “What about him?” That is what you say before lifting your dress to remove your panties. And just when Choso thought his life was about to be thrown in the gutter, you flipped the script on him again.

In his head, Choso knew he shouldn’t be doing this.

“Mmm…Mmahh! Oh, Choso, you taste so good…”

But in his heart, he couldn’t help but give in to this situation.

You were situated between his legs, ripped him off his briefs for you to suck on his glans freely. Your tinge dances around his cockhead to prompt more come to ooze out of his urethra, and your hand slides up and down to stroke his member. Choso whimpers under your touch, and shivers crawl up his spine as you lick from the base to the tip before sucking hard.

“Fuuck, Y/n,” he grips the sheets, barely containing his hips to buck to your lips. “Your mouth, it’s—Hssshh…!”

“Mmm?” You blink before releasing the tip with a sound. “What about my mouth, Choso baby?” Fuck, the nickname made the pink of his ears creep down to his nape. “You feel good?” He nods at your question, and you giggle before sucking one of his balls, resulting in a sharp gasp from the brown-haired man. “I’m so happy you are…”

Hallow cheeks take in his cock, busying your throat with his length that has you humming blissfully. You massage his waist as you bob your face up and down, and shaky breaths leave his lips while his legs jolt with every swish of your tongue.

“—Shhiiit, oh shit, hnnn,” he can’t do it, you were driving him crazy. “Y/n, you’re gonna make me…Mmmm”

You pick up on his cue, withdrawing your lips from him to maneuver and pull down the top of your dress. Caramel eyes widen at the sight of your breast spilling out, forgetting how to breathe when you bring them to wrap around his long dick. You move them around to please him, taking the tip back into your mouth to slurp his leaking essence that trickles down to your chest.

“Mmaahh, go ahead, darling,” you place kisses on the tip, Choso looking at nothing but your mounds swallow him with every stroke. It takes mere seconds for his orgasm to sneak up on him, his jizz coming out to fall and trickle down in between the rifts of your tits. “There you go, let it out for me…” the way you looked at him with half-lidded eyes took his breath away, especially with the spit that connects your gloss-shining lips to his spit-and-come coated shaft.

And when he’s finally inside you? He’s too far gone to even think of being away from you.

“Ohhh, hoooh!! Chosooo, y’u feel soo good!”

Your dress was cast-off entirely, your nude body bouching up and down on Choso, his cock bullying the inside of your cunt. It’s been a solid fifteen minutes shared between the two of you exploring each other’s bodies, and sweaty skin exchanges heat from the constant motions. And come from rounds prior spill from your chasm as you ride on Choso’s dick with a rhythm.

He has his hands on your hips now, using you to keep him steady before he gets too lost in the feeling. Not that it hasn’t happened already; the man moans with every clamp of your walls around him, tightening around him with every graze of your g-spot. You wail for him up top, and your aroused sounds have to be the cutest things he’s ever heard. And the way your tits jump every time you plummet down to the base of him, it’s an image that will haunt him for the rest of his days.

“Tahhh, ughh, Jesus Christ…” He’s too sensitive right now; he just came not too long ago and is now being chased down for another one. “Y/n, sweetie, too fast, slow d—Ahh…!”

You hear him and titter, “Yeah? Want me to slow down, huh…” You bring your hips up excruciatingly slow, listening intently to the shaky sobs from the brunette as you get to the very top. And then you smack yourself down with haste, sharing a yelp at the rushed sensation. You do it again, “Think you’re about to cum again, huh, honey?”

His hands now come to your ass to grope with the flesh, and you twitch around his girth at the hunger. “Yeahhh…”

“You gonna be good and cum for me again, right?” Another snap of your ass crashing down on him.

“Yess, baby,” he throws his head back to the pillows, his head pounding so hard it could kill him. You can feel him pulsating within your slit. “Almost there…Ohh–ooo..!”

You bite your lip, relishing at the sight of him being desperate for release. You lean forward to him, your breasts meshing with his chest as you snake a hand around the back of his head. You place your lips on his, and he doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate.

The kiss gets hotter when you dial up the speed, tongues swirling and exchanging spit as the friction becomes a lot more pleasurable than before. Choso’s ears ring the deeper you bring him in to kiss, humming on his tongue as you suck on it with harsh rocks on his length from scraping places you couldn’t reach. He’s so fucking addicted to you; his composure long deteriorated the moment he first put his cock inside you.

Choso bucks himself to you in sync, his climax coming in just a few ruts. He howls into you, and you wail along as your hips don’t rest until you’re hit with a crescendo of your own. Contracting your vaginal walls milks him, exerting his load into you again to spill and flow down your sticky frames.

You two heave and pant in each other’s mouth before the kiss is broken, and the string of saliva is evidence of you being one with the other. Although the both of you are dazed, you smile at him before kissing his nose. “Glad I helped you out, huh?” He chuckles weakly as you lay kisses on his chin.

KNOCK!! KNOCK!!

And just like that, the two of you are frozen yet again. Wait…

Too late, the bedroom door busts open with a bang, and in comes your brother!

“Yooo, Choso, my guy—hic,” your brother stumbles inside the room, still a bit loopy and drunk. “Wanna go up and hit a quick blunt with— ah…”

The heat shared between you and the man below you switched to silent torture, awkwardness suffocating the three figures staring at each other. And this is the exact reason why Choso should’ve known better than to mingle around with you…

1K notes · View notes

cherryslyce · 11 months

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Familial Impasses | Regulus Black

Synopsis: Pressure arises as a familiar face becomes embroiled in political trouble and moral ambivalence. Alternatively: As James Potter’s younger sibling, you fight for Regulus.

Pairing: Regulus Black x (Adopted) Potter!Reader

Notes + WC: 5.4k , James and Sirius are so chaotic.

The Potter household has long been a foundational pillar of love and ease for you. Plumes of cotton clouds were perpetually suspended above the sumptuous manor, and you distinctly remember the day you arrived in front of the regal front yard, donning new robes and the Potter surname.

Even amidst the gloomiest of days, Potter Manor remained unblemished by the sheen of greys and drops of heavy rain. Your parents were tenderhearted folk, often unable to properly reign in the boisterous force that was your brother. James was the apple of your eye when you first arrived in the lived-in home at the ripe age of eight.

Under the near-yellow lights of the entryway, he took you under his wing the second his eyes befell on yours.

Yet, your reminiscing did little to quell the fiery frustration that singed at your patience. After so many years of tumultuous adventures and shared laughter, you felt everything drown away as the forefront of your mind became consumed by the imperious demands he was layering onto you.

“James. You are being absolutely ridiculous right now, do you know that?” You huff out, arms crossed as you stare hotly ahead.

Sirius is settled beside your brother, eyebrows drawn together as an uncharacteristically firm frown decorates his face. James clicks his tongue and pinches the bridge of his nose as he tries to catch your eyes, “Y/N, we’re being serious here. Siri and I are graduating soon and we won’t be able to look out for you when we’re gone.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.” You mused stubbornly, fixating your gaze on the sprigs of tulips peeking at you from the polished coffee table. “Besides, what the hell are you even protecting me from? Regulus? He would never harm me.”

“You don’t know that.” Sirius interjects, hands rubbing together as James shoots you an admonishing look.

Astonished by the field of conversation, you shake your head as you finally face the two boys, “Sirius, this is your brother we’re talking about! Merlin, if anyone said anything like this about me, you’d both have their head, would you not?” Your narrowed eyes dart towards Sirius as he sighs, placing his hand up to placate you.

“It’s different, Y/N. Regulus is going to take up my father’s mantle soon, and there’s no doubt that he’s already been brainwashed into following the Dark Lord.” Sirius mumbles, face now looking weary as he gazes out of the window behind you.

You bite the inside of your cheek at the mention of the Dark Lord, aware that Regulus had been researching the man for a few months now. Internally, you found solid reason to believe in what your brother was advocating, but your longstanding friendship with Regulus turned you away from the decision to abandon him.

“I’m not going to stop being friends with him.” You announce, eyebrow slanting up as Sirius made an effort to protest your proclamation. “But, if it eases your worries, we’ll strictly talk about school work.”

James and Sirius share a long look of consideration before your brother turns to you and sighs, “Fine, but we won’t like it.” His acquiesce fills you with tepid relief, but you could count it as a temporary victory.

In the stirring waves of your mind, you were completely aware that you’d make little effort to actually change your dynamic with the younger Black brother, knowing that the boy was much more capable of independent thinking than given credit for.

The remainder of your Yule Break is spent buried in swaths of parchments and tomes with the occasional migraine from James’ antics. A cavernous pit materialized in your chest as you seemed to gradually wither away from stress, mind carouseling around the plethora of O.W.L. exams you needed to study for.

On the penultimate day before you, James, and Sirius were due to return to Hogwarts, a familiar black-banded owl came fluttering to your bedroom window. Clambering around the strewn leaflets of paper and open textbooks on your floor, you gaily greet the owl with a wide grin, gently grasping at the letter between its beak.

“It’s always nice to see you, Belenus.” You coo at the perceptive bird.

Cracking your window open further, you muffle an amused huff as the owl teeters through, resting straightly on your windowsill as it examines the disarray of your room.

“Er, it’s been a long day.” You wave in elaboration, not perturbed by the near judgemental look that flashes across the bird’s eyes. “Did Reggie ask you to wait for my reply? The lack of patience in that boy, I swear.”

Sitting down at your dimly-lit desk, you carefully unfurl the letter with trembling hands, heart skipping at the sight of the boy’s penmanship.

Dear Y/N,

I hope that everything is well for you. It is a shame that we are not able to convene before the end of break, however, I will give you your gift when we get back to the castle. I hope that Sirius is not giving you too much trouble, mother and father were never able to control his rambunctious behavior. However, he strangely settles after a cup of peppermint tea (his favorite brand is Lady Bramble’s).

I know you are brimming with anxiety from our last conversation, and for that, I deeply apologize. You will be pleased to know that I have given it much thought as per my promise to you, and I think we should talk more about it when we get back. I have not yet made any permanent decisions.

I have much to tell you after break. I miss you dearly.

R.A.B

You suppress a smile at the last few words, head feeling light with unadulterated joy. Threading together inklings of composure, you sit up straight and begin to draft your response, fingers unsteady with shreds of nervousness.

Reggie,

The week has been long and difficult without you, I must admit. I hope you are faring better than me with your homework (I fear that I may not make it). James and Sirius pulled me aside a few days ago to advise me against remaining friends with you. It is growing dire, Reg. I don’t want to sour this exchange by rehashing our last conversation, but I want you to know that even though my love and loyalty for you runs deep, I am unwavering in my stance against You-Know-Who.

If you are giving me my gift in person, I suppose I will do the same. As for the tea, thank you for the idea. Perhaps, I can test it on James to see if their uncanny likeness extends to calming agents as well.

Delighted to hear from you, I miss you so much.

Y/N

Once you reread the passage with attentive eyes, you nod once to yourself and prepare your wax seal. Weaving around the flush of work on your rug, you carefully give Belenus your letter.

“Give him my regards, will you?” You whisper, running your index finger along the owl’s head. The creature tilts its head before shuffling through your window again, taking flight in the blink of an eye.

Just as you begin to fall into a peaceful lull, elbows propped against your windowsill, a thunderous knock against your door has you nearly falling into the pane of glass.

“Y/N! Come outside with us!” Sirius’ shouts bleed through the thick wood as if it were made of thin air, and you roll your eyes sky high, grateful that your mother was out shopping and not napping.

“Hold your horses!” You yell back, scurrying over to fling your door open, heart still stuttering in its beats at the clamorous interruption.

As you crack open your door with an unimpressed look, you’re met with Sirius’ shit-eating grin and a highly entertained James holding a pile of plastic-wrapped goodies. Your brother juggles the crinkling jumble before he balances one in his hand, flashing it around as he practically vibrates on the spot.

“What’s that saying again, patience is virtue?” You mumble sarcastically.

Sirius shakes his head and waves you off, “Being virtuous is boring.”

“Right. Where did you get all of these from anyway?” You question breathlessly, reaching forward to snag one of the items from James’ arms.

Plecky’s Triple Ruby Ice Cream. The bulky square is icy to the touch, the packaging’s lurid colors buzzing against your eyes as Sirius begins to impatiently tug you down the hallway.

“No time to explain, we have to eat all of these before mum and dad get home.” James offhandedly hums, marching behind you and Sirius as you pace down the stairs.

“I hate you both, do you guys not have to study for your N.E.W.T exams?” You huff, batting at Sirius when he squeezes your shoulders.

James lets out a hearty chuckle at your words and Sirius clicks his tongue goodheartedly before whispering to you, “Nope! Moony and Lils are going to help us after break.”

You sigh into the air, hands limply flying up as you mutter lightly, “I don’t understand how they put up with you both, honestly.”

James bounds forwards past you both, flinging himself through the open door and into the pool of sunlight as he calls back, “We’re both extremely loveable. Now, I bet I can eat more of these than you!”

The next time you feel any semblance of peace is the day you return to Hogwarts, school work long forgotten about when you hurry to meet with Regulus in the astronomy tower. You had practically inhaled your dinner, leg bouncing with uninhibited anticipation the moment you locked eyes with your devastatingly pretty friend.

Once you’re situated atop the staircase, you quickly survey the open room for the boy, eyes dancing across the atrium when you find that you’re alone. The stars begin to peek through the canvas of the sky, thinning streams of clouds drifting away as the mottles of luminous spheres grow in number.

The wind whistles sharply as it bats against the aged stones of the castle walls, providing a steady white noise as you wait patiently against one of the many iron railings. Only a few moments after you grow comfortable in your spot, you hear the faint padding of footsteps ascending towards you.

Regulus’ eyes widen imperceptibly when they land on your lax figure, his body jolting to hurriedly close in on yours, “You got here early. Are you not cold?”

The boy reaches for your hand, humming when he finds your fingertips cold to the touch. Shaking your head, you deftly wrap your arms around him as you mumble into his ear, “It’s so good to see you, Reggie.”

Regulus’ arms find themselves around your waist as he reciprocates your hug, nuzzling against your neck as he lets out a low hum. Your relationship was not clearly defined by any title, nor was it barred by any conventional lines, and for the most part, you wouldn’t exactly say it was platonic in nature.

However, affection was limited to hugs and handholding, the situation between your families and the state of the political sphere too convoluted for anything beyond that.

“How was your break, love?” He asks with a soft voice, fingers ghosting against your hips as his arms loosen so he can crane back to look at you.

You smile and drop your head onto his shoulder, “It was good. Though, Sirius got a bit ill yesterday.”

“Oh?” Regulus’ voice edges on concern, but he can decipher the amused hint in your tone to know it isn’t worthy of unease.

“We ate a load of ice cream the day before, and Sirius is weak to bets.” You answer, not missing the light chuckle that Regulus releases.

A few beats of peaceful silence ensues before Regulus detangles himself from you, eyes searching your face as conflict flickers through his eyes. A heavy burden seems to weigh against his shoulders as he huffs out a sigh too considerable for someone so young.

“What’s on your mind, Reg?” You mumble, hands dancing up to rest upon his taut shoulders.

Regulus frowns minutely before he throws his head to the side and indulges, “I won’t last much longer.”

“Pardon? Helga, are you alright?” Your eyes are blown wide as you try to catch the boy’s eyes. “Regulus, don’t dance around this, tell me what the hell you’re saying.”

Regulus’ shoulders give a shake as he swallows a dry laugh, facing you again with serious eyes, “Sirius had the right idea from the start, and I was too blind to see that I should have packed and ran for the hills, too.”

Shock blisters across your mind as you reel back to process the information, mouth drawn into a small gape as you assess the boy’s expression. “What’s with the sudden change? I mean not that I hate it, frankly, I quite like this, but you were still uncertain just days ago.”

Regulus mulls over your question for a few moments, hands moving to encircle your arms as he muses, “I’ve been corresponding with my Uncle Alphie since the start of break, and he was able to give me a rather impartial crash course of everything. From then, I just had to pick up the pieces stripped away and build on the bare bones…” His words taper off as his mouth furls into a small frown.

“Love, you’re going to give me a hernia from all this roundabout talking.” You jokingly reprimand, eyebrows raising as Regulus nervously cracks his neck.

“My parents are not good people, and I’ve seen those that Bellatrix surrounds herself with–” the word death eaters was notably eschewed, “and, well, it all seems like drivel now. Besides, I don’t want to fight on any side of any battle if I have to lose you. Your letter was a pretty jarring wake up call.” He finishes, his hands now unconsciously moving you closer to him.

“Well, fuck.” You whisper into the air, mouth curling into a content smile as Regulus relaxes. “I didn’t want to lose you either, and I’m glad that I don’t have to. We’ll figure something out, but I won’t ever let you step foot back in that house ever again.” You promise with a firm voice.

Regulus nods and his eyes shine with conviction, the promise quelling the storms of doubt in his bones, and erasing the wedge between you both.

“Can I do something?” Regulus whispers, eyes capturing yours with an entrancing glimmer.

“As long as it's not throwing me over this railing, then yes.” You whisper back coyly.

Regulus chuckles, face now inches away from yours as he shakes his head, “Never.”

As the little promise escapes into the air, Regulus tugs you into him, lips finding your own as he pours every inkling of passion and love coursing through his veins into his ministrations. Your hand tangles in his curls as he continues to heatedly kiss you, the silent push-and-pull between you both now long forgotten.

Humming against his lips, you give a small tug to his hair before you pull back with a shaky breath, “There’s no going back, Reg.”

“Good.” His words are hushed as he places his forehead on yours, “You’re my only constant. Not a bloody thing in this world I’d rather do than be with you.”

“Is this the gift you were talking about?” You mumble, suppressing the tsunami of heat threatening to dissolve your self-restraint as you peer at the breathless boy.

“No, but forget about it for now.” He hums, “I hope you don’t have anywhere to be, I intend on keeping you here until curfew, love.”

You laugh lightly and run your thumb across his cheek, “Bloody troublesome, you are. I can see the resemblance between you and Sirius now.”

“Please don’t bring my brother up while I’m trying to love you.” Regulus huffs, swallowing your next retort with his lips as he dives back in to claim your undivided attention again.

Luckily, you both made it back to your dorms before curfew came to nip at your tangled figures in a slew of detention slips and reprimands. The shift in your relationship was noticeable, but it did little to hinder your day-to-day routine, the both of you still trembling under the weight of your studies.

It was the Friday of your first week back when James and Sirius bounded towards your hunched figure, your hands littered with inky streaks and eyes squinting painfully at your textbooks. The library upheld a faint degree of chatter, and you were itching to track down Regulus (the boy was likely off at Quidditch practice).

“Heya, kiddo!” Sirius beams, slinking his way over with a respectable amount of carelessness as a few students side-eye him. James is beside him, hands in pocket, sporting a pitiful frown.

“What’s up? And what’s with the frown?” You muse, stretching your back as they both pull out the chairs across from you.

Sirius snickers and leans over to obnoxiously whisper to you, “Lily gave him a good scolding earlier.”

“Sorry to miss it. What’d you do? We all know it was your fault.” You perk an eyebrow up at your brother, refusing to back down even as he throws his hands up with a flabbergasted look.

“Well–er…” Sirius trails off, mouth agape as you could practically see his brain stuttering in its hollow glory.

James sends a resounding kick to the boy, and shakes his head as he turns to you, “Nothing, just a disagreement about a certain Slytherin.”

“Severus?” You inquire, lips tugging into a frown at the thought of your (reluctant) Potions tutor.

Sirius huffs at the mention of the boy and clicks his tongue, “No, not Sniv–”

“Finish that remark and I will maim you, dear boy.” You narrow your eyes, quill pointed threateningly in his direction.

Sirius throws his hands up in surrender and opts to shuffle one of your open books over to him, eyes running along the words with vague interest. James’ eyebrows furrow and he seems to be debating on saying something when you continue your prodding, “So not Severus. Don’t tell me… Were you both arguing about Reggie?”

“What? No!” James refutes, head shaking furiously as irritation stews in your gut.

“Don’t lie to me, you don’t care about any Slytherins other than Reggie and Severus. But why the hell were you talking about my social life, again?” You huff, arms crossing as you see Sirius tensely peek up from his reading.

James sputters for a moment before he breathes in deeply, a stern expression overtaking his face as he straightens his posture, “Lily agrees that I should be more… open minded about your friendship with him–”

You perk up and throw your hands into the air, “See!”

James puts a hand up and shoots you a small look, “However, I am your brother, and it’s in your best interest to distance yourself from him.”

“My best interest, or yours?” You ask with narrowed eyes, beginning to pack up your supplies. “James, we can’t keep having this conversation. Why don’t you try sitting the both of us down and having a completely reasonable, civil conversation with us for once?”

“Well–” He begins, a frown pressing down on his features.

You shake your head and huff, “No more excuses. Either you put on your big boy pants and try to understand where I’m coming from, or you can continue to mope, but if you choose the latter, don’t even think about approaching me until graduation.”

Without another word, you sling your bag over your shoulder and march away, ignoring Sirius’ calls after you, your textbook still in his hands. As you storm through the winding corridors, evading the swaths of students milling around, you set your sights on the Quidditch Pitch.

The sun escapes into the stacks of pillowy clouds as you round the field, giving you an opportunity to peer up into the skies and track down Regulus, a pleased hum escaping your throat as you see the team begin to descend from the air.

Shifting your weight from leg-to-leg, you wait patiently as Regulus hurries to break away from the circle of Slytherin players, nodding distractedly at Rosier. A few moments later, Regulus strides over to you with a flickering grin, eyes alight with lingering endorphins and excitement.

“Love, what are you doing here?” He breathes out, dropping a small kiss to your cheek as he maneuvers his broom to his left hand, leaving his right hand to brush his curls away from his face.

Beaming at the boy, you hum, “Just wanted to see you. And perhaps talk to you about something.”

Regulus tilts his head and nods agreeably, “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m thinking about telling my parents about us, and maybe you can ask your Uncle Alphard about y’know… leaving your house?” You mutter, fingers twitching with nervousness as a look of consideration passes through Regulus’ eyes.

“Well, I don’t mind your parents knowing, but I also don’t mind them not knowing. I don’t want you to get into any trouble,” He confesses, rolling his arm back to stretch his sore shoulders. “As for my situation, I think my uncle would be willing to help me get emancipated. I don’t want to intrude in his home though, my mother would probably blow it up if I stayed there.”

“So don’t.” You hurriedly say.

He rubs your arm as he hums, “Don’t?”

“Don’t go to your Uncle’s. Stay with us.” You mumble, eyes pleading with him.

“Love–” He starts, eyebrows drawn together.

A resounding voice echoes from across the pitch before he can finish, diverting both of your attention away from one another, “Hey, Black! Don’t dawdle! Avery said he wants you here for strategy!”

“Go ahead.” You whisper, patting Regulus’ arm with a reassuring smile as you begin to back away.

“Hey,” He whispers back, stepping forward to grab your hand with a fatigued frown, “I love you.”

“I love you too, we’ll talk later, yeah?” You muse, lips furling upward as you squeeze his hand in farewell.

You linger ankle-deep in the damp grass for a few more moments, watching as Regulus disappears into the distance with one last glance over his shoulder.

Almost like a robot being rewound, you spin on your heel and march back to the castle, mind racing with threads of words to send to your parents.

Once in your dorm, you immediately launch yourself on your bed, head craning down for indistinguishable reels of minutes, occasionally stopping mid-sentence to ponder on your next thoughts. When you lift your quill up from the parchment with finality, your eyes dart from the paper to your window, squinting with a light bristle as painful clouds of blue mull in your vision, the lighting in the room now too dim for comfortable writing and reading.

As the sky grows gloomier, the wisps of lingering clouds withdraw into invisibility and you’re left to race against time as you fold up the finished letter to your parents.

Dear Mum & Dad,

I hope that you are both well! Please be sure to get lots of rest! Also, may we stock up on Lady Bramble’s peppermint tea?

Rest assured, I am studying well. James and Sirius are as well (surprisingly).

I was wondering if I could ask for a very large favor that would require the utmost discretion…

To be direct, Regulus and I are together, and he needs to find sanctuary away from his parents. His uncle is willing to aid him with the legal processes of the matter, but he has nowhere to turn to for the summer breaks.

I know this is a lot to ask, and I also know it isn’t ideal (for a multitude of reasons), but I will be forever grateful for even the slightest bit of deliberation. Please get back to me as soon as you can. Also, please don’t tell James.

Your favorite child,

Y/N

The spiral of waiting threatened to tip you over the verge of complete impulsivity, one that would lead to you exposing your relationship prematurely and the subsequent Regulus-hunting that would ensue on your brother’s part.

It had only been a couple of days since you sent off the letter to your parents, and at first you had been suspicious that your brother had somehow found out. After your disagreement with him in the library, he had been strangely distant, only occasionally giving you long, indistinguishable looks.

Your sudden withdrawal from your brother and his circle spurred deep concern from your friends, and especially from Regulus, who managed to subtly bring up the development during every conversation you had with him.

“Are you nervous?” You ask with a small frown, watching Regulus fiddle with his pot of ink.

The boy shakes his head and flicks the ebony glass, “Not really. Rosier has been keeping an eye out on their new strategies and formations.” Regulus finally looks up and leans across the table toward you, “You’re coming to watch, right?”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you hum lightly, “When have I ever missed one of your games?”

“Right… and you’ll cheer for us?” His eyes run along your face as you furrow your eyebrows.

“Yes… like I always do. Are we playing twenty questions now, love?” You huff out with a breathy laugh, intrigue only swelling higher when Regulus says nothing and gives you a small, uneasy grin. “Okay, what’s up? You’re looking at me the way I look at Severus when I accidentally mince my cowbane instead of chopping it.”

“Poor Severus.” Regulus hums, eyes retracting into a sheen glaze as he reminisces on your ineptitude in Potions. “Anyway, it’s just… we’re playing Gryffindor.” He continues, mouth parting slightly when you squint at him.

“Yes, Regulus, I know. Are you alright, dear?” You enunciate with blatant concern, head tilting to survey the boy’s uncharacteristic apprehension.

He clears his throat softly and shrugs, “I’m alright, I just don’t want you to be put in a weird place because your brother is also playing.”

“Merlin, Regulus. So this is what you’re getting at.” You click your tongue with a small smile, reaching over to pat his hand, “Don’t stress yourself out, I always cheer for you.”

“Uh? Ouch.” A familiar voice echoes from your right, tearing through the little bubble of comfort you’ve established with Regulus.

Swiveling your head over to the interruption, you narrow your eyes at the perpetrator and huff a small Hello, James.

“Yeah, hi.” He blinks emphatically, “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Regulus flips his hand over and threads his fingers with yours as you direct your full attention to James, “About cheering for Regulus? Well, I’m not.”

James holds up a hand and sighs, “Okay, that’s a whole different discussion to be had. But I’m not here to argue. Sirius and I,” James leans to the side and gestures, but when he meets nothing but dusty air, he chokes on his spit and fully turns around, “Sirius?”

You and Regulus exchange a concerned glance as James continues to talk to one of the bookshelves, “Sirius, what are you doing?”

A fragile silence collects in the air as the three of you seem to share a collective perplexion, all waiting with bated breath. Regulus runs a hand through his hair as he frowns at James, likely questioning the boy’s sanity.

Finally, Sirius’ broad figure emerges from behind a bookshelf, eyes wide with sheepishness as he makes eye contact with you and Regulus. “Hey, guys.”

“Sirius.” Regulus greets with a stiff nod, fingers tightening against yours.

“Why were you behind a bookshelf?” You hum, wrestling down an amused smile as James presses Sirius with a similar questioning look.

Sirius chuckles dryly and walks over to your table, sitting on the edge as he slides a book toward you, “I was waiting. I honestly thought you’d hex Prongs to next Yule.”

“Smart. What’s this?” You pick up the tome, exhaling loudly once you see it’s the book that you left in Sirius’ possession after you stormed away days prior.

Sirius taps his fingers against the table and gives an exaggerated nod to James, throwing his arm towards an empty chair as your brother shuffles awkwardly on the sidelines.

“Right.” James muses, hurrying to take a seat as Sirius slides over to make room. “We’re here because we wanted to talk to you.” He chews on his bottom lip and glances at Regulus, “The both of you.”

Regulus nods and looks to you for confirmation before sitting up, “We’re listening.”

“Well, it’s just that… you can’t be that bad.” James says, rubbing his shoulder as he nods at Regulus.

Regulus rubs his thumb along your hand as he coughs out a laugh, “Uh, thanks. You too?”

“And if it’s true that you’re… changing, then Sirius and I are very happy at the end of the day.” James finishes, now more confident as Sirius reaffirms his statement with his own light hum. Sirius rubs a hand down his mouth as he seems to debate on what to say to his brother, eyes flickering between Regulus and the far wall.

“Well, I’m glad then.” Regulus adds, shooting you a relieved smile.

Sirius clears his throat and paces towards Regulus, clapping his hand on the boy’s shoulder as his voice thickens with emotion, “I’m really relieved, Reggie.”

“Yeah, me too. It will be different now.” Regulus promises with a whisper, smiling up at his brother with resolution.

As Regulus and Sirius have their little moment, James knocks his shoe against yours to grab your attention. “Here. This came with my mail today. Don’t worry, I didn’t peek or anything.”

Quirking an eyebrow up, you slowly reach forward as James extends an envelope to you, eyes brimming with curiosity as he surveys you. “From Mum and Dad?” You murmur rhetorically, getting an affirming grunt from James in return.

Ripping open the thick paper, you deftly extract the folded letter with coiled anxiety, head beginning to feel heavy as you anticipate the letter’s contents. Unfurling the crisp pages, your eyes run over the passage of ink, sinking into concentration as everything fades into the backdrop of your mind.

Y/N,

You should finish the rest of your other teas first, however, I bought a few tins of the peppermint tea as they were on sale.

I cannot say I am surprised by the development of your relationship with Regulus, you and James were always attached to the Black brothers since youth. We are not able to house the boy comfortably for the sake of safety, it is entirely too unpredictable to have both runaway heirs under one roof. However, your father and I discussed the matter and we have decided that Regulus may be safe at Godric’s Hollow for the summer. The plot is untraceable and not widely known about outside of our family. We will send along a portkey for him to take near the end of the school year.

Your father is expecting an explanation when we see you next.

Please look out for your brother.

Your father and I love you lots, dear.

With love,

Mum

A cold pin of disbelief rocks through you for a few moments before blind elation envelopes it and has you sighing into the air. Dropping the letter down, you smile widely and practically fly over the table, grabbing at Regulus’ tie. The boy darts his eyes to you in alarm before his eyes light up at the joy written across your expression, “Love?”

“You’re going away for the summer.” You whisper enigmatically, a grin stretching at your lips when Regulus’ eyes widen further.

“I am?”

Nodding, you lean forward and press your lips against his, “My parents gave the okay.”

Regulus laughs brightly and pushes up from his seat, cupping your face as he reciprocates your kiss. You both continue to exchange affection as Sirius and James drift off to the side, disgruntled and looking anywhere but at you both.

Amidst running your hands into Regulus’ curls, you vaguely hear James muttering under his breath.

“Sirius, you better go wrench your brother away before I make you an only child.”

masterlist

#regulus black #regulus black imagine #regulus x reader #regulus black x reader #regulus black fluff #regulus black angst #regulus black scenario #the noble house of black #harry potter imagine #harry potter series #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #regulus black x you #marauders era

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bitterchocoo · 6 months

Text

Who is He..?

Wriothesley | M. Reader

SPOILERS FOR WRIOTHESLEY'S STORY QUEST

----------

"A haunting face..... Is he a lost embrace..?"

----------

The sound of the children laughing and playing together echoes throughout the place. Such a lovely and cheerful place. The children's joy is contagious as one couldn't help but smile as they feel the joy that radiates from them.

On this particular day, the children circles around a boy--their older brother--as he reads them a book they begged him to read. He read it to them with a warm smile on his face. The sight of his younger siblings being happy and serene faces makes him the happiest. They may not be related by blood but the bond they made, the memories they've created. That what makes them family.

The teen read the book with passion as he gave different voices for the characters, bringing out laughter from the children.

Suddenly the teen felt something or rather--someone--hugging him from the back. Turning his head to the side the teen glance behind him and saw a younger boy with short black hair.

The boy didn't look up, instead he just buried his on the other's back the teen saw the opportunity and took it to tease the younger. "The Knight, badly wounded from his battle goes to the Alchemist for help." He continues to read the book for the children with a little twist to tease the boy. "Seeing the Knight in such a bad state the Alchemist immediately got to work and start making a potion that could help the Knight get back on his feet."

Putting a hand on his head the elder ruffled the younger's hair with a grin. "Now fully healed, the Alchemist decided to help the Knight defeat the dragon and together they were victorious, saving their kingdom!"

The children cheered at the story. Overjoyed at the conclusion of the story.

After the others left to play, the two is left alone and now that they're alone, the teen let out a sigh as he run his hand through the other's hair who's still hugging him from the back. "Did mother make you clean the windows again?" He asked with a soft and gentle voice.

He waited for a reply only to be met by silence. He was about to ask again before he felt the other nod and with that the elder turns around to face the boy and hugged him, he knew for a fact that he was at the verge of tears, after all this isn't the first time he goes to the elder for comfort as he cries his eyes out. He comforts the younger as he cries on his shoulder. Holding him close, running his hand though his hair, rubbing circles on his back. After a while he decided to break the ice and asked the boy.

"What happen this time?" There's no malice or annoyance in his voice, instead his voice his soft and gentle, he's not mad--no--not even the slightest.

"I lost my temper..."

"I know that your friends and siblings can be annoying but please.. be more patient, okay? They mean well."

"And remember... but on a happy face. A smile is always a joy to see, especially yours." The teen added with a smile of his own as he put both of his hands on the younger's cheeks and making him look up. The tear streaks were obvious on his cheeks as the teen use his thumbs to wipe them.

The black haired boy sniffed as he gave the other a small nod in response as he could feel his face becoming flustered by the affection and the underline meaning behind the other's words.

"Thank you..."

"Your welcome, W--"

"Your Grace!"

Wriothesley snapped out of his thoughts as he heard someone calling for him. Turning his head to the sound he was met by Sigewinne, the girl look at him with a concern expression. "You've spaced out for a really long time and you didn't respond when I called you, is something on your mind, Your Grace?"

Letting out a sigh Wriothesley gave her a smile and said. "I'm alright, Sigewinne, there's nothing to worry about. Just... reminiscing about the past.." Sigewinne continues to look at him with a concern expression before giving him a nod as she sees it as a sign to drop the subject.

My... how time flies...

Before they knew it they've grown up to be adults and as time passes, his memory began to blur.

Shaking his head Wriothesley look at the file on his desk, a file regarding the newest prisoner in the Fortress, a file he was supposed to be reading instead of reminiscing about the past. Taking the file he opens it and is immediately stun by the photo attached to the documents.

A man with [H. Color] hair and [E. Color] eyes with a neutral expression. He looks empty almost emotionless. One could tell him that it's a photo of a statue and he would believe them. But the question now is...

Who... who is he..? He felt like.. he saw him before..

He's a misty memory. A haunting face.

The cold and indifferent expression he has doesn't ring any bells and yet..

He felt that...

The expression didn't suit him. A smile would be more fitting. It would suit him best.

After all... 'A smile is always a joy to see, especially yours.'

That too, he felt as if someone had taught him that.. but who..?

Who was that person..? And most importantly... who is the man in the photo? Who is he?

It's been a few days since the new prisoner and every time Wriothesley see him from the corner of his eye. It's almost as if a fog entered his mind as he sees a teenager instead of the indifferent, dead-like man. It's strange.. almost bizarre..

Just... who is he..? Or rather..

Who is the teenager he sees?

Wriothesley also began to hear something... a voice. A voice that echoes the words of what others said to him.

"You look stress." "Are you alright?" "Have you try drinking tea? It usually helps." "Here, I made tea for you, it usually helps calm your mind."

"Your Grace, you don't have to do this, really it's just a trivial thing!" "You don't have to act like the "Hero" every time... they may still be children but please... you don't have to exhaust yourself like this.. have more faith in them."

"The Duke, huh?"

The voice is disoriented but he could make out the care, gentle, and softness of the voice. Almost as if he heard it before. As if... someone had once told him.

"Who would have thought.... you who would come running to me.. crying whenever mother was being "too harsh.""

"Is the very same child who killed his adoptive "parents"...."

"Did you lose your temper again?"

"Hopefully you have learned how to control them now... after all you've become the most respected man in this Fortress, no?"

"Mad? No.. I'm not mad... I'm not mad that you killed them.. Why should I? We're both sinners."

"Both you and I have blood on our hands."

"You have paid the price.. and I haven't.."

"It's time for me to pay the price...."

"[Name] [L. Name] has been found guilty and is sentenced to death."

#seme male reader #top male reader #x male reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x male reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin wriothesley #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x male reader

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bandgie · 5 months

Text

The Spell of the Night

Huening Kai x fem!reader

synopsis: Being reunited with your best friend after years is an emotional trip. Everyone's gotten older and bigger with stories to tell, especially her little brother. Was he always that hot? anon ask!

warnings: MDNI 18+, age gap (reader is older), nonidol au, reader catches Kai jerking the ween, reader watches Kai masterbate, nipple play (m!), very brief over stimulation (m!), cum eating (f!)

3.3k words

It was exciting meeting your closest friend after so many years. College forced you two apart, and after finally establishing a career, you were able to see each other again.

You were filled with excitement and some nervousness as you stood outside her front door. From what you gathered, she still lives with her parents. Not only would you be meeting her for the first time in almost 7 years, but her siblings.

The door opened before you even rang the doorbell. Lea stood there with a huge smile on her face, already squealing from happiness.

"That's my favorite noona!" She screamed before practically jumping in your arms. Your weight was thrown back before you collected yourself, hugging her back just as fiercely. Whatever nervousness you had felt when arriving completely dissipated into love. Complete adoration for your dearest friend.

It took a few good minutes for excited chatter and happy tears to simmer down. She, along with Bahiyyih, were making dinner just before your arrival. You took a seat at the dinner table while they cooked.

"It's so weird to see you cook Hiyyih," you tell the youngest sister.

She looks back for a moment and smiles, "Is it?"

You nod, "Totally is. I remember me and Lea babysitting you whenever we hung out. We just put you in front of a TV and called it a day."

Laughter echoed in the house from the memories. "That's not my fault!" Lea protests jokingly. "You're older than me, you should've known better!"

You roll your eyes at her jab, "I'm not that old. I still look 16."

More laughs tumble from your mouths. It feels good to be back, it feels right. The Huening family always welcomed you with open arms even if you were a few grades above Lea. You could recall spending countless nights at her place, eating the dinner her parents prepared. Reminiscing made you want to ugly cry in the best way possible.

"Do you mind if I use your restroom? I gotta tinkle."

"Of course!" Lea sounds shocked that you would even ask. "It's down the hall second door on the right. Make sure you wipe. I don't want to see any piss stains."

You playfully stick your tongue out at her before getting up from your seat. The house remains the same, save for the newer pictures that hang on the walls. You can tell they’re in chronological order as you descend further in the hall. What a beautiful family, you think.

It's strange seeing the Huening siblings grow into adults. They look the same, but so different all at the same time. It's a trip for you to watch the people you grew up with...grow up.

It's even weirder seeing how Kai has aged. He still has the sideways smile, but he's definitely matured. A strong nose, jawline, and plump lips. It also seems like he's had quite the growth spurt judging by how he towers over his siblings in family photos.

You recall Kai being a little annoying. He always wanted to join what you and Lea were doing, no matter how much Lea complained. You didn't mind at first, you understand how younger siblings always want to copy their older one. But you started to notice how Kai wanted to stand next to you when sitting in a circle, he wanted to play the Dad if you were the Mom, he wanted you to look at all the cool tricks he could do even if he's shown you a million times.

Lea would tease Kai about his crush on you, and you would awkwardly watch him deny with rose tinted cheeks.

That very same boy is a man now, a handsome one at that. It intrigues you to see how he's turned out, but you have yet to see him tonight. You shove the thought away before turning to your task at hand.

You reach the second door and twist the knob. Rather than seeing a toilet, you're greeted with Kai laying in his bed. A hand in his pants with vicious jerking movements. His head whips to see who entered his room unannounced. You only see the fear in his eyes for less than a second before slamming the door.

"Sorry," you quip before dashing back to the kitchen.

Your quick footsteps prompt both Lea and Bahiyyih to look in your direction when you arrive.

"What's up?" Lea's first to question you.

I just caught your brother jerking off, I want to gauge my eyes out. But instead you say, "That wasn't the bathroom."

"No?" Lea's eyebrows come together confused. "The second door to the left?" "Left?" You question. "You said right." Lea purses her lips, "Oh shit. Did I?"

"You did," Bahiyyih interjects. She lifts the pot to see how the soup is boiling. "You dummy."

"Well you could have said something, but didn't. So, you're the dummy."

Their sibling banter is muffled in your ears. All you can hear is how your heart thumps in your heart, how sweaty your hands got, the way your mind keeps replying the scene over in your head.

Dark hair over Kai's face, lips slightly parted from the silent moans leaving his mouth, the way his hips were slightly arched off his bed like he couldn't help but thrust into his own fist. It replayed over and over, until your conscience decided to throw an image of you on top of him.

You had to physically shake your head to rid the image. You felt like vomiting, yet the salivating in your mouth was far from grossed out.

"Anywho, I'm so sorry about that," Lea frowns. "It's across that one, but dinner's pretty much ready. I don't know if you wanna wait."

Before you can answer, heavy footsteps make their way to the kitchen. A part of you wants to remain with your back turned to him, but Bahiyyih makes his presence known immediately.

"There he is! Finally out of your hole huh?"

Kai looks embarrassed, the familiar red twinge on his face as he tsks as his little sister. "Shut up."

"Kai," Lea leaves the kitchen to make her way to him. "You remember my friend don't you? She used to come over all the time. We used to dress you up, remember that?"

Kai turns a shade redder upon hearing the memory, one you had completely forgotten until now. Flashes of putting dresses on Kai, applying too much makeup, and making him do the catwalk go through your mind. You cringe and groan, burying your face in your hands.

"Oh my god," you say exasperatedly. "I totally forgot about that. Why did you remind me?"

Since Kai's crush on you was so obvious, Lea and you tended to use that information to your advantage. Making him do little errands for you, making him do embarrassing dares, and spending his allowance money on you.

Even if Kai winces at the memories, he still would have done anything to see you smile.

Both you and Kai are a blushing mess. Given that you just saw him jerking his cock and forced to remember the humiliating past of your actions.

"Yeah Lea. I remember." Kai finally breaks the silence, walking to the dinner table where Bahiyyih is setting the food. "Okay reminiscing is over and dinner is served! Come eat."

Dinner isn't as awkward as you anticipated. Yes, Kai is sitting across from you doing everything in his power to not look at you. And yes, everytime your eyes catch his hands you imagine them wrapped around his cock. And yes, you notice your underwear is slightly damp. Still, there's no tension in the air as you four laugh, talk, and gossip about your new adult lives.

All of you help clean up, separating the chores amongst yourselves. It's around this time that you begin feeling sleepy, the jet lag catching up to you. Lea sees you yawn and suggests that you all take an early night. You want to protest and say you can stay up, but your eyes are burning from keeping them open. You agree.

Sleep does not come easy. Whether it's because of the jetlag or sleeping in a new place, you don't know. It must be past midnight now, and Lea is fast asleep on her bed when you peer from the futon on the floor.

Quietly, you stand. You tiptoe your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. Coming out of the hall, you can hear the faint sound of the TV on. You slow your steps and look into the living room. The TV is on, and you can make out the black head of hair that sits on the couch.

You take one more step and the floorboard creaks under you. Kai's head whips back to see you, surprise in his eyes. He lowers the volume quickly, "Sorry. Was it loud?"

You shake your head, "Not at all. I was just getting water."

He nods, turning his attention back to the screen. Now the air has turned tense. Despite being as quiet as possible, you feel as though everything you do is loud. Even your mere presence screams in the dimly lit kitchen. Kai doesn't feel much better. The scenes playing on the TV go unnoticed. He keeps looking from his peripheral vision to see what you're doing, straining his ears to hear your movements.

You almost sigh in relief when you finish filling your glass. You want nothing more than to get out of this awkward situation. As you turn to make your way back to the hall, you realize that it's going to be this strained throughout your stay. It's better to get it off your chest now so you don't have to walk on eggshells when you're supposed to be having fun.

With a new purpose, you instead make your way to the couch. Kai notices this, but opts to keep his head focused on the TV until you speak.

"Do you have a minute?"

He's sweating. His shaky eyes glance to yours before nodding, muting the channel. Kai wipes his palms on his sweats when you take a seat by him. "What's up?"

You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, setting the glass down on the coffee table in front of you. "I just uh, want to apologize...for earlier." His ears turn red. "I should have knocked." You continue. "I was just trying to go to the bathroom, but Lea told me the wrong side." There's a pause. "Anywho, that's my fault. I didn't see anything anyway, well, kinda but not a lot."

Kai nods again, eyes wide and lips parted. "No, it's my fault. I should have locked the door. No, I shouldn't have even been...doing that. It's disgusting I know, and-"

"Disgusting?" You interrupt him. "Sorry, I don't mean to cut you off, but I never said it was disgusting. I wasn't expecting it, yes, but I wasn't necessarily disgusted by it." Which is true. If anything, you were turned on by it.

"Oh," his voice is small. "Sorry. But still, I shouldn't have if I knew you were coming."

His confession makes your eyebrow rise. "You knew I was coming and still jerked it? Hyuka I didn't take you for such a perv." You softly laugh while Kai looks down to hide his flushed cheeks.

"I was just...excited..." Kai mumbles.

Your laughter fades, now seriously surprised and somewhat interested in what he said. "Excited? What does that mean?"

Fuck, he shouldn't have said that. Kai's fiddling with his finger as he tries to think of something to say. "Excited like...to know you were coming back. My sisters didn't tell me you were coming until today, like just a few hours before you came. And I just...yeah."

You hum, pretending to understand. You do understand, but the concept is hard to wrap around your head. "So, do you normally jerk off at the thought of me?"

"Shut- Stop saying that!" Kai whisper-yells. His little tantrum has you giggling. You have to keep a hand over your mouth to keep quiet. Maybe it's due to the late hours of the night, but you're far from grossed out by the conversation. It makes you want to know more, to hear more, maybe to see more.

"Can I ask why?"

Kai should say no. Tell you that he's actually delirious from lack of sleep. Instead, he nods. Maybe he's also under the spell of the late night. "It was pretty obvious when we were younger, but I was like...in love with you. Followed you like a dog, I honestly hate the memory sometimes. But I just liked you a lot back then, and when I heard that you were staying, it just kinda all came back. It was like I needed to get it out of my system."

After years of an unrequited love, Kai had finally confessed to you. Or at least confessed what he felt for you in the past. It's a lot to unpack, but you aren't that surprised. To hear it come from his lips though, it sends shivers down your spine.

"And how about now?" You ask, dropping your voice a little lower. "Is it out of your system?" Now you're playing with fire. There's a little voice telling you to stop, but Kai's big eyes and red face are too cute to pass up.

He gulps. "What do you mean?"

"I think you know what I mean." You scoot closer to him, placing a hand on his knee while the other rests behind his neck. "I'll tell you a secret too Hyuka." You lean into his ear, letting your lips graze the shell of his ear.

"I liked it."

That's all the convincing he needs to shimmy his joggers off. You move your hand so he can let the material pool at his ankles. He pulls his boxers down just enough to his cock to pop out. You hum approvingly at the sight, catching your bottom lip between your teeth.

He's not all the way hard, but you can watch him grow in real time. Kai's cock literally comes to life before your eyes, his pale pink tip blushing from the attention. His hand travels down to grab himself at the base of his cock. You place your hand back on his bare thigh, running your fingers up and down his skin.

"Y-you really liked it?" Kai stutters. His hazy, hopefully eyes scan your face. It's as though he's trying to detect any lie from your expression. "Mhm," you confirm. "A lot. Made me so wet."

Kai quietly moans at your admission. He pumps himself slowly, letting the skin of his cock cover his tip completely before pulling it back down. You lean your head on his shoulder, watching how his hand drags up and down his dick.

Should anyone come out from the hall, all they would see are the back of your heads watching the muted TV. In a way, you are watching a show. Kai is eager to put on a good performance for you, going as far as to lift his shirt so your hand could splay across his stomach.

You turn your head so you could kiss and lick his neck, watching how he shivers at the sensation. Teasingly, you bite down on his soft skin. Kai gasps at the pain, a near sob on his tongue.

"Don't. I'm sensitive there." He pleads with you. It makes you want to play with him more, to push him to where he can't possibly stay quiet. You obey him though, returning to your spot in watching him jerk off.

He's completely hard now, breathing heavy as he strokes himself. Your pussy is weeping from loneliness, begging to be filled. Kai's cock looks perfectly made for you. It's slightly curved at the crown, a thick head that you know would be delicious stretching you out. You're already walking a thin line by watching him masterbate in the living room, it would be stupid of you to ride him here too.

So stupid, but that doesn't mean you can't think about it.

Your hand travels up his chest to tweak his nipples. They harden at your touch, and he moans at how your thumb rubs them in circles. "Can I play with these? Or are you sensitive here too?" You tease. Kai shakes his head, scared to give a verbal in answer in fear of moaning too loud.

His hand speeds up when you pinch his nipples. Kai arches his back and squeezes his eyes shut. His chest is turning a blossoming pink from your rough touches. As an apology, you lean down and lick over his bud. Your warm tongue startles him for a moment. Kai relishes in the feeling of your soft tongue soothing him. How you kiss and suck his chest. You let your tongue roll over his nipple before sharply sucking it.

Kai twitches and his hips stutter. He knew he was a little sensitive there, but not like this. It's even more evident when he whines as you place his bud between your teeth, gently pulling at it. You let it go with a soft smack sound from your lips.

Now it's swollen and red. His nipple looks so pretty decorated like this, it's a shame you can't properly reach the other one. You look back to his hand furiously stroking himself. Your thighs rub together at the sight.

You lay your head back down on his check, kissing his chest. Your lips run over his nipple while your hand plays with the other. You're caught between wanting to watch him and keep sucking him. Kai's cock is leaking so much precum that you can hear every move, every stroke he does.

"Fuck, noona. I'm gonna cum."

Immediately, you pick up your head. Kai softly whines at the feeling of his chest being abandoned, but your hand goes back down past his cock. You hold his heavy balls in your hand, massaging and squeezing it encouragingly.

It only takes a few more pumps before his hips thrust upwards, white spurts being released from his tip. The first string of cum lands on his chest, mixing with his bruised pecs. The second one lands on his lower stomach and abdomen, and the final few spill over his cock.

The beautiful sight that has you grinding against his thigh. Kai breathes heavily, soft mewls tumbling from his mouth and he slows his movements. You stop playing with his sack and take a swipe of his cum on your finger.

Kai watches with tired eyes as you taste him. Your tongue swishes the flavor over your taste buds, mixing it with your saliva before you swallow it. Then you dip your head down to his chest, licking up all his release.

"Wait! You don't have to. I can-"

"Shh," you silence him. "You're being loud. I know I don't have to, I want to."

Kai's stunned as he stares at you eating his cum. You make your way down to his soft cock, quickly popping it in your mouth just to get the last bit. His hips shy away from your hot lips, a clear sign that he can't handle another touch to his dick.

You swallow the final strings of cum before reaching for your water. It's a pity really, all of this wasted when he could have finished inside of you.

Turning back to Kai, you can see that he's completely spent. If you asked for him to play with your cunt, he most likely would. No, he absolutely would. There was no way in hell Kai would pass up the opportunity to touch you. Your better judgment catches up to you, as well as his post nut clarity.

If you thought your stay was going to be awkward before, you can't imagine what it's going to be like now.

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koisuko · 5 months

Note

What would it be like to be the Lin Kuei brothers older sister?

Note: I hope you like it, I am not an oldest sister myself so I'm writing this from a middle child perspective

Tw: none, fem reader, fluffy stuff, some spoilers

Bi-han being the second oldest would likely feel a responsibility in protecting you and his brothers, despite your protests and your clear ability to take care of yourself.

You could most certainly say you relate to this feeling he has, feeling a sense of protectiveness to your younger brothers, especially Tomas.

You aren't as cold and blunt as Bi-han, often offering advice or emotional support to your younger brothers.

Tomas finds himself attached to you the most, feeling a sense of safety when around you, he feels no judgement in your presence, which offers a welcoming contrast to Bi-hans rash comments.

You see it in Kuai Liang and Tomas, how Bi-hans behavior effects them deeply, whether they admit it or not. Often nights you would find Tomas crying to himself after a particularly cold comment Bi-han had made towards him. Causing you to swiftly scold the Cryomancer and pull Tomas into your arms, assuring him that Bi-han is wrong in his statements.

When father died, you were distraught, but you kept those emotions to yourself and instead became a solid foundation for your younger brothers. Bi-han being the oldest male, was promoted to Grandmaster, much to your dismay. You believed he was capable of taking his position seriously, you simply did not believe he had good intentions and instead wished to steer the future of the clan to a more sinister path.

You knew full well how the pressure of the oldest boy was on Bi-han, you were often set as the caretaker of your younger brothers, acting as more of a motherly figure than an older sister, even at a young age. You knew how strict your father was on Bi-han growing up, expecting highly of his oldest son, which caused Bi-han to hold a hidden hatred for your father. Bi-han became colder, more emotionless and stoic as he grew up under your fathers teachings, it concerned you as you tried your best to be there for him when your father was particularly harsh. You knew the lack of actual childhood Bi-han got to experience, you went through the same by becoming a caretaker for your siblings. Learning to cook, clean, and care for your younger brothers when your father was busy with Grandmaster duties. You never failed to remind all three of them just how much you cared, and just how much you could relate to their struggles.

You often sought out your brothers when they returned from missions if you were not sent along with them. Acting like a worried mother and checking up on them individually. Bi-han would give a cold shoulder, telling you he is fine with a grunt as he made his way to the medical bay only occasionally allowing you to heal him after enough pestering. Kuai Liang would assure you with a soft smile that he is fine, but would still allow you to assist in mending his wounds to ease your mind. Tomas, on the other hand, would seek you out first, offering a hug of reassurance and letting you check him head to toe for any scratch or bruise on his skin. Tomas would be the first to tell you every detail of the mission, adding in how he missed you and wished you were there with them.

Your childhood with them was not all bad, in fact, you remember fondly of when Bi-han used to open up to you. You remember being the one to cradle him close when he had a nightmare, allowing him to soak your shirt with his tears until he fell asleep. You were the only one he sought out for help, the only one he spoke to about his feelings, he cared for you deeply and would reminisce on those memories just as much as you in secret. You remember when he once confided in you on his frustrations with your father, when you sat and listened to his heated rant with a reassuring hand on his shoulder. You both remember when you stood up for him against your father, adamant on praising your brother for all that he does. Bi-han holds this particular memory close to his heart, despite his lack of vocal expression about it.

Angry is an understatement upon Bi-han's betrayal, you were disappointed beyond belief. Bi-han tried to convince you of his view on it, wanting so badly to have you join his side on the matter, only for you to shake your head with the deepest pain in your eyes he had ever seen. Just as you did with your fathers passing, you remained a rock in your two youngest brothers lives, keeping a close eye on them. You helped in every way you could with the making of the Shirai Ryu, there every step of the way and assisting in forming a solid foundation for the new clan.

When Kuai Liang married Harumi, you were ecstatic, even more so when Harumi made you her best woman. It took you so much effort not to cry, only for waterfalls to caress the skin of your cheeks. You were so proud of your brothers, for Kuai Liang's marriage to the love of his life, but also the clan him and Tomas created to honor the wishes of your father.

Bonus:

When the young boy named Hanzo joined the clan, you were quick to take him under your wing. Hanzo quickly adopting you as a mother figure, and always swiftly by your side after training sessions. You loved the boy dearly, reminding him just how proud you were of his growth and goals throughout his time with the Shirai Ryu.

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dreamwritersworld · 1 year

Text

On my own…Part 3 (Sully family x reader)

🚨I’m so sorry this took a long time to post and I know it’s short 🥲 I’ve been struggling to find where Y/n’s story will lead so…please! Send in requests for the ending or comment and I’ll just decide from there 😊💓

If you told younger me that older me wouldn’t think highly of my parents…she wouldn’t believe you. Truth was I was holding onto something that was never real.

*8 year old Y/n*

I sat down in the lab room picking at scars and rubbing on my bruises while my siblings played with Spider, which I couldn’t do because I was instructed to stay close by. Norm taught me holidays that were back on earth…they were very beautiful! He gave me pieces of paper to draw what would be done in something called a…classroom? It was for a holiday called father and mother day!

Norm turned to another scientist showing him my work!

“Look at this sweet paper Y/n filled out!

My mom is special because…she’s a loving mom and I love her because she is beautiful!

My dad is the best because….he teaches me how to do things and keeps me good!

My parents are as good as a…flower and heart!”

Both scientist smiled down at the paper before norm moved onto more of Y/n’s work.

“And then she signed it off with her name!…she made these little coupons.

This coupon is good for…time for me and you!”

The other scientist was quick to make a statement about her card.

“Extremely unique for her to come up with that when she doesn’t even know you know the regular statements from back on earth.”

“Definitely! Another one says..

This coupon is good for…I will be good.”

Both of them strangely looked back and forth from the paper and at the sweet girl who minded her business playing with her own bruised skin…how did that end up there?

“She’s always good? I don’t know there’s always something about being good on her work when she comes to visit…like she’s always trying to prove that she’s good?”

The other scientists nodded off to what Norm was saying and decided to calmly approach the young child

“Hello sweetie! How did you get those marks?…were you playing ? Going on an adventure and chasing a wild beast?”

The young girl laughed at the scientists statement before putting her head back down and saying that it was just a fall from playing….it was a bruise Jake had given her when he slightly made her fall to the floor and she hit a rock..*

Oh Eywa…how did I have the strength to love them despite it all. I hope to one day find it in my heart to learn to love again…this isn’t easy anymore. I was so close to death and he sent me away right to it.

When we arrived back home I knew it would be the end of me. I could see it, the shocked look on my parents faces. It was so late my siblings had fallen into slumber, while they had heavy bags on there eyes.

All dad did was shake his head placing his fingers on his temple before telling Neteyam to go back inside..and he did. I had no one to protect me, quite frankly Im beginning to feel like it was all my fault but I had no choice.

“You have been chosen by Eywa my-“

My mother reached for me but I stepped back quickly, still feelings a pinging burning sensation.

“Do not touch me. You-“

I was cut off with a very enraged voice…my fathers.

“Despite what you think you’ve accomplished, you’ve brought shame to this family. Do you have any idea how frustrated and upset everyone is at you?! You are a complete waste Y/n. You seriously believe that THIS will fix you?”

When he reached over to yank me he was instantly burnt…my skin felt so warm. My own body was finally able to protect itself. It didn’t help that his touch also stung me so I hissed at him, stepping back slowly.

Neytiri gasped at Y/n’a hiss and Jake’s burnt hand…she now saw what Jake meant…maybe he really was right. Y/n could hurt the family, regardless of her being their daughter…Neytiri now believes that the daughter that she has was reminiscing and crying for isn’t there anymore. She’s a monster.

“Y/n! You better calm yourself right now. Go inside now.”

I looked at my Father once more, emotionless, frustrated and tired.

“You know what? I will go-“

My own body turned willingly calling for Toruk. They realized what I was doing..

“I meant go inside now. That’s an order Y/n! You’re my daughter and you must listen to me now!”

I could no longer hold in the laughter…how could he keep on pushing it…I mean seriously who’d he think was gonna listen?

“You sent me away to die. Now your ordering me around, going as far to call me daughter? You’re hilarious. How do you believe that you deserve my respect when you’ve done nothing to earn it? If you won’t care neither will I.”

“And what? You think you will earn my respect when all you’ve done was ruin things-“

“What is wrong with you?! I have always tried to live up to your expectations despite it all and you still can’t get out of your own way. They don’t even know what you have done to me all that’s years. What do you think they’ll do when they find out? I’ve kept your bad sides hidden for long enough. You’re pathetic! I feel sorry for you.”

I turn away once again walking towards Toruk…

“Don’t turn your back on me!”

“I should’ve turn my back on you ages ago!”

Toruk throws a flame of fire backing away to not hit anyone or anything, just sending a warning to Jake and Neytiri.

“…you left him as well. Never forget that. You are not loyal and don’t deserve to have as beautiful of a family as you do now. You don’t deserve any of it.”

As Y/n left in the blue night sky, fire erupted from Toruk and you can see the fire along the lines of his wings…he was given her gift instead, he portrayed her emotions perfectly for them.

Anger.

Betrayal.

Sadness.

Y/n knew she’d come back but on her own terms…

!💓!

please send requests for the ending I’m struggling!! 😭

Tag list: @noodlesfics @eywas-heir @itshype @zatarias-pandora @yeosxxx @arminsgfloll @tsireyak @neteyamforlife @aimsro @elegantkidfansoul @goodiesinthecloset21 @nikotokitaswife @bucky1235 @detectivesparrow @kikosaurscave @ssc7514 @destinylb @simp-erformarvelwomen @eirianna @ambria @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @lv9su @luciddasher @dakotali @httpjiikook @tainted-artist4161 @fanboyluvr @bat1212 @mxn14 @innersuitcasehairdoscissors @ducks118 @midnightliacr @osakis-gf @onetwo123three @briannalarae @thirsty4nonlivingmen @historygeekqueen @abbersreads @eskamybeloved @hoodiepandaninja16 @valovesyou @silentlyswimming @r3dc4ndy @onlytays

#Spotify #angst #jake sully x reader #neteyam x reader #loak x reader #neteyam sully #neytiri sully #sully family x reader #avatar loak #avatar the way of water #sully family x daughter reader

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a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual · 7 days

Text

More headcanons about Anakin and Ahsoka being menaces to the general public

I feel like both Anakin and Ahsoka react to being sick in similar ways and by reacting in similar ways I mean they do everything in their power to ignore the fact that they’re sick

Which is funny because they both get annoyed when the other refuses to accept that they’re sick Ahsoka will take any hint that Anakin gives her that his condition is failing and runs with it

Man could breathe different way and she’s like “Master it sounds like you’re sick maybe you should lay down and let me take over” to which Anakin refuses

Ahsoka’s just as bad because Anakin tries his best to take care of her without letting her know he’s onto her

But of course she’s not stupid and can tell when he’s being more of a helicopter sibling than normal and calls him on it

God forbid they get sick at the same time because they just spend the whole time trying to take care of each other

And god forbid they get sick at the same time when Obi-Wan is around cause then they just turn into whiny children

Like no seriously it’s like a switch goes off in their brains that renders them into beings incapable of fixing their blankets

Obi-Wan obliges because what dad would stop taking care of their kid depending on the age

Honestly my brain kinda leaned into Ahsoka’s chaotic younger sister energy with this one

But I love the idea that she will just sneak attack Anakin and Obi-Wan

Most of her “sneak attacks” go something like this: Anakin walking down the hall minding his business when Ahsoka drops down from the ceiling

But before she can land on him he sidesteps and grabs her by the collar before she can hit the floor which results in Ahsoka moaning and groaning that she “Almost got him that time” and Anakin grumbles back that the only thing that “almost got her” was a black eye

He does have to admit that her random seak attacks have made her better at climbing

Sometimes she’ll walk up behind Obi-Wan and try to cover his eyes but most of the time all she gets is his shoulders

Most of the time it doesn’t even slow the man down he just keeps walking while asking her about her day and how classes are going

But as she gets older she’s able to mask her presence better and manages to sneak up on the men once or twice

Obi wan is always willing to admit defeat and congratulates her on her well earned victory

Anakin blames it on his age and that’s the only time that Ahsoka will ever hear him admit to being “old” (he’s 30)

It’s an ongoing joke that you shouldn’t separate Ahsoka and Anakin some say you risk a limb if you try others say you’re risking your life what most don’t mention is how you’re risking your sanity

Because they become the most annoying motherfuckers when they’re apart

Ahsoka acts like they’ve been separated for 10 years and will tell stories like she’s reminiscing about the good old times but most of the time the people she tells the stories to were present for the events so it goes something like this:

“Hey Rex do you remember when me and Anakin threw someone into that lake those were the days” “Yes I do remember that commander because I was that person and it was a week ago”

In his defense that’s the fifth story she told him in the past hour and here was there for all of them

Anakin’s just as bad but for a different reason because all he does is overthink

Like don’t get me wrong he keeps up the “cool guy” personality before she leaves but the second she’s gone he’ll sprinkle little questions into normal conversations like “Do you think she packed warm enough?” “Do they have enough emergency rations?” “Did anyone make sure that ship was up to code before they left?”

He made sure she packed for every single weather possible, he packed enough rations for two weeks even tho they were supposed to be gone for two days, and he checked the ship before they left

Sometimes Anakin or Ahsoka will just walk into each other's room and hang out they don't do much they kinda just sit down and talk

Sometimes they have a silent but mutual understanding to leave the room and go bother Obi-Wan in his

I love the idea that Obi-Wan and Anakin are victims of Ahsoka’s undying fascination with human hair she loves when their hair is long and encourages them to grow it out longer so she has more to work with

She all but falls to her knees when she sees how long Padme’s hair is and she’s the creator of some of Padme’s funkier hairstyles (both Anakin and Padme make a small note to force Ahsoka to do their future kid's hair)

She’s also weirded out by facial hair so every single time Obi-Wan shaves or Anakin tries to grow a beard they’re treated like a different person entirely

It took them a while to figure out why but once they did they lost their minds laughing (and also made silent vows not to do it again cause it freaked her out)

People often say it’s like Ahsoka and Anakin can read each other's minds without using the force

Some people find it hard to believe but it’s pretty easy to tell when people are having conversations through their bond and when two people are having a conversation just with looks

It’s not an uncommon sight for them to shoot each other looks after someone says something a little bold and for both of them to be laughing by the end of it

It’s just as common for them to get into little arguments and finish it in complete and total silence before one of them finally gives in with a huff

It’s kinda freaky but they don’t seem to notice and everyone around them is too used to it to care

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angelicghostwriter · 10 months

Text

fem!reader, talk of pregnancy, birth, jus a lot of fluff and a bit of angst :)

as sanemi had grown older he had realized he was made to protect. protect his siblings from his father and his mother from him as well and at times herself. he protected her from sickness, making sure she was warm during the winter and fall season, and tending to her when she had fallen sick. he protected his siblings from sickness as well, and from neighbourhood children who were as cruel as the demons he faces now.

if only he had been able to protect his siblings from his mother, his mother from herself, and genya from the feelings of abandonment. then maybe just maybe his life wouldn’t have come to this.

on his second chance at redemption he failed. failed to save his friend from the touch of death but had gained hashira status and an unremarkable strength. was it really worth it?

meeting you had made him feel something. something foreign and sweet. your voice was intoxicating like fine sake and your touch was as warm and fluffy similar to his mother’s hugs. it was shocking really how he could find warmth in such a cold world.

you were his everything. he had engraved every moment with you into his mind and every part of your face and body was imprinted in his heart.

a few of his favourite memories of you had happened to be some of scariest and happiest moments in his life. he had never knew what true fear and anxiety was like until he had gotten the message from his crow that described how you had ran into uppermoon 2 and it left you heavily injured. he had ran a whole 6 miles towards the butterfly estate, not caring that his lungs were feeling like they would explode. he had prayed to whatever gods that existed to not take away his soulmate, his love. and it appeared that they had listened this once. been his heart had dropped to his feet again after kocho had informed him that due to the severity of your casualties a possibility was deemed that you may never wake up again. he refused to accept it, you were strong. your his goddamn soulmate! the love of his life! no god was sadistic enough to make him go through a life time of grief and sadness again. right?

and it appears that he was blessed again. on the tenth day of your coma sanemi had awaken from the side of your bed to find you awake and smiling at him softly, your voice was still as lovely and soft as he remembered. “good morning my love”

sanemi was never one to believe that he would find true love. that was, until he met you of course. he had always thought that genya was the one to get married, have children and live a care free happy life. but seeing as how the younger shinazugawa brother had followed the older one, it seemed as that was a distance dream as well.

so who would’ve thought that sanemi would be the one to marry? his wedding was one of the happiest days of his life, it marked an eternity with you by his side.

but the day he had found out you were carrying his child? he couldn’t have been more excited in his life. he couldn’t wait to care for you during your pregnancy and become a better father then his ever was. “im going to be a father?” his eyes were wide and his mouth slightly agape. his eyes trailed down to your stomach, his baby was in there.

“i found out today and couldn’t wait to tell you” you smile and giggle at his reaction. you pull him by his hand and press a soft kiss to his cheek. he snaps back into reality and immediately wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer towards him.

“im going to be a father!”

he smiles fondly as he reminisces about those moments, they had all led him to this very moment he had been preparing for all of 9 months. anxiety had bubbled up inside his stomach as he pasted back and fourth along the halls of the butterfly estate.

“shinazugawa-sama, your wife and baby are both healthy and ready to see. congratulations on your new baby boy.” the kakushi slides the door open and as he steps in, he feels as if he’s on cloud 9.

he walks towards you and presses a soft kiss on your head mumbling the softest praises and faintest “i love yous” against the yell of your ear. you gently place your new born son into his fathers scarred arms, he’s careful not to move too much wanting to make sure his son is comfortable. as he gazes down at his baby he takes in every part of his face and ingraves it into his mind. his baby has the most beautiful (e/c) eyes, that he got from you, his mommy. sanemi can’t help but admire his sons fluffs of white hair, a very visible trait inherited from his father. who would’ve thought the short tempered wind hashira could be so soft? sanemi has never been more happy in his life till now, this is the cherry on top. he knows he would never want to be anywhere too far from his wife and son ever, not in a million years. suddenly all the wishes and dreams of a happy loving family seemed possible. this was just the firstborn, more would be to come soon.

this was his third chance. and he would be damned if he were to fail again.

#sanemi x reader #sanemi fluff #kny #demon slayer #sanemi #sanemi imagine #sanemi angst #kny fluff #kny angst #shinazugawa sanemi #shinazugawa brothers

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zeciex · 30 days

Text

A Vow of Blood - 72

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 72: Ill Tidings

AO3 - Masterlist

Rhaenyra settled herself on the edge of her son’s bed, admiring the exquisite craftsmanship that depicted a dragon majestically ascending the bedpost, its tail artfully coiling around it. The creature seemed to perch atop the structure like a vigilant guardian watching over the bed’s occupant, its eyes fashioned from rubies that glinted, casting a protective gleam. The intricate detail of the carving gave life to the dragon, making it appear as though it could leap into the air at any moment.

With a gentle motion of her hand, she swept Luke’s dense, dark hair from his pallid forehead, her fingers caressing him with the tenderness only a mother could provide. She caught herself reminiscing about the days when his hair curled playfully, lending him an mischievous, cheeky appearance, particularly when his grin widened in excitement.

Their return to Dragonstone had been anything but easy for the boy. Despite the heavens being clear and the ocean’s temperament calm, Luke had been severely afflicted. The ghost of greensick had clung to him, bleaching his cheeks of their usual pink vibrancy and replacing it with a sickly green pallor. Every wave that collided with the ship’s side seemed to send spasms through his delicate frame as sickness seemed to curl in his stomach.

His younger siblings had fared better with the sea’s capricious nature, but traveling with young children, particularly those just beginning to explore the world on unsteady legs, brought its own set of challenges.

Now, Luke rested on the bed, its fine silken linens forming a sharp contrast with his pale complexion. Candlelight danced across his face, illuminating beads of sweat that made his skin glisten. Damp locks of hair adhered to his forehead, and a visible tiredness pressed upon his features, dimming the usual spark in his blue eyes to a mere flicker of their former vibrancy.

With a hard swallow, Luke expressed his doubts, his voice a mere fragile quiver, “How can I ever be fit to command a fleet of ships as the Lord of Driftmark if merely boarding one turns my stomach and persistently ails me?”

Rhaenyra chuckled softly, her fingertips tenderly sweeping through the damp locks, her touch lingering on his skin, wishing to soothe his worries away. Her fingers gently descended to his cheek, offering a tender caress, filled with compassion for the boy.

“Oh, sweet boy,” she spoke, her eyes sparked with a sliver of amusement, “No one is forged into greatness overnight. You have much to learn, give yourself time. And no one expects you to fill out Corlys’s shoes while he still wears them.”

“But if he were to… not make it…” Luke’s voice waned into silence. The weight of such thoughts clouded his eyes, the dark circles under them speaking of the strain of restless days spent at sea.

“Luke…” With a soft shifting of her position, Rhaenyra made herself more comfortable, mindful of the unborn child nestled against her ribcage, making its presence known in the shortness of her breath. The whisper of her gown against the silken linens filled the quiet room, as she sought a momentary relief from the gentle but persistent pressure.

“I’m not cut out to be the Lord of the Tides,” Luke murmured, his head shaking in denial. A visible cloud of fear and apprehension enveloped him, pulling at his features, casting a shadow over him. “Grandsire was the greatest sailor to ever live. And I get greensick before the ship even leaves the harbor.”

“Lord Corlys stands apart from others,” Rhaenyra responded. “I’ve had the privilege of knowing him for years. His resilience is unparalleled, outmatching even those half his age. Believe me, a mere ailment won’t be his downfall. He has much to teach you, and you’ll have ample time to learn.”

“If he dies, I will have to take his place,” Luke countered, his eyes burning. “I can’t be lord of the Tides–I–I don’t want Driftmark, it should have passed on to Ser Vaemond… I will ruin everything.”

“We don’t choose our destiny, Luke, it chooses us.” Rhaenyra once more brushed his hair from his brow, a tender gesture amidst the tension. As Luke turned his face away in an act of petulance, there was a distinct undercurrent of exasperation in his movements, a defiance fueled by fear.

“Grandsire let you choose whether you’d be his heir,” Luke persisted, pushing himself up to lean against the headboard, a stubborn defiance etching his brow. “You told us so.”

Rhaenyra drew in a measured breath, her gaze sweeping over her son noting the turmoil within him. His expression mirrored the tumultuous seas' relentless waves crashing against the cliffs beneath their castle–a sight all too familiar to her, evoking memories of her own moments of doubt and fear on the edge of her own destiny.

“And would you like to hear the truth of it?” Gently taking Luke’s hand in hers, she sought his eyes with her own, ensuring he felt the sincerity in her words. “I was frightened. I was… four and ten. Same as you are now. I wasn’t ready to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The thought of wearing the crown was overwhelming. It was a responsibility I felt unprepared for, but… it was my duty.”

She paused, allowing her confession to sink in. “And, in time, I came to understand I had to earn my inheritance–I had to prove myself worthy of it.”

Luke’s expression tightened, a visible tension as he bit his lower lip and looked away, his voice wavering as he whispered, “I’m not like you.”

“In what way, sweet boy?”

“I’m not so…” He hesitated, his eyes flickering around the room, avoiding direct contact as though ashamed–and perhaps he was when he finally admitted, “Perfect.”

A gentle warmth bubbled up inside her chest, a fond amusement at the words of her son. Her smile widened as she leaned forward, her hand gently sweeping his hair back from his forehead. She drew him closer, pressing her forehead against his in a moment of reassurance, then left soft kisses on his cheek. Her thumb stroked the blush that spread across his skin. “I am anything but… My father looked after me, and helped to prepare me for my duties. Your mother will do the same for you.”

“I’m not ready for the responsibility, but I will try and make myself worthy of it,” Luke admitted, his spirit evidently lifted, if only a little, by her assurances.

“We have years, sweet boy,” Rhaenyra said, “Now, try to rest and get some sleep.”

Luke nestled back into the comforts of his bed, his hand absently rubbing at his eye while he stifled a yawn. His eyelids seemed to grow heavier by the moment, slowly succumbing to the inviting embrace of sleep. Rhaenyra continued to smooth his disheveled hair with gentle strokes, leaning down to plant a loving kiss on his forehead. Despite his growing frame, in her eyes, he remained her precious little boy.

With the utmost care, she began to lift herself from the bed, her movements delicate to avoid waking Luke from his peaceful slumber. Standing beside the bed, she paused, taking a deep breath while her hand instinctively cradled the swell of her belly. It seemed the child within her, too, was asleep.

Despite offering unwavering reassurance to Luke, Rhaenyra couldn’t shake a persistent unease about Corlys’s wellbeing. Such uncertainties, however, she would keep buried, hidden from her son. It would only worry him if he knew that she was worried. The path of succession had been set for all the kingdom to know. Whether or not he felt ready for it, the burden of leadership would fall to him upon Corlys’s death. Her deepest hope was that when the time came for him to carry the mantle of Lord of the Tides he would be ready.

Wandering the dimly lit halls of Dragonstone, the intermittent light from torches guided her way. Occasionally, beams of sunlight broke through the grand windows, casting a warm, golden glow over the ancient stone corridors.

Upon her arrival in the great hall, her attention was immediately captured by the sight of Daemon, seated near the vibrant hearth. The play of light and shadow across his features revealed him deep in thought, seemingly adrift in a private ocean of contemplation.

Her gown whispered against the stone floor as she moved closer, her presence breaking the hush that filled the room. Ascending the stairs to his side, she spoke with a blend of softness and authority, “Luke finally rests, though uneasily.”

Daemon hummed, shifting his gaze from the flames to her as she approached.

“He’s troubled by the thought of ruling Driftmark,” Rhaenyra continued, “And more so by the prospect of commanding the fleet from the deck of a ship.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his features, dispelling the heaviness of contemplation entirely. He extended his hand, inviting her to draw nearer. “It seems it will be sooner than later that he becomes the Lord of Driftmark.”

With a teasing nudge against Daemon’s shoulder, Rhaenyra playfully scolded him, her tongue clicking in reproach. Daemon’s hand, those of a weathered warrior, was tender as it encircled her wrist, drawing her near. He tenderly pressed his forehead against the swell of her expecting belly, his hands gliding over the contours of her hips with a touch that was loving. She responded by lovingly cradling his head, weaving her fingers through his hair. There was a certain reverence in his actions, an adoration not just for the child she carried but for the act of creation itself.

“He feels unprepared,” Rhaenyra confided, “Believes he is not up for the task. He even mentioned that Vaemond might have been a better choice.”

“Vaemond?” Daemon’s response was laced with disdain. “He was nothing but a sea slug, dreaming of grandeur beyond his merit. By staking a claim on what was never his, he dishonored his brother and their house. My daughters hold a stronger right to the seat of Driftmark than he ever did–and Lucerys more so.”

“His hesitation is not without reason,” Rhaenyra remarked, her voice tinged with weariness. Luke’s sensitivity to the rumors of illegitimacy had always been more pronounced than with Jace or Daenera. Growing up shadowed by accusations of bastardy had been challenging, a challenge only intensified by the Hightowers’ readiness to openly oppose them. While Jace shouldered the malicious gossip with unwavering resolve and Daenera with indifferent defiance, Rhaenyra knew that Luke found the weight crippling–more so, as he thought himself unworthy of Driftmark.

“Luke is the blood of the dragon,” Daemon asserted, his gaze lifting to meet hers. “By right and by choice, he is Corlys’s successor. He will carry on the Velaryon name, whether he shares the blood or not, and with Rhaena as his wife, his children will carry on the name both in right and in blood. He is the heir, he cannot deny his rightful claim.”

“He is aware of this, yet I fear that Vaemond’s outright accusation has unsettled him,” Rhaenyra responded, a gentle rebuke in her tone as her fingers grazed his neck softly.

A sigh escaped Daemon, his frustration momentarily visible, though he restrained any verbal expression of it. “Vaemond’s challenge ended with him, as did his claims. Viserys has made his position known, unequivocally. If the Sea Snake was to succumb to his wounds, Luke would ascend to the lordship of Driftmark whether he is ready or not. Rhaenys yet lives–”

“Rhaenys might have consented to the betrothals, but her affection for us is hardly warm.”

“We needn’t have her affection,” Daemon said. “Rhaena will be the Lady of Driftmark and Baela will become Queen. It’s reasonable to assume she’d be inclined to protect this union and support Lucerys, should he step into his role as Lord of Driftmark. Under such circumstances, he’d be surrounded by allies prepared to impart the knowledge he lacks. He’s still young, but I have no doubt he’ll grow into his role. He’s bound to gain his sea legs some day.”

“I certainly hope so,” she responded with a light laugh. “Otherwise, he might find himself leading from atop a dragon instead of a ship.”

“The better choice,” Daemon drawled, a subtle smile on his lips. “Laenor excelled in dragon-mounted combat during the war. It earned him great respect among the men. However much he doubts it, he will come into his own.”

With a sigh of contentment, Rhaenyra allowed herself a moment of peace, her eyelids closing as she rolled her neck, easing the tension.

“Given a choice,” she reflected, her tone light and wistful, “I, too, would choose a dragon over the confines of a litter or the swaying of a ship.”

Daemon’s answering hum, deep and resonant, was a wordless concord, acknowledging both the sentiment and the shared experience they held. “After such an exhaustive journey, you ought to rest here for the night. King’s Landing can wait until dawn.”

Rhaenyra’s lips parted, ready with a rebuttal, “I gave Alicent my word–”

“The hag can wait,” Daemon sharply cut her off, his features settling into an annoyed scowl, his disdain for Alicent barely concealed. “Your health is the priority.”

Their exchange was suddenly interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, the rhythmic clatter of armor breaking the tension in the room. A figure, cloaked in the gleaming white of the Kingsguard, approached them. “Good day, Princess.”

Rhaenyra’s focus shifted from Daemon to the knight standing before them with an urgent expression on his face. “And to you, Ser Lorent.”

“Princess Rhaenys has just arrived on dragonback. She urgently requests an audience with you and Prince Daemon,” Ser Lorent informed, his tone imbued with a sense of importance.

Rhaenyra exchanged a glance with Daemon, an unspoken current of concern passing between them. Recognizing the gravity of the moment, she gave Ser Lorent a nod of acknowledgement, a silent command to proceed. The knight bowed respectfully, then turned to usher in the newly arrived guest.

The unexpected presence of Rhaenys cast a palpable sense of foreboding throughout the room, the atmosphere charged with anticipation as thick and ominous as a dense morning fog. The Northerners hold to the adage ‘dark wings, dark words,’ yet one could only wonder what importance was ascribed to messages delivered on the wings of a dragon.

Rhaenyra, lowering her voice to a whisper fraught with apprehension, confided in Daemon, “Could it be that… he has truly succumbed?”

Daemon responded with a subtle, assured shake of his head. “The old Sea Snake is made of sterner stuff. A mere blood ailment wouldn’t be enough to claim him.”

Rhaenyra harbored her doubts, why else would Rhaenys be here?

As the grand doors creaked open once more, their echoing sound filled the expansive hall. The quiet that followed was slowly engulfed by the wind’s relentless currents outside, which at times rose to a haunting howl as it wound through the castle’s ancient battlements. Over time, the sound had become as familiar as the walls – unnoticed until silence magnified its presence, making it seem as though the elements themselves were voicing their dissent.

Rhaenys entered with determined strides, her footsteps echoing a steady rhythm on the stone. Her riding gear, reminiscent of battle armor, hugged her figure, its deep crimson leather designed to mirror the scales of her dragon, Meleys. The riding leathers were complemented by iron shoulder guards, lending her an aura of indomitable strength.

And perhaps that, in itself, was what sowed the seed of dread within Rhaenyra.

“The Princess Rhaenys Targaryen,” Ser Lorent declared with a formal tone, stepping aside to let Rhaenys pass.

“Thank you, Ser Lorent.” With a nod of gratitude from Rhaenyra, the esteemed Kingsguard discreetly withdrew to the edges of the room, blending into the shadows as Rhaenys advanced to stand before the elaborately carved table of Westeros. Her searching gaze swept across its surface, then finally settled on Rhaenyra, her expression grave.

“Princess Rhaenys,” Rhaenyra began, her hand instinctively moving to caress her belly, “might we hope for news of Lord Corlys’s recovery–”

“Viserys is dead,” Rhaenys cut in, carrying a sharpness that seemed to penetrate the very essence of Rhaenyra.

The ground seemed to falter under her feet, her breath caught in her throat. Rhaenyra felt her heart pause, a momentary halt in its rhythm before it plummeted, becoming as dense and immovable as a boulder lodged within her ribcage. The shock of the words was so profound, so utterly disorienting, that for a fleeting moment, the world itself appeared to bend, leaving her suspended in a state of disbelief. She struggled to reconcile the news with the world she knew as her eyes locked on Rhaenys, a crease of confusion forming on her brow.

Rhaenys spoke again, her tone imbued with a shared sorrow and pressing a sense of urgency, “I grieve this loss with you, Rhaenyra. My cousin, your father, possessed a kind heart.”

With every step Rhaenys took towards her, Rhaenyra felt an overwhelming sensation, as though each footfall carried the force of a tidal wave poised to shatter her resolve, her composure fraught. The space between them closed, bringing into sharp focus the solemnity etched into the woman’s features.

“There is more,” she uttered, words that seemed an attempt to soften the devastation she had yet to reveal.

A profound sense of dread engulfed Rhaenyra, her heartbeat escalating to a frantic rhythm, as if it sought to escape the prison of her chest. The air around her thickened with an impending sense of despair, each breath she took shallow as the world seemed to press in around her. She battled the surge of tears that prickled at her eyes and the swell of fear that threatened to drown her.

What more could there possibly be? Deep down, Rhaenyra knew what was to come, though she fiercely hoped to be proved wrong – she clung to this sliver of hope with a desperate tenacity, only to have it cruelly torn from her as Rhaenys spoke again.

“Aegon has been crowned his successor,” Rhaenys revealed, her voice steady yet laden with the weight of the news she bore. This revelation struck Rhaenyra with the force of a physical blow, each word a heavy chain adding to the grief she already bore.

A visceral, sharp pain tore through Rhaenyra, as if claws made of steel were shedding her insides. A soft, involuntary sound of distress slipped past her lips as she clutched the swell of her stomach, feeling another sharp stab shoot through her. She rubbed her stomach, attempting to soothe the pain and as the initial wave of agony subsided, she mustered the strength to look up at Rhaenys again, her face etched with devastation.

“They crowned him?” She managed to utter, her voice a fragile echo of its former strength, no more than a mere whisper.

In the dim light of the room, her gaze found Daemon, his figure slumped in a display of utter desolation. As he raised his head, a raw, youthful vulnerability surfaced in his voice, reminiscent of a boy grappling with the loss of his brother. “How did Viserys die?”

Rhaenys regarded Daemon with a slight lift of her brow, a subtle expression of surprise at his question. After a brief pause, she responded with measured words, “I could not say.”

“How long ago?” Rhaenyra inquired, urgency sharpening her tone as waves of panic and sorrow began to surge within her. The memory of their last farewell to him was hauntingly fresh; they had left with promises of a swift return.

“Three days past, perhaps four. I was made a prisoner in my quarters while the Queen made her preparations.”

At this, Daemon’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, his knuckles whitening with the force of his grasp. “Viserys has been slain.”

“Alicent demanded you declare for Aegon.”

“She did,” Rhaenys answered, a note of pity in her tone.

Rhaenyra felt a gentle sway of disbelief, a tightening in her throat as the stark reality of betrayal bit at her senses, igniting a painful burn within. The taste of hope, once so sweet and alive, now turned vile and rotten in her mouth. Betrayal, though not unfamiliar, never ceased to shock with its bitterness. She had foolishly believed that the fractures in her relationship with Alicent could be mended, that the closeness they once shared could be reclaimed. Yet, this egregious act of disloyalty had shattered such illusions, tearing open scars that had barely begun to heal.

A sharpness took root in her gaze, as her perception of Rhaenys teetered on shifting.

Rhaenys seemed to realize this and continued with a firm tone, “I refused her.”

“And yet you are alive,” Daemon observed, the remark carrying a note of skepticism and accusation. His nature was to preempt, to approach others with caution and a measure of distrust – to demand loyalty and respond to any measure of disloyalty with the cold precision of a blade, and if not that, then with firm condemnation. His circle of trust had always been tightly drawn, extended to only a few. And with the death of Viserys, that circle had shrunk. The notion that his brother would depart this world without a final farewell seemed an especially cruel jest.

“The High Septon crowned Aegon in the Dragonpit,” Rhaenys elaborated, moving closer to Rhaenyra, the movement catching her attention as she struggled to reconcile with the magnitude of the betrayal she was hearing. The pain she felt was visceral, as though someone was tearing at her insides, wrenching her very soul. She barely managed to stifle a cry of agony.

Rhaenys pushed forward with her account, “I witnessed it myself just before I fled on Meleys.”

“They dared crown him before the masses?”

“So that the masses would see him as their rightful king–”

“That whore of a queen murdered my brother and stole his throne,” Daemon spat venomously, his anger as palpable as the crackle of the fire behind them and the howl of the wind outside the walls. “And you could have burned them all.”

“A war is like to be fought over this treachery, to be sure,” Rhaenys admitted, her tone steady in the face of Daemon’s fury. “But that war is not mine to begin. I only rushed this warning to you out of loyalty to my husband and my house, and out of love for Daenera.”

“And what of Daenera? Was she able to flee as you did? Is she here?” Another surge of pain coursed through her, as if clawing at her very being from within. Her heart ached, wrenching with worry and fear for her daughter at the possibility–of the likelihood that she was ensnared within the walls of King’s Landing while all of this unfolded. The sight of sympathy in Rhaenys’s eyes – a look tempered by years of her own losses and hardened by the chill of enduring grief – sent a fresh wave of panic through Rhaenyra. It felt as if fear seized her heart, squeezing it with a merciless force. The sharp pain left her gasping for air, her fingers clawing at the table’s surface in a feeble search for stability.

Her voice grew more insistent and desperate as she demanded answers, “What has become of my daughter?”

There was a moment’s pause, a hesitation from Rhaenys that seemed to stretch into eternity before she finally spoke, “She stood with the Greens as they crowned Aegon… And… They announced her betrothal to Aemond.”

Rhaenyra’s reaction was immediate, a sharp intake of breath as her fingers clenched around the table’s edge. Briefly, she screwed her eyes shut, battling the surge of fear that threatened to overwhelm her and the sharp, distinct pain twist within her like a blade mercilessly opening her up.

“She sided with the Greens?” Daemon’s incredulity was palpable, his tone imbued with a sense of betrayal as keen as the sword he wielded.

“Yes, she–”

“She has forsaken us! Betrayed us for the sake of those vipers!” Daemon sneered.

“No,” Rhaenys countered firmly, seeming to take a moment to steady herself against the tide of Daemon’s fury. “Like me, she was held captive, and she made an attempt at escape–one that I had hoped she was successful in, until I saw her on the stage. The Hightowers understand the significance of her presence, and it is of my belief that they coerced her into a show of support.”

“But you cannot be sure,” Daemon sneered.

Rhaenys’s demeanor hardened, “She was ready to meet her end with the Greens, urging me to unleash Meleys fire upon all of them.”

“You should have,” Daemon retorted sharply, his gaze fierce and unwavering, eyes burning with rage.

Rhaenys held his gaze, her resolve unshaken. “War is not mine to begin, and certainly not at the expense of Daenera’s life. If you want war, you will have to start it yourself.”

Locking onto Rhaenyra with an intensity born of urgency and concern, Rhaenys shifted her gaze. “I only rushed this warning to you out of loyalty to my husband and to my house. The Green’s are coming for you, Rhaenyra. And for your children. You should leave Dragonstone at once.”

The air seemed to thicken with tension following Rhaenys’s admonition, the words echoing ominously in the chamber. Rhaenyra’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table, her knuckles whitening with the grip. Her heart thrummed wildly against her ribs, a chaotic melody of fear and stress, as the matter of the threat coiled in her stomach like a serpent.

Without another word, Rhaenys turned, her movements deliberate and somber, as she walked towards the doors.

The heavy echo of the warning lingered, a palpable presence in the room, as Rhaenyra remained motionless, save for the rapid rise and fall of her chest. And suddenly, a sharp, unyielding pang of pain lanced through her, drawing an anguished cry from her lips. The cry echoed, a haunting sound of sheer distress that bounced off the smooth stone walls. The tears she had fought so hard to keep back, dripped from her lashes as she instinctively wrapped her arms around her pregnant belly, a protective gesture amid the torrent of pain – accompanying this agony was a chilling fear, sparked by the sensation of unexpected wetness seeping between her legs.

Trembling, Rhaenyra reached down, her hands unsteady as she lifted the fabric of her gown. Her fingertips grazed the wetness, tracing the chilling trail it left on her skin. When she looked at her fingers, the sight that greeted her was one stark, horrifying truth: they were smeared with a vivid red of fresh blood.

She drew in a shuddering breath at the realization of what this meant, “The babe is coming.”

Daemon’s response was immediate and instinctive; he let go of his sword, the sound of metal meeting stone barely registering as he swiftly moved to his wife’s side. The clatter of his discarded weapon was lost to him as he kneeled beside her, offering her support as she began to falter, clutching the table for stability.

“Summon the midwives, immediately!” He commanded Ser Lorent, glaring up at him as the knight quickly withdrew to do his bidding. His gaze fleetingly locked with Rhaenys’, the worry within her eyes unmistakable. Nevertheless, he quickly redirected his attention, brushing aside any further interaction with her as he concentrated solely on Rhaenyra, his concern for his wife eclipsing all else.

Feeling Rhaenyra’s fingers clutching him, her grip tightening in a desperate search for stability, he guided her arm around his neck and swiftly lifted her up. One arm supported her legs while the other encircled her back, ensuring she was held with care yet firmly enough to provide the support she needed.

As he made his way to their private chambers, the seriousness of the moment bore heavily upon him. Each step echoed ominously through the corridors, Rhaenyra’s labored breathing filling the silence between them. Her heartbeat, rapid and strong against his chest, served as a harrowing reminder of what was at stake. Having already faced the profound loss of his brother, the thought of facing another loss so soon – that of his wife and their child – was unbearable.

Daemon had traversed this path before, an experience he hoped never to repeat. As he gently placed Rhaenyra on their bed, the fine embroidery and the silk bedding contrasted starkly with the direness of the situation. Rhaenyra’s eyes, awash with a tumult of pain and fear, wandered over her stomach, her fingers lightly drawing circles in what seemed like a feeble attempt to offer solace to their child within.

“What are you going to do?” She inquired, extending her hand to intertwine with his. Her hold was at once delicate and determined, and in her gaze he found an unvoiced entreaty for assurance, for something to hold onto amid the uncertainty.

“All I can do,” He assured her with sincere resolve. “Prepare for what comes next.”

A wave of pain then seized Rhaenyra, her expression twisting in torment. Witnessing this, Daemon felt his heart tighten, as if caught in the merciless grip of a storm, each surge of wind poised to hurl him into oblivion.

A sense of powerlessness gnawed at him, which could only give way to frustration and restlessness. In the midst of this helplessness, a fierce rage kindled within him, craving for something to burn against. It was a harsh realization – that while he could confront his enemies on the battlefield, in the confines of these walls, there was little he could do. This vulnerability, this inability to act, was an adversary unlike any he had ever faced or would ever face. It was in this powerless fury he found himself ensnared, surrendering to the blaze of his indignation.

Drawing a deep breath to steady himself, he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to Rhaenyra’s sweat-slicked forehead. “Umbagon kostōba ñuha jorrāelagon”

Stay strong, my love.

Rhaenyra leaned into the comfort of his touch before permitting him to pull away, seeming to understand that he could not stay.

Daemon stepped back, casting a final, solemn look at the midwives who had gathered to assist his wife. With a nod of acknowledgement, he entrusted them with her care, his mind shifting towards the tempest brewing beyond the castle walls.

The looming prospect of war bore down on him, a burden both familiar and oddly comforting in its clarity of purpose.

Moving through the winding corridors of Dragonstone, Daemon was enveloped by the grandeur of the ancient fortress. Carved from the same stark, imposing rock that formed its foundation, the castle was a testament to the enduring legacy of his ancestors. Stone dragons coiled around pillars, their sculpted eyes catching the flickering torchlight, casting shadows that seemed alive, moving with the flames. The pervasive scent of the sea filled the air, a salty reminder of the island’s isolation and strength.

These halls whispered of bygone eras, of dragons and the bloodline of House Targaryen – a lineage now under siege.

Daemon’s ascent up the spiral staircase, which twisted upward as if reaching for the heavens, opening up into a corridor which finally led to the Maester’s chambers. Crafted from aged oak and adorned with iron dragons, it stood as a barrier to the knowledge held within. Gathering his resolve, Daemon knocked firmly, the sound resonating through the silent corridor, a clear call for counsel in the face of what lay ahead.

The moment Daemon pushed the door open, he was greeted by a surge of warm air and the comforting smell of wood smoke. Maester Geradys, with his maester’s chain clinking softly, stood before him. Initially, there was a trace of warmth in the old maester’s expression, a stark contrast to Daemon’s grim visage. However, as the maester fully registered Daemon’s presence, his welcoming smile faded into a look of concern.

“My brother, the King, is dead,” Daemon announced, finding the words filled with resentment.

“Where have you heard such a thing?” Maester Geradys’s questioned, a confused frown deepening the line between his brow. “I haven’t received–”

“Rhaenys arrived on dragonback, directly from King’s Landing,” Daemon explained impatiently, moving into the herbally scented room as Maester Geradys stepped aside to welcome him in. “The Hightowers have seen fit to usurp Rhaenyra and have made a show of crowning Aegon as king.”

“By the gods…” Maester Geradys placed his hands on the surface on his desk, the gravity of the situation seeming to sink in. “This… This is an act of treason! This is preposterous! This–this will surely lead to war.”

Maester Geradys, seemingly overwhelmed by the prospect, staggered slightly before sinking into the chair behind his desk. “My prince, what would you have me do?”

Daemon’s response was swift and decisive, urgency treading through his composed delivery. “We’ve been taken by surprise, that won’t happen again. The Hightowers may have seized a momentary advantage, but it’s the last they will gain from us. Send words to our allies nearby, call for an assembly. We’ll need Lords Celtigar, Staunton, Massey, Emmon, and Darklyn. Inform them that their Queen summons them for their counsel.

“The ravens will be sent without delay. With favorable winds, our allies will arrive at dawn on the morrow,” Maester Geradys assured him, quickly grabbing the quill, the maester’s chain jungling with the movement. “I will also send word to Driftmark, in the hopes that when Lord Corlys recovers, he will be informed and set sail.”

“Once you’ve dispatched the ravens, make haste to Rhaenyra,” Daemon instructed, his voice laden with a sense of pressing need. “It seems the news of her father’s passing and the treachery has brought on labor.”

At this, Maester Geradys snapped to attention, his reaction a mix of alarm and readiness. In his rush, the inkwell was knocked over, sending a cascade of ink across the desk, staining the parchment below. “But the time is not yet right. It’s too early.”

Daemon brushed aside the maester’s words, making his way towards the exit, but the clinking of chains and Maester Geradys’s call stopped him. “And the fate of Princess Daenera?”

Pausing at the threshold, Daemon’s silhouette framed against the door. “She remains in King’s Landing. We assume she’s been made a hostage.”

The Maester’s complexion visibly paled at the implications, a somber understanding flashing across his features. With a grave nod, he conceded, “I will reach out to your friends and allies for any information they are willing to impart.”

“I will patrol the skies until our allies arrive, and ensure that it remains ours,” Daemon declared. “The guards will be informed to keep vigilant, we do not know if the Hightowers decide to strike now that we know.”

A sense of grim satisfaction welled up in Daemon, a resonance with the imminent conflict that felt natural to him. Warfare was a realm in which he thrives, a domain of clear rules and brutal honesty that the Hughtowers would soon learn was perilous to invoke. Exiting the maester’s chambers, he encountered Ser Lorent and Ser Brandon Piper, the captain of the guard, their presence a reminder of the duties that lay ahead.

As they moved down the serpentine steps of the Sea Dragon Tower, heading back to the heart of the castle, their footsteps resonated against the ancient stone, a drumbeat to war’s looming overture.

“Increase the watch on the ramparts and keep an eye on the seas,” Daemon commanded, his voice embodying the essence of leadership. “We’ll be sending out ravens. Lord Celtigar, Staunton, Massey, Emmon, and Darkly will be joining us. The Hightower’s next move remains unseen. If Otto Hightower is as callous and honorless as I believe him to be, he will be sending men to cut our throats in our sleep. Treat any unknown faces with caution; detain and interrogate if you must.”

“Understood, Your Grace.”

Turning to face them squarely, Daemon’s expression was one of stern resolve. “Rhaenyra is the Queen now, and her safety is paramount, as is the protection of her heir, Jacaerys.”

The men nodded solemnly.

“Will you be with the Queen, now that she has gone into labor?” Ser Brandon Piper asked, his voice cautious and hesitant.

Daemon gritted his teeth. “I will patrol the skies.”

It was the only thing he could do.

Returning to the great hall, Daemon adjusted Dark Sister, picking up the sword from the floor where he had left it to carry his wife to their bedchambers. Its cool steel provided a familiar, reassuring presence. An undercurrent of restlessness stirred within him, akin to the fervor he’d felt during his campaign in the Stepstones, particularly when he had received his brother’s missive announcing reinforcements. Back then, he’d been eager to demonstrate his independence and capability to conclude the conflict he had refused to acknowledge.

Drawing Dark Sister from its sheath, Daemon allowed the blade to catch the light, its dark steel shimmering ominously. The weapon’s edge was unparalleled in sharpness, its rippled dark metal having tasted the lifesblood of countless foes. It was not merely a sword; it was a legacy. It had safeguarded the House against traitors, usurpers, and all who wished its downfall. Now, it seemed destiny called upon it to fulfill its purpose once more.

With a fluid motion born of countless battles, Daemon twirled the sword, taking a moment to appreciate its craftsmanship before sheathing it once again. The thought of the Hightowers daring to usurp what belonged to the Targaryens ignited a fierce resolve within him. They would soon learn the folly of provoking the wrath of the dragon.

Convinced of the Hightower’s guilt in Viserys’s demise, Daemon believed they had orchestrated the slow erosion of what set above the Targaryen house from all others. They had poisoned his brother’s mind against his own blood to consolidate their power. Years of manipulation had estranged him from Viserys, and now with his death, they robbed them of any chance for reconciliation. Despite Viserys’s weaknesses, he was still his brother, one he would have defended against all threats, including those from within. If only Viserys had placed as much trust in Daemon as he had the Hightowers they wouldn’t be where they were now.

A fierce sense of anger burned within him, spreading through his veins and amplifying his restlessness. Clenching his teeth, he made his way towards the doors, and before he could emerge into the corridor, Jace’s voice cut through the air.

“What is happening?”

“I don’t know,” Baela answered him, her voice tinged with confusion.

“I saw Meleys on the beach,” Rhaena added.

“Rhaenys is here?”

As Daemon stepped through the doors, converging on their little gathering, their gazes immediately locked onto him, quickly followed by a barrage of questions.

“What has happened?” Jace pressed, his brow set in a firm, albeit confused line.

“Is it Corlys?” Baela interjected, with Rhaenya further inquiring, “Is that the reason for Rhaenys’s visit?”

Faced with their eager demands for answers, Daemon responded with a weary hum, “Come with me.”

Daemon moved through their midst, his grip on the sheath unyielding, acutely aware of the worried and inquisitive stares that seemed to bore into him, an almost tangible sensation against his skin. The air hung dense with a palpable sense of dread, reminiscent of the ominous anticipation of watching a storm gather strength over the ocean. Dark clouds, vast and threatening, seemed to loom on the horizon, and it was as if the world held its breath, waiting for the inevitable deluge that the growing storm promised to unleash.

With swift, deliberate steps, Daemon guided the children into Luke’s chambers, determined to unite them for this discussion. The sudden entrance roused Luke from his slumber, his hair disheveled, framing his face as he squinted, seemingly perplexed and irritated by the abrupt disturbance. As Daemon urged then to gather on the bed, Luke’s expression twisted into a confused scowl, filling the air with questions.

Jace, Baela, and Rhaena joined Luke on the bed, excluding a blend of impatience that bordered on childish petulance. Daemon’s hand clenched tighter around the sheath of his sword, his eyes meticulously assessing each of them–the determined glint in Jace and Baela’s eyes, Rhaena’s measuring gaze, and Luke’s growing confusion that seemed to slowly grow into apprehension.

“Viserys has passed,” Daemon told them, his voice measured as he let the information fall around them. The room fell into a profound stillness, a silence so dense it seemed tangible until it shattered under the weight of their barrage of inquiries. Their voices merged into a cacophony of confusion and worry, leaving Daemon scarcely a moment to interject.

The news of his brother’s death was surreal. He felt as though he should have known, should have felt his death as keenly as the loss of a limb, but there was no such sensation, just a hollowed echo of memories and the pain of not having been there.

“Has mother been told?” Jace pressed, perched on the edge of the bed with a tension that suggested he might leap to action at any second. Beside him, Rhaena’s unease was palpable, her frown deepening as she speculated, “Is that the reason for Rhaenys’s presence?”

Interrupting, Baela sought more clarification, “So, Corlys lives?”

Her question barely hung in the air before Jace speculated about their mother’s new role, “With Viserys gone, that means that mother is Queen now.”

Luke, struggling to shake the weariness in his tone, voiced his concern, “Are we to return to King’s Landing then?”

“Has something happened with the Hightowers?” Rhaena asked and was then quickly followed by her sister's voice, seeking the reasons for the heightened vigilance of the guards, “Is that why the guards seem so on edge?”

“Does that mean we have to sail back to King’s Landing?” Luke asked apprehensively, seeming to already dread the journey on the waves. “Can’t I take Arrax instead?”

“If mother is Queen–” Jace started, but Daemon had reached his limit with their relentless questioning, not allowing him to get a word in.

“The King is dead, and the Hightowers have usurped the crown,” Daemon declared, his voice cutting through the chaos, decisively silencing the room with the finality of his words. “Aegon has been crowned King.”

This revelation hung in the air, leaving a stark silence in its wake as the significance of the situation began to dawn on them.

Rhaena’s voice was laced with a tremble, betraying her understanding even as she posed the question, “What does this mean for us?”

“War,” Daemon replied succinctly. His voice was firm, brooking no room for doubt. “We’ve sent ravens to our closest allies; they should arrive by dawn. Until then, I will be patrolling the skies. I will not have us be caught unawares should the Hightowers decide to strike.”

His statement was more than a declaration; it was a reassurance of his readiness to protect them, a promise of vigilance in the face of a looming threat.

“This is treason!” Jace declared, his voice thick with scorn. Frustration etched a deep furrow between his brows, his expression darkening as he leaped to his feet. “They have no right!”

“Sit down,” Daemon instructed, his patience wearing thin.

“We should take our dragon’s to King’s Landing,” he argued, fueled by a righteous fury on his mother’s behalf. “Demand their submission or remove their traitorous heads. With Caraxes, Syrax, Vermax, Arrax, and Moondancer, we can force them into bending the knee. We cannot stand idly by while they steal our mother’s throne!”

Daemon’s response was measured, despite his own desire for immediate action. “Much as I share your urge to reclaim the throne, rash actions will not serve us now–”

“But we have more dragons than them!” Jace interrupted.

“We need to gather our forces,” Daemon countered calmly. “The number of guards we have are insufficient to protect the castle, much less against an assault from the Hightowers should they choose to attack us now. While we wait for our allies, we need to defend Dragonstone – and protect your mother, our Queen…”

Daemon allowed his words to sink in before he continued, “The unexpected news of Viserys' passing and the subsequent usurpation has hastened your mother into early labor. While she is abed, and we wait for our allies, we must remain here.”

“She is going to be fine, right?” Luke’s voice hung heavily in the air, pulling the tension taut as worry settled on them.

Daemon hesitated, his eyes lingering on Luke’s anxious expression, a mirror to his own internal worry. He found himself at a loss for comforting words. The danger of childbirth was well-known, its risks amplified under the circumstances of this premature and abrupt labor. As if to underscore the severity of the situation, their mother’s cries of distress echoed through the castle corridors.

“The master is with your mother now,” Daemon said, offering some semblance of reassurance amidst another distressed cry reverberating down the hall. “She is strong. Stronger than many give her credit for.”

“What of Daenera? Was she able to flee King’s Landing alongside Rhaenys? Is she here?” Rhaena inquired, concern etching her features.

Daemon’s response was heavy with implication. “Daenera was unable to make her escape. She was at the coronation – she stood with the Hightowers in an apparent show of support–”

Before they could all erupt into yells, Daemon decisively held up a finger, silencing them before they could ever finish their sentences. “For now we are to assume she has been made a hostage.”

Jace’s reaction was immediate, his statement underscored by the nodding agreement of Baela and Luke. “We cannot just abandon her there. We need to devise a plan to rescue her.”

“And how do you propose we execute such a plan?” Daemon challenged, feeling the twist of exasperation and frustration in his chest. “Shall we take to the skies on our dragons and storm King’s Landing, leaving your mother undefended? Do you plan to threaten the destruction of the Red Keep to secure her release? Should Daenera indeed be their hostage, they’d likely end her life rather than return her to us. If we want your sister back, we must be clever about it.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Jace demanded, his frustration as palpable as his fear for his sister.

“For the moment, patience is our only recourse,” Daemon responded, his tone laced with understanding. He saw a reflection of Ser Harwin Strong in Jace’s fervor–equally headstrong and impulsive, with a fierce need to protect his loved ones. Yet, Daemon also recognized that Jace would likely arrive at the same pragmatic conclusion. “You will attend to your studies and continue your training. Help me patrol the sky if you must.

“You want us to proceed as though nothing has happened?” Baela countered apprehensively, a tightness of disbelief around her mouth.

“What else can you do?” Daemon answered, drawing in a weary breath. “In tales of war, they seldom mention the waiting, but wait we must.”

Rhaenys made her way along the corridors of Dragonstone, her footsteps echoing against the ancient floors, each sound magnified in the silence of the stronghold. The light that streamed through the grand windows bathed the hallway in a brilliance that no flame could ever mimic. Yet, despite the sunlight, shadows clung stubbornly to the crevices, creating pockets of darkness that seemed almost alive.

A call broke the quiet, “Grandmother!”

At the sound, Rhaenys paused and directed her gaze towards the source.

With a sense of urgency, Baela advanced towards her, the folds of her dress catching the light streaming through the windows, making the beads adorning it shine like tiny stars on a red sky. Her silver hair spilled wildly over her shoulders, reminiscent of her mother’s–she was an echo of her.

“I’ve just been informed,” Baela began, her tone laden with significance. The brevity of her statement left no room for doubt; the news she referred to had undoubtedly made its way through the castle, propelled by the urgent tidings Rhaenys had delivered not long before. This news, now spreading like wildfire through the corridors, was further fueled by the haunting, distant sounds of Rhaenyra’s labored cries, resonating with a foreboding echo throughout the castle.

“We must collect Rhaena and leave Dragonstone at once,” Rhaenys told, her voice tinged with a determination that matched the unease that seemed to chase at her heels. She wished to escape Dragonstone, to retreat to the safety of Driftmark and take solace there. She had no inclination to be swept up in the brewing storm, nor did she wished her grandchildren to be ensnared by it. “A storm is coming, we must leave before it ensnares us all in its tempest.”

“And go where?” Baela countered, her posture unyielding as she faced Rhaenys.

“To the safety of High Tide–”

“High Tide won’t be safe,” Baela interjected sharply. “The Greens will assume we’ll declare for Rhaenyra.”

“High Tide is safer than Dragonstone,” Rhaenys contended, her voice treated with desperation. High Tide wasn’t just another castle; it was her home, a place where they could be safe and fortify against the gathering storm of war. With Corlys making his way there, its walls promised not just safety but a strength to stand against what was coming their way. Dragonstone would be swept up in the brewing tempest before long–if it hadn’t already.

Baela, however, stood firm, her resolve unshaken by the plea. “If war is coming, it is coming for all of us. We cannot hide from it.”

“I’ve suffered too much loss, Baela!” Rhaenys snapped, her voice trembling as she locked eyes with Baela, the pain in her gaze as palpable as the sunlight that flooded the room. “I cannot endure another.”

Her confession laid bare the depths of her dread, a mother and grandmother haunted by the specter of loss, pleading for a reprieve from the specter of further despair.

The memory of receiving Daemon’s letter, bearing the devastating news of her only daughter’s death, remained etched in Rhaenys’s heart, a scar that refused to heal. The anguish had been so overwhelming that she had found herself crumpling to the floor in front of the hearth, her sobs echoing in the cold chamber as the warmth from the gire failed to touch her grief-stricken form. Concerns for her health had summoned the maester, who feared the sorrow might break her heart so completely it ceased beating. Yet, her heart persisted, continuing its relentless beat, each pulse a reminder of her loss.

In the days that followed, a stone coffin, painstakingly sculpted to resemble Laena, was commissioned from the finest mason within the Seven Kingdoms–and yet, it had not resembled Laena as she remembered her. Rhaenys could still recall the icy touch of the stone as she laid her hands upon it, the chill seeping into her bones, mirroring the void Laena’s death had left in her soul.

Corlys had remained by her side, a silent pillar of strength, having seen men perish in the whims of war. He grieved Laena like the loss of his blood–and she grieved her as only a mother could.

Corlys had made the decision to bar Rhaenys from seeing their daughter being enclosed within the casket, sparing her the torment of those final images. Instead, Rhaenys clung to the last memories of Laena–her vibrant smile and the color of her cheeks from flying, a juxtaposition to the unyielding coldness of the stone that held her body. Laena had been laid to rest in the depths of the ocean, joining the lineage of their ancestors, and not long after, her brother would join her in that silent, watery embrace.

The loss of her son had shattered something deep within Rhaenys, a break that time could not mend. A pervasive fear, previously unknown to her, had begun to grow, watered by the harrowing memories of discovering his body. The scent of charred flesh, the sight of a face so consumed by flames that all features were obliterated, leaving behind nothing but blackened skin and empty eye sockets.The acrid smell of burning flesh lingered in her nostrils, a cruel reminder, rekindled with every whiff of smoke that crossed her path.

And unlike Laena, there was nothing of Laenor left in the world. There was nothing to remember him by, no echo or trace of him in others. His absence was a void, an erasure so complete it was as if his essence had been wiped from existence. This absence, this nothingness where once there was laughter, love, and life, perhaps cut the deepest–a son who vanished as though he had never been at all.

Baela moved closer, her expression softening, her voice gentle yet imbued with an underlying strength.

“I am a dragonrider,” she declared, tracing the lineage of fire and resolve of those who came before her, “like my mother and father, and you.”

In Baela’s gaze, a fierce determination ignited, reminiscent of the blazing heart of a dragon’s breath–intense, unwavering. And as she spoke, her conviction seemed to resonate through the hall, echoing the ancestral call to arms. “If the Greens wish to usurp our Queen’s throne then they must be answered in fire and blood.”

In that fleeting moment, as the echoes of Baela’s words lingered in the air, Rhaenys saw not her granddaughter before her but a reflection of her own daughter. It was as if a piece of her soul burned brightly in Baela. Laena had had the spirit of a dragon–fierce, resolute, and as untamable as the beast she rode. Her essence was marked by an indomitable will and a fiery heart, traits that now lived on in Baela.

“Do you think I jest?” Baela’s challenge came with a frown, her face etched with seriousness.

Rhaenys’s smile was tinged with a bittersweet joy–a reflection of the sorrow of loss and the sweetness of love. “I just glimpsed my daughter in you, the first time in years…”

Baela blinked in astonishment at the depths of Rhaenys’s admission, momentarily caught off guard by the bluntness of it and the image it painted. A bloom of pride and confidence seemed to grow within her as she stood up a little straighter.

“Laena would have been proud of you,” Rhaenys continued, her pride evident despite the sorrow that laced her words. “And so am I. But this conflict isn’t ours.”

“Mother would have us stand our ground and fight,” Baela said, her determination softened by an underlying tenderness.

“She would,” Rhaenys conceded, fighting back her tears and steadying her voice. “Yet, you’ve yet to grasp the full horror of what war means–the destruction it brings, the price it exacts.”

Baela’s response was sharp and carried the weight of conviction. “I understand what would happen if we don’t fight. Should we falter, our Queen will be usurped, perhaps even slain, and her children with her–Jace, Luke, Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys would all meet the same grim fate. And us, we would spend our days looking over our shoulders, forever beneath the heel of the Greens, condemned to a life devoid of significance or security.”

Baela moved closer, her face a blend of empathy and unwavering determination. “My fate is entwined with Jace’s. As his future queen, this usurpation by the Greens threatens not just Rhaenyra but also Jace, and by extension, me.”

Rhaenys looked down as Baela gently took her hands, the warmth of her touch a stark contrast to the cool air of Dragonstone.

“If we do not fight for those who we love, then what do we fight for?” Baela implored, her question cutting to the heart of the conflict.

Rhaenys’s gaze lingered on her granddaughter. With a heavy heart, she acknowledged the resolve in Baela’s eyes, offering a solemn nod. “It is not my place to commit the forces of House Velaryon to this cause. However, I shall remain here on Dragonstone. I stand with you and your sister in spirit and, should Rhaenyra seek my counsel, I will offer it. But I will not take up arms. This battle is not mine to fight.”

A shadow of disappointment passed over her granddaughter’s face, prompting Rhaenys to gently cup her cheek, her touch tender, conveying a silent entreaty for understanding. “You are wise beyond your years, and brave. You will be a great queen.”

Baela’s expression softened under her grandmother’s comforting gesture, momentarily leaning into the warmth of her hand. However, it wasn’t long before a hint of apprehension crept into her demeanor.

“Father mentioned you saw Daenera.”

“Yes, I saw her.”

“He told us she stood with the Greens…”

“She stood with them,” Rhaenys confirmed, her voice carrying a note of resignation as she withdrew her hand. “But I do not believe that she had a choice. As I fled on Meleys, she cried out, imploring me to engulf them in flames, fully prepared to embrace her own demise.”

Rhaenys’s thoughts were a tumultuous sea, recalling the harrowing chain of events over the last days. She had been jolted awake by a scream–a sound so filled with agony that it was barely more than a whisper, yet potent enough to wrench her from her sleep. The raw anguish in that cry had sent a shiver down her spine, prompting her to try and leave the room, only to find her door locked from the outside. The screams had receded down the hallway, diminishing into an eerie silence, until a faint, muffled voice penetrated the wood and stone barriers of the walls. Daenera’s voice.

She had sincerely implored the gods for Daenera’s safety, hoping they would aid her in her escape. And then she saw her standings among the Greens as they crowned the usurper king.

In the throes of her escape from the Dragonpit astride Meleys, her deepest wish was to rescue her granddaughter. But the one-eyed boy wrapped his arms around Daenera, refusing to let her go. His determination had been clear in his gaze–a resolve that wouldn’t falter, not even under the threat of dragonfire. Daenera had understood this too. She had called out to Rhaenys, not for rescue, but for retribution, a plea to end it all in flames. The resignation and desperate yearning for release in her granddaughter’s eyes were a vision of both courage and despair, deeply etched in Rhaenys’s memory.

And yet, Rhaenys couldn’t bring herself to do it.

The choice to unleash destruction, even at Daenera’s behest, was a burden too grievous to bear.

Rhaenys held firm in her convictions, refusing to cross the line into becoming a kingslayer or, far worse, a kinslayer. The conflict engulfing them wasn’t hers to ignite or extinguish.

And the thought of subjecting Daenera to the same fate her children had suffered – to be consumed by flames – was unbearable. The haunting image of her granddaughter reduced to a charred corpse, her bright blue eyes liquified leaving dark hollows of despair where they should have been, as her children had been, was a specter she could not face.

“We must retrieve her,” Baela’s voice broke through her thoughts. “We can’t leave her at the mercy of the usurpers.”

Rhaenys allowed herself a moment of closure, her eyelids shutting briefly as if to ward off the painful reality before opening them again, a newfound resolve hardening within. “Daenera is brave and clever. She will find a way to survive this ordeal, of that I am sure. Just as I once was, she is now a hostage, a pawn in their grand scheme. The Green recognize the value of keeping her alive, and they will exploit her situation to undermine Rhaenyra’s resolve. If Rhaenyra values the life of her daughter, she will yield to their demands.”

“Rhaenyra cannot afford to give in to them,” Baela countered.

“If she doesn’t, it may very well cost her daughter’s life,” Rhaenys said, her heart heavy. “And it will certainly start a war.”

#a vow of blood #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x oc #hotd fanfic

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perpetualcynicism · 4 months

Text

…𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: In which Xiao befriends a young yaksha, but learns that the longer the night lasts, the more nightmares are had. …𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: Angst, no comfort. …𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: Major character death, insanity. …𝙻𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑: 8,123 words. …𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: Gender-neutral reader, reader is a yaksha, older/younger sibling dynamic — found family, not romantic. The soundtrack ‘Sojourner’s Sweet Dreams’ is the OST which plays at night in Wangshu Inn. The pipa is a Chinese lute, and the dizi is a Chinese bamboo flute.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

夜长梦多 — 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙻𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚜.

When Xiao finds you, it is in the bamboo forest, as it always is. He searches between the stalks looking for signs of movement—a bent stalk here, some flattened leaves there—while the lightness of his feet never betrays the grim weight inside his chest. The night is dark, and the bamboo rises like metal bars around him. Paths he has trodden after you many times seem narrower, harder to follow.

The last time he saw you, you told him to leave out of shame. I don’t want you to see what I’ve become, you said. He thought it foolish that you’d suppose his opinion of you changed for it, but still, he had gone as you asked him to, because he can never deny what you ask of him.

Looking for you as he does now, he wonders whether it was the wrong choice to make.

He locates you, eventually, by the Sandbearer tree. Of course, he thinks with the crumpled shadow of a smile. Even in madness, you return here. Perhaps the dim memories of kinder times still flicker somewhere in the depths of your subconsciousness; perhaps you—or whatever is left of you—still feels a tug of familiarity towards this place.

For a moment, he sees you again as that young, bright beacon, and his heart throbs with the fading gold image of those precious lost days.

The first time Xiao met you, you were a nervous addition to the yaksha’s forces. Outgoing as ever, even in times of war, Bosacius always made a matter of introducing the recruits to the rest of the troops. ‘To welcome them to the family’, he said whenever asked why. Even when, centuries later, the yaksha’s forces grew smaller and ravaged by karma, Bosacius kept this tradition until the day he vanished.

Xiao never saw the point in such a thing himself: it was unlikely anybody would remember these yaksha’s names or even see them again beyond lifting their body from the battlefield when they were lucky enough to recover it. Nevertheless, under Bosacius’ insistence, he watched as you, like every other yaksha, was taken forwards and introduced to a half-hearted assembly of gathered warriors. This was back when the yaksha were newly formed, and victory still seemed within reach.

“They may be small, but they’re a brilliant shot with a bow,” Bosacius declared, his booming voice reaching the furthest stretches of the makeshift training camp. Given how the adeptus dwarfed your quivering body, Xiao wouldn’t have guessed it. “Modest about their capabilities, but it’s nothing a little time can’t fix, and I’m sure you’ll adjust quickly, no?” He addressed this last part to you and waited for you to say something. You seemed to miss the implication of the silence, because your eyes remained fixed on the floor and your shoulders hunched close together. You had horns reminiscent of a deer’s which Xiao couldn’t help but compare to your nervous stance: you looked terrified out of your mind, ready to bolt at any moment. He wondered how suited you truly were for war if you could barely handle this crowd.

Bosacius cleared his throat. He clapped you on the shoulder and asked to break the growing silence, “Well, then, is there anything more you’d like to say?”

You mumbled something barely audible which must have been a ‘no’, because Bosacius nodded and said no more. You immediately scurried away from the assembly with your head hung low. A slight pang of sympathy rose inside Xiao as you went: he’d seen enough of these kinds of skittish recruits to know you wouldn’t last long in battle.

The crowd dispersed, and Xiao thought little about you until he passed by the archery stalls on a patrol around the camp, where he spotted you shooting at the moving targets. Curious, he hung back and observed you for a moment. Your posture was steady and your draw was swift and clean—signs he recognised as those of a skilled archer—and you hit most of the vital areas drawn onto the targets with success. Occasionally, your arrows strayed a little too far out, likely due to the fact that he could see you still shaking. You mumbled a curse as your last arrow embedded itself in one of the target’s wooden jaws, an inch or so above the marked ‘fatal’ spot on the neck.

It seemed Bosacius had spoken the truth: though you lacked confidence, it would be incorrect to say you didn’t have the potential to become a formidable warrior in your own right. When you were focused, your shots were fast, accurate, and if on flesh, deadly. Perhaps you’d survive a few battles yet.

He moved past the archery stalls to survey the rest of the camp, before heading to the bamboo forest nearby to train himself once it grew dark a few hours later. Bamboo was good for practice: it varied in strength, and grew back quickly when cut. It was not for training physical strength, but agility. If Xiao imagined the leaves as blades, he could duck between them, light on his feet, sending stalks falling in wide arcs around him.

Usually, he trained until dawn, but today, only an hour or so after he began, he was made to stop. His ears had caught wind of a faint tune travelling down from deeper inside the forest. He lowered his spear and cocked his head to one side, narrowing his focus on the sound. It sounded plucked, but he couldn’t place the instrument.

Could it be a human? he wondered, but shook his head as soon as the thought arose. No, the scouts would have reported any human activity nearby. This place ought to be uninhabited.

Yet this melody was certainly not his imagination. He knew of nobody else besides himself who played an instrument among the yaksha, so who could this be? Warily, he followed the tune, stepping quietly through the forest as an assassin might as he approaches his target. Once close, he stopped. The sound came from just beyond here.

Xiao pushed aside a leafed branch and peered through the underbrush, squinting between the trees. To his surprise, the one his eyes landed on was the young, timid yaksha from before, sitting on a stone in the grass. Your bow and quiver were propped up against a Sandbearer tree, exchanged in favour of a pipa. Your fingers struck the strings with effortless speed and fluidity which spoke of years of mastery. The way you held yourself exuded quiet confidence, so stark a difference from the timid, withdrawn stature you had worn before. A smile was settled comfortably over your features, and a sparkle danced in your eyes. Adept as you may be with a bow, Xiao could not help but feel it was this instrument which was truly your calling.

As you played, your eyes drifted across the surrounding forestry. They met his in the underbrush. Your fingers fumbled and a wrong note cut harsh through the air. In less than a moment, you were holding your bow, arrow notched and aimed at his head. You may be quick, but Xiao could see your arms were trembling, and fear had fast replaced that confident glimmer in your eyes.

He stepped out from the underbrush. His movements were slow, careful not to risk igniting your fear. Xiao raised his hands before him; once you saw he carried no weapons, your frame relaxed somewhat, but distrust was still written in every line of your body. You had yet to lower your bow. For whatever reason, he was struck with the desire to calm you.

“I mean you no harm.” He spoke slowly, approaching you as he would a wild animal. “I heard your playing and came to investigate. That is all.” You swallowed, but didn’t shift your aim. He scoured for something to say which may calm you. His eyes fell to the pipa lying in the grass. “I… play an instrument, too.”

Your eyes widened, this time with a hint of curiosity which broke through your apprehension. The tension in your bow fell by a fraction as you loosened your pull on the string. “R-really?”

Xiao was struck by how small your voice was. Just how young were you? Nonetheless, speaking to you seemed to be working. He continued. “Yes. The dizi.”

“Oh.” You shifted in place, bringing to mind a skittish fawn. In that hushed voice of yours, you said, “I… I never knew any other yakshas played music.”

He dipped his head. A few seconds of silence passed. Xiao searched for something else to say. “Your bowmanship is good,” was what he landed with. “I saw you in the training field earlier.”

You stiffened and looked away, covering your face with your hands. “Y-you saw that?”

“Is there something to be ashamed of?”

“My shots are usually much better,” you said dejectedly. “I was, um, shaking too much to aim properly.”

“On a moving battlefield, you do not need complete accuracy,” he pointed out. “Your enemies are larger than your training targets; as long as you can hit them, you have fulfilled your duty as a yaksha.”

You said something from behind your palms. Even with his acute hearing, Xiao struggled to catch it.

“What?”

“That’s exactly it,” you repeated, toeing the floor. “I don’t want to be on the battlefield.”

He blinked, dumbfounded. “Then why did you decide to join the yaksha?”

You mumbled below your voice, “I couldn’t watch everyone else do their part in the war while I sat by and watched.”

“So you are afraid, then,” he concluded. You shook your head with a quiet laugh.

“Who wouldn’t be?”

“What of?”

You frowned at him like he was missing the obvious. “Death, of course. Of something happening to me which means I can never return.” You paused, eyeing him with suspicion. “Why aren’t you afraid?”

“I am one of the Five,” he answered. The meaning spoke for itself.

Your jaw fell open. Still gawking, you asked, “W-which one?”

“General Alatus,” he replied, with a gesture towards the mask hanging at his belt.

“And your real name?”

“…Xiao.”

“Wow,” you breathed. “So you’re so strong that you… don’t have to fear death?” He nodded. Your fingers twisted at the hem of your clothes. “Then… what are you afraid of?”

Catching him off-guard, the question struck him dumb. Memories of blood, snow, corpses burst behind his eyes. He was a quivering young child, looking so much like yourself. His shock must have shown on his face, because you lowered your eyes and apologised moments later.

“…I am afraid of losing my flute,” he offered as an answer to lighten the mood. You looked away with a momentary smile twitching at your features, and curiously enough, Xiao felt on his face one of his own.

“You must be very courageous, if that’s the only thing you fear.” The words ‘unlike me’ hung silent but heavy in the air.

Xiao shook his head. “There is nothing courageous about facing what you do not fear. Bravery is born of staring into the eyes of what you fear and refusing to surrender.”

“…Even if you lose?”

“Even if you lose.”

Your eyes fell to the floor. Despite the comfort he’d attempted, you still looked unconvinced. Your fingers drummed an anxious rhythm on your bow. Xiao tilted his head to one side, wondering at your character. You were hardly in danger in the present moment: why was it that you were still on edge? Was the mere thought of the battlefield enough by itself to make you uneasy?

“Are you… truly so afraid of death?” he asked. Your head dipped in a nervous twitch of a nod. Xiao scrutinised you more closely, and it was then that he realised why he felt so strongly this odd wish to comfort you: it was like peering into a mirror. You resembled him closely, painfully so, as he had been all those years ago; a timid, scared, lonely thing, isolated from love and with nobody to rely on. He wondered what you must be escaping from that made you prefer the battlefield over staying.

Since Rex Lapis gave him the chance to begin a new life, Xiao knew that, had he been given a chance to protect the child he had once been, placate its fear, reassure it even slightly, he would have done all he could. Now, faced with one who looked so much like himself, given the chance to do just that, he knew he would go to the ends of the earth to prevent you knowing the same life he had.

Stepping forwards, he met your eye and vowed, “I will make sure nothing happens to you.”

The little smile you flashed him was fleeting. “It’s difficult to keep promises on the battlefield.”

Xiao shook his head. “I keep my promises.”

You are curled up by the base of the tree. Your legs are drawn up into your chest like you’re protecting yourself from an invisible foe. Not cowering, he notices. He distantly recalls something he said to you, once, about courage and the refusal to surrender.

He still stands by those words, but he regrets—always regretting—telling them to you. You did not need to be brave. Cowardice would have been kinder.

Your hands are clutching your head as wreaths of black smoke rise from your body. In the silence, he can hear you caught in a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan.

His next step breaks a twig. Your head snaps up. Bloodshot eyes fix onto him from across the clearing and you leap backwards, hackles raised as you pace like a caged predator in front of the tree. He searches in vain for a glimmer of those wide, expressive eyes he used to know, and finds nothing.

Wherever ‘you’ are, it is not here. It is not the thing which has stolen your body and is staring back at him like a stranger.

Xiao raises his hands in front of him, approaching as he would a wild animal. He can not be certain at the moment which movements will provoke you to flee and which to attack. In his right hand he holds not a spear but your pipa. Your eyes dart to the instrument. From your reaction, he can not be certain you recognise it.

After a morning of training on a warm afternoon, you were sitting by your Sandbearer tree again, contentedly plucking a tune on your pipa. Xiao found you sitting by the trunk when he followed the familiar sound again. The sunlight peeking through the canopy fell like gold leaf across your face. He lingered behind the trees and listened, careful to keep quiet and not alarm you like the last few times. You were growing more comfortable around him, but there was progress yet to be made.

As he waited there, his mind wandered to your bright melody. By chance, he had brought his dizi with him today. On a whim, he pulled it out and joined your music with a line of his own. Your playing stopped abruptly. By the time Xiao realised he was the only one still playing, your initial shock had been transformed to awe, and he found you were staring up at him from the tree, rather indiscreetly. He lowered the flute and raised a brow towards you. You coughed and lowered your eyes to the ground, drawing your limbs into yourself. A twinge of guilt surfaced inside him: he hadn’t meant to disconcert you.

“If you’d like,” he began, and you raised your head slightly to look at him, peering at him with wide, watery eyes, “I can teach you how to play the flute.”

This brought you out of your shell. “Really?” you stammered out. He nodded.

“Wait here for a moment. I will make you one.”

Bright curiosity shone in your eyes as you watched him walk a little way into the woods, where he stopped at a bamboo stalk. He summoned his polearm and cut off a length of bamboo, then skillfully hollowed it out and scored the surface with holes faster than your eyes could follow. He inspected his handiwork, made a few corrections, played a note, made a few more corrections, and returned to your tree all in the span of no more than half a minute.

He handed you the makeshift flute. “It is far from perfect, but…”

“It’s amazing,” you breathed.

Xiao inclined his head, glad that you liked it if nothing else.

“Hold it like this.” He demonstrated, placing his left thumb and three fingers over the fingerholes in the lower half of the flute’s body, followed by the right in a similar position just behind his left hand. “Your two thumbs and the little finger of your right hand support the flute. You should be able to hold it with just those fingers if you lift the others away.” You followed his example. The flute wobbled a little, likely more down to its haphazard creation than your own mistake, and stabilised a moment later.

“Now bring it to your mouth horizontally, with the membrane hole—no, the one to the right of that—under your lower lip. The flute you’re holding doesn’t have a membrane, so it will sound different to mine, but it can still be played.” You nodded, adjusting your position as he spoke. “Relax your shoulders.” He inspected your form for a moment, and, satisfied, instructed, “Now try to play a note.”

You swallowed and tried to do so. The note which sounded was low and feeble, barely audible above the passing breeze.

“Use steadier breathing, and aim your breath deeper into the instrument.”

You tried again. The sound shook less, but was still quiet and airy.

“Harder.”

Almost there.

“Again.”

This time, the note came forth clear.

Xiao nodded. “Good. Now move your fingers so they cover these holes instead, like this.” He looked at your hands. “Middle finger down, not your index. Lift your index finger.”

“Sorry.”

He shook his head. “It is just another way of making music. There is no need to be nervous. Lower your shoulders, or the stiffness will constrict your breathing—good. Now play again.”

This note was better than your first attempt, but he could tell your nerves had slipped back in.

“Remember what I said. You want a steady sound, so you need to breathe steadily, too.” You tried again. He sighed. “No. Take a deeper inhale beforehand. Watch me.” You watched closely, and took his advice without complaint. “Once more. Relax.”

Finally, after some time, the notes you played were consistently bright and full. He nodded approvingly. “Very good,” he said, and you glowed under the praise.

“I think I’m better suited for stringed instruments,” you admitted with a sheepish smile, lowering the makeshift dizi. Hardly a moment later, your eyes widened, alight with an idea. You all but blurted, “Wait, what if I teach you how to play the pipa?”

Catching yourself immediately in your own excitement, you covered your mouth and apologised quietly, withdrawing into yourself once more. Xiao observed this with an inward sigh; he was slowly managing to coax you out of your walls, but even now you had yet to be fully confident around him. Gently, he lowered one of your hunched shoulders and said, “I would like that very much.”

That little smile of yours flickered across your face. “O-okay.”

You lifted the instrument from the tree trunk and handed it over to him; Xiao received the pipa carefully, aware of the attachment you held for it.

“Okay. Um.” You hesitated. “So, you need to put it on your legs, like—yes, like that, but a bit higher up—and then the fingerboard sort of goes across your left shoulder.”

Once the instrument felt comfortable against his shoulder and not slipping from his lap, he looked down at the strings and prompted, “How is it played?”

You gasped. “Oh, hang on, you’ll need to take my plectra for that. It’s good I have a spare pair.” You dug around in your clothes for a moment before you presented him with four ring-like accessories with points on the end. He took them from your palm and slipped them on the ends of his fingers. Interesting, he thought, inspecting the plectra closely.

“You, um, pluck it, by the way,” you explained. “W-which you could probably already tell. Your right hand does that. The plucking, I mean. Your left hand goes on the frets. Try, uh…” You rubbed your neck. “Could I take it for a second, actually? To demonstrate some techniques. They’re hard to explain.”

Xiao complied and handed the pipa over to you. You thanked him quietly and positioned it on your lap as you’d told him. The fingers of your left hand pressed down on the fretboard, your right hovering above the strings. You took a breath, then rolled your fingers over the top string in a rapid tremolo, keeping the sound continuous while your left hand slid up and down the frets in a simple yet elegant melody. You slowed your hand a minute later and plucked a final, low note.

“This technique is called lunzi. It’s… just a long tremolo, really. Here; you try.”

His eyebrows rose at your phrasing of ‘just a tremolo’, but nonetheless he took back the instrument and did his best to mimic your fluid movements; an attempt which fell flat almost as soon as it started. The strings were dull and refused to respond as they had to your touch.

“Um. Wait.” Xiao stilled his hand. “Sorry. Just… you need to pluck outwards, not inwards.” You reached over and demonstrated, making almost a flicking motion with your finger. “And then you do that with your whole hand. Like this.”

He watched carefully, realising his previous error. No wonder the strings had sounded so different. “I understand now. Thank you.”

“You can start slower if you want, too. I did it quite fast.”

Xiao tried again. His fingers were naturally quick, but the roll itself was uneven. He frowned and attempted to strike slower but with more force. You stopped him soon after with a soft apology.

“Your hand is a little stiff. That makes it harder to maintain a smooth sound. Go slowly, but keep your fingers relaxed.” A smile passed over your face. “I… suppose I know what you meant about being relaxed earlier, now.”

As Xiao played, you leaned inwards, squinting at his technique and offering advice where you could. By the time you lifted your head, you had moved terribly close to him, your face only a few inches away. Noticing your proximity, you flushed hotly and leapt backwards, stumbling out an apology. Xiao observed your reaction with a quirked brow and waited patiently for you to recover.

“Maybe that technique’s a bit difficult to start with,” you admitted. “We should probably begin with single notes. I can teach you a melody instead. Can I… show you?”

Xiao gave the pipa back. You settled it comfortably on your lap and began to play a simple yet elegant melody, slowly paced, which unwound the tension in his shoulders and soothed his mind. Once finished, you returned the pipa to him. He looked down at the strings which you had so skilfully manipulated, now awaiting his own instruction.

“Where did you hear this melody?” he asked.

“I… composed it myself,” you said with a bashful shrug. “I call it ‘Sojourner’s Sweet Dream’.”

“It’s very beautiful,” he said. You mumbled a small ‘thank you’ in reply. “How do you play it?”

“Well… your first finger starts on this fret, then your third finger goes here, and you pluck it with your right hand’s index finger—try not to touch the instrument with your arm—then put your fourth down…”

Eventually, under your guidance, Xiao grew confident in the melody. He played the ending note and glanced up to see what advice you had for him. To his surprise, your eyes were closed, and you were swaying gently from side to side. You opened your eyes to meet his: this time, when you smiled at him, it didn’t disappear.

As he approaches, he wonders, Are you still in there somewhere?

He wants to believe so, but all he can see is a creature who has ravaged your mind and tainted your heart and worn your face to taunt him. He’d known you for your kindness, your timid nature, the nervous but unwavering care you held for others. All of these traits he looks for in the dangerous sway of your body as he approaches you, step by step; but if they are there, he cannot find them. Do you think he is going to hurt you, or, judging by those tensed muscles, are you about to spring on him?

Either way, he knows you—the real you, not this false likeness—would never have done any of these things. The thing looking at him now is less than adeptus, less than human, a mindless creature caught between hatred and fear.

With you, at least, it had never been hatred.

He takes a step forward. The thing that isn’t you flinches. He ignores the painful contraction in his chest when you back away as he realises he doesn’t know whether he recognises you anymore.

I don’t want not to be myself anymore, you had begged him, and he had refused you: yet another choice he wonders whether he should have chosen differently. It is his own fault, his own selfish inability to let go, that has led you here. You wouldn’t have wanted him to see you like this; but he hesitated for too long, and now he has left you no choice.

You promised, the mask of your face seems to jeer at him, mocking him for daring to think he could ever love without loss. You promised to keep them safe and look at where that got them.

Xiao shakes away the thought and lowers himself onto the stone you used to sit on. Your eyes are still fixed on him, unblinking and hollow. He sets your pipa on his lap, like you did years ago, and taps into the memory of a sweet dream you once taught him. First finger, third finger, fourth finger…

On the dawn of your first battle, Xiao found you pacing the archery stalls of the training ground. Some monsters had been spotted by scouts in the area, mutated from the remains of a fallen god. Xiao knew these kinds of creatures to be many in number but weak: as long as one maintained their stamina, few casualties would be suffered.

You, on the other hand, knew nothing of them, and had no idea what to expect. Your quiver hung around your waist, stuffed full of arrows. You raised the bow and pulled back on the string, then lowered it and released the tension, again and again, practising your aim.

He walked over. You brightened up when you saw him, if only a little.

“How do you feel?” he asked; a needless question, but he knew conversation often settled your nerves.

“Terrified,” you admitted with a nervous laugh. “I can b-barely,”—you swallowed—“hold my bow without dropping it.”

“Remember, you won’t be on the front lines. I have fought similar monsters to these before, and they don’t have the range to attack from a distance. As long as you maintain a distance, you will be safe.”

“‘Safe’ isn’t a word I’d ever use when describing a war,” you replied in a small voice.

A warhorn sounded in the distance, alerting everybody to their posts. Xiao took hold of your shoulder, his grip firm. You jolted. You were shaking like a leaf: he could practically taste your fear from here. His eyes, boring into your own, burned with conviction. “Remember what I told you. Nothing will happen to you.” He enunciated each word. “Is that clear?”

You swallowed and set your jaw. Meeting his eyes, stiffly, you nodded.

Satisfied, Xiao inclined his head. He stepped back and summoned his mask over his face. Throwing you a final glance from the corner of his eye, he said, “Fight well. I will see you after the battle.”

You jump when he plays the opening note of the piece. This instrument was your lifeblood once, and he doesn’t know what you see in its place through those bloodshot eyes of yours which scares you so much. (What do you see in his place?)

Even so, as he plays, slow and deliberate so as not to make a mistake, he can see your frame relaxing from the corner of his eye, as he once did the first time he heard the melody. The tense line of your shoulders gradually falls. You tilt your head to one side, a gesture which once betrayed your curiosity.

What, he wonders, are you feeling now?

The moment the enemy had fallen, Xiao pushed his way through ranks of yaksha until he found you. Save from some minor injuries here and there, you were untouched, sitting on the ground by your bow. He breathed a sigh of relief before heading closer. You looked up when you caught sight of him and shot him a smile of exhaustion.

“Are you alright?” he asked when he reached you.

“I… I think so. I don’t know,” you replied. “I’m not hurt, but I feel a little strange.”

“Strange?” He crouched down beside you to inspect you closer, but saw nothing out of the ordinary beyond your face being a touch paler than usual.

You nodded. “I don't know why. It doesn’t feel like an injury, more like… a headache, almost. But not just a headache. It feels hateful. Like there’s something angry inside my mind.”

Xiao frowned, disliking your description. He had overheard some other yaksha speaking of similar symptoms; but these were likely a result of adrenaline after a battle, he reassured himself, or of prior stress. “Whatever it is, it will pass shortly.”

“I hope so,” you mumbled. “And you?”

“Me?”

“How are you?”

“Oh. I am well.”

“You don’t feel anything funny?”

“No.”

You smiled weakly. “Good.”

His finger slips, and he strikes a wrong note. You flinch backwards as all the coiled tension returns to your body. He takes a breath to steady his hands, which have begun to shake without him noticing, and carries on. Now is not the time for mistakes.

The piece is short, so he repeats it over and over again until you calm down once more. Please, he wants to beg you, come back to me, but he is not certain you’d be able to hear him. No doubt the screeching cacophony inside your head would drown out what little he can scrape together of his voice. He wants to drop the instrument, to simply reach out and hold you, but he holds himself back, as he always does. He thinks you would hate him if he touched you when you’re like this.

Xiao would never forget the day you came to him after Indarias died. Until that moment, ‘headaches’ had been spreading like plague throughout the yaksha; Xiao himself had begun to feel them, too, but they were disregarded as post-war symptoms. Even when some yaksha went mad, it was drawn up to their inability to cope with the increasing pressure which came on the battlefield.

When Indarias fell, the wave of fear which rippled through the yaksha was tangible. Whatever these ‘headaches’ were, they had brought down one of the Five. Soon later, the yaksha had developed a name for the affliction: karmic debt, they called it. The price to pay for their aeons of slaughter, for daring to face the deadly hatred of gods.

Xiao knew he could withstand the symptoms of this karmic debt. His devotion to vanquishing these monsters was second to none, and no degree of pain would hinder him. For a yaksha such as yourself, who had never held his dedication nor matched his mental fortitude, he was not so certain. Though he didn’t let you see it, Xiao worried for you. He had sworn to keep you safe, but how could he protect you from an enemy inside your own head?

You shared similar sentiments, because you called on him one night with both a confession and a request.

“I can feel that I’m losing myself,” you confided to him in the hoarse shadow of a whisper. There was no wind in the forest that night, so quiet as it may be, your voice cleaved through the suffocating silence like an arrow. “With each passing day, I… I can feel it.” You raised your eyes to meet his. “I’m slipping, Xiao. This ‘karmic debt’… I’m not sure how much longer I can last.”

He pressed his lips together. “Don’t speak like that.”

“It’s true.”

His jaw tightened, but he had nothing to say.

“Just… promise me one thing.”

His throat was dry as he nodded.

“When I start going insane, kill me.”

Silence.

Firmly, he replied, “No.”

Your face fell. Your eyes, always so large and bright, swam with disappointment. “Why not?” you asked, and your voice was barely the imprint of sound.

“Any other promise I will make you. Not this one.”

“Please,” you begged, holding his arm. “Every other wish of mine, you’ve granted. Why not this one?”

He shook your hand off. “I will not harm you,” he reiterated sharply. There was no room for opposition in his tone. “I will not say it again.”

“But I’m not even one of the Five. I’m hardly importa—”

“Don’t say that,” he snapped.

You shrank away from the edge in his tone. He had never interrupted you before, much less raised his voice at you. In a trembling voice, you mumbled, “At least… at least take my pipa before something happens to me, then.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. If you gave away your instrument, it was akin to a goodbye: one he was not—and never would be—willing to make. You caught his hesitation and set your jaw in agitation.

“Look. I’m going to die, Xiao,” you hissed. He stiffened. “Don’t try to pretend I’m not because that won’t make it any less true. But I want it to be by your hand, because I wouldn’t want to die anywhere else. I won’t ask anything else of you again.” He opened his mouth to interject, yet you ploughed on, sparing him no time to speak. “I’ve seen how the other yakshas died, even those in the Five. Alone, and in pain, and terrified out of their minds. I don’t even recognise them by that point. I don’t want…” Your voice wavered. “I don’t want that to happen to me, too. I don’t want not to be myself anymore.”

His jaw was tight. He repeated coldly, “I cannot make you that promise. Never speak of this to me again.”

Your mouth pressed into a thin line. You withdrew your hands and, in silence, left him alone in the forest.

The next morning, he found your pipa leaning against the tree. The next time you saw it, he was playing it to you.

Xiao thinks something died between you then, the first and only time you made that request. After his refusal, you grew more distant from him with time.

He had thought it unthinkable, when you told him what you wanted. Of all the blood he had stained his hands with, yours was one he would never dare touch, not even a drop. When he’d sworn to keep you safe all that time ago, he had meant what he said.

This was before he was forced to watch, day after day, as you succumbed slowly to madness in pain, mistrust, and loneliness. The brightness of your eyes faded into what he sees staring back at him now: a stare of little more than an animal fuelled by primal fear and hunger, barely recognisable as your own. If there is any flicker of recognition towards him in your gaze, he can not locate it.

Still, you do not run from him, and for that he is grateful.

He sets down the pipa once you have calmed down. Still, your eyes follow his every movement, darting between him and the instrument once he’s placed it on the floor. He lowers himself into a crouch: the smaller he is, the less of a threat you will see in him. (He pushes down the thought that you see him as a threat at all: if he lingers on it too long, he is afraid he will fall apart.)

I won’t hurt you, he wants to reassure you, but his throat chokes and prevents him from speaking the words. He has never been good at lying—he hopes he isn’t lying. Instead, he holds out his hand. Come, says the action. He hopes his eyes look warm. There is no need to be afraid.

You narrow your eyes on his palm. Your gaze is wary, flicking from his face to his hand. In turn, he regards you patiently. Tentatively, you take a single step forward. Then a second. Shrink back as soon as you do. Xiao doesn’t move. However long you take, he is willing to wait. For you, he will always be willing to wait. A third step. You shake your head, backing away with a confused cry. Are you still in there somewhere, fighting to take his hand, or is it only the demon speaking?

It could be for hours that he sits there, hand outstretched, waiting for you to take it as you waver back and forth and back again. By minute fractions, the space separating you diminishes. You are confused, he can see in the twitches of your head, and panicked, and distrustful. How scared must you have been, alone in the dark all this time while demons ate at your mind? Why had he not tried harder to be there for you when you began to lose your footing?

With the next step, you reach out your arm towards him, then withdraw it just as fast. It is like the first time he met you here, vacillating between reclusiveness and openness, replayed in a dark mirror which turns everything upside down.

All the time he’s spent with you, and he is back at the beginning again.

You dare to reach out again. This time, your skin makes contact. He’s shocked by how cold your fingertips are.

Lightly, slowly, he closes his fingers around your hand. You flinch, but don’t draw back. Pulling by your hand, he coaxes you closer inch by inch until you face him only an arm’s length away. Your pupils are dilated and tremble inside watery eyes which scan over his facial features with an emotion he cannot place.

He doesn’t know whether or not you are in there, but when he closes his arms around you in a shaking embrace, you make no effort to resist him.

Months after you made your request, and only a few before this very moment, Xiao became convinced you were hiding from him. He asked after you, but you had never been known for telling others of yourself, and his questions were met with shrugs and apologies. Some said you may already be dead, but Xiao knew this could not be true: he would know it if you died.

He began to search on his own around the areas he knew you lingered in, but the archery stalls and the forest were empty. He searched the whole camp, overturned every stone, yet you were nowhere to be seen.

One day, whether it be by chance or by fate, he found you at the outskirts of the forest. You were turned away from him, but he could tell by the shaking of your shoulders that you were crying.

He felt himself freeze. In all the time he’d known you, despite all your fear, Xiao had never once known you to cry. In that brief moment, he didn’t care for distance or conduct or the fear of loss which had always prevented him from being completely open with you. He was overtaken with the need to pull you into his arms and wipe away your tears.

But Xiao stopped himself, as he always did. If you had been purposefully avoiding him, an embrace may not be what you sought from him. Instead, he advanced slowly, unsure how you would react to his presence. The fact alone that he was unsure hurt him more than he would like to admit.

His shoe scuffed the ground. Your head whipped up at the sound. Fear flashed in your eyes and you leapt off the ground. Hardly a moment later you were on your feet and running from him, desperate to get away.

“Wait,” he called after you, in a smaller voice than he’d meant.

With your back turned to him, you paused—but your legs were tense, ready to run again at a moment’s notice. His heart felt like lead in his chest. Were you afraid of him?

“I haven’t seen you recently.” He swallowed. Took a step closer. “Why?”

“I told you before,” you replied, not turning to look at him. Despite your tears, your voice was hollow and devoid of the furtive eagerness he knew you so well for. For a moment, Xiao was taken with the horrible sense that he didn’t know you anymore. Not like he used to. “I’m slipping. I’m trying, but I… I’m not strong enough. Not like you are.”

Gently, he said, “And this is why you’re hiding from me?”

A moment of hesitation. You nodded, so subtly he almost missed it. His throat was hoarse.

“Do… do you believe I think less of you for it?”

“…No.” Your hands tightened into shaking fists. You hung your head. “Please go, Xiao. If you won’t kill me, then go.”

“Is that the reason you have been avoiding me?”

“No.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No.”

“Then why…?” The rest of his sentence went unspoken. Why are you so distant? Why do you doubt how much I care for you? Why are you afraid to even look at me?

“Please. I want you to go.” He could hear the strain in your voice as you fought to keep it steady.

“Once you give me a reason to, I will do so.”

Your shoulders stiffened. Even now, Xiao knew your mannerisms like the back of his hand, knew that you were passing your reply back and forth inside your head in uncertainty.

There was a tremor in your voice when you finally answered, so softly he almost missed it, “I don’t want you to see what I’ve become.”

Xiao froze. He was struck, then, with the need to speak words which he had never voiced before; words which were raw and vulnerable and would burn his throat to say. He lingered, teetering on the precipice of love.

Clenching your jaw, you said, “You said you would leave.”

The words died on his tongue. Xiao walked away as you wished, not daring to look back at the distance stretching between you.

He folds you into his chest, holding you gently but close. Your skin is feverishly hot and your breathing fast and shallow. He can feel your heartbeat pounding through your ribs in an erratic pulse, the way you shake with fear and madness. His fingers graze your scalp, stroking back and forth, soothing you as one would a child. You press yourself closer to him like you’re trying to hide.

Your heartbeat gradually slows to a regular pace. He feels you lean into his arms, your own arms coming to wrap around his torso, holding him like he is the last bastion of safety in a world which has fallen away beneath your feet, and one you want to stay with forever. (He, too, wants to stay forever.) He steels his heart as he guides your face to rest in the crook of his neck and places his hands lightly on your cheeks. Eyes falling closed, he savours the warmth of the embrace.

A sharp crack, and it is all over.

Xiao feels you sag against him. Your neck lolls onto his shoulder and is still. He takes a shuddering breath and cradles you closer, closing a fist around your hair. His heart pounds like the beats of a wardrum in his chest, so hard he can barely breathe. For a while he stares blankly into the distance: he doesn’t dare look down.

There may be no tangible blood on his hands, but Xiao can feel it, sure and true, sticky between his fingers.

Slowly, he stands up, careful not to disturb your position in his arms. You almost slip from him as he rises, your limbs hanging loose where he doesn’t hold them. He can hear his own breathing, far too loud, as it shudders past his lips.

He walks forwards some paces. The world swims in strange angles around him, dizzying and unfamiliar. Those few steps are the most difficult of his life. It is like he is learning how to walk again, unsure where to place his balance on this shifting earth, not knowing whether he drags his feet or the grass simply snags at them as they lift. He walks slowly, because he knows that should he stumble, you will fall from his arms, and he will not be able to pick you up again.

When he reaches the Sandbearer tree, he lays you gently down on the ground, trying not to think about how small your body is. (You were barely a child when all this started. All of you were. You hadn’t known what you were getting into—none of you had.) The moonlight bathes the peaceful planes of your face in silver. The shadows hang soft across your face, like cobwebs of another time he can banish with a brush of his fingers. The illusion of movement stirs your expression as these shadows shift with a single sigh of wind. Your eyes are closed; you look as though only sleeping.

Xiao turns his head away. He hopes that your dreams, whatever they may be, are sweet.

Some hours later, his fingernails are caked with earth. A mound of earth rises beside a deep pit, dug from nothing but cupped palms and unwavering persistence. Roots break through the pit here and there which he hasn’t been able to break. He tried, but they were too firm, so he left them there.

He turns towards you, still sleeping silently in the moonlight. He looks back down at his filthy palms and, disgusted by them, wipes them on his trousers: he can’t touch you with such dirty hands. The dust cakes away from his skin, but he can’t get the rusty stain off them, no matter how hard he wipes, even when his palms are raw from trying.

He swallows and kneels down beside you, lifting you up from your legs and the back of your shoulders. You aren’t as warm as you were a few hours ago. The weather is hardly cold tonight: why are you already going cold?

Reverently, he lowers you into the hole. His arms tremble, but not from your weight. You weigh barely anything at all. He tries his best to avoid resting you on the roots. If only he could have gotten rid of those roots.

It looks like something is missing. You are missing something. He looks around and his eyes land on a flower growing near the base of the tree. He doesn’t know what kind it is, or whether you would have liked it, but he picks it anyway. He tries to tuck it behind your ear, but his fingers are shaking and it keeps falling off, so he places it on your chest instead. Dazed, he steps back and pushes the mound of earth over you until it is filled up, but there is still some left over on the side when he is finished. Oh, he thinks, of course. You are taking up some of the space now. He lifts your pipa from the grass and props it up against the tree trunk. Then he sinks to his knees and cries.

No matter what you become, he had wanted to say that last time he saw you, I will love you regardless.

If he had said so, would it have changed anything?

No, he supposes. No, it wouldn’t have: Xiao had always known this would end with him putting you in the ground.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #xiao x reader #xiao

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