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small-sinclair · 1 year

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You’re Safe, Darlin’

A little tipsy but thought of something…maybe a part 2?

A/B/O Sinclairs x little sister!reader (not dating)

Welcomed reader: @sketchy-rosewitch

Tw: reader isn’t a wolf, car crash, injured reader, glass, blood, not proofread

Granted, you were lost as you were trying to get home tonight, and it was raining. Luckily, you were in the daylight still as you drove down the unknown road… but why did you know it? Why did the turns and gravel seem like a home you never knew? An address written on an unsent letter.

Still, you drove your car down the road to try to find a place to turn around or ask for directions. Maybe you should’ve turned left instead of right… either way, all roads leads to home. Your father told you that a couple months ago when he was drunk with his friends, but it was good advice. Though he wasn’t your real dad, he made an effort to keep you safe and warm.

“…and that was Fall Out Boy’s new song. Stay tune for the weather,” the man said over the radio as you drove past an old truck with wooden gates on the sides, dirt and grim covering the back. You let out a shaky breath as you listened to the weather closer. “There’ll be a thunderstorm rolling and a few tornado warnings and watches in the listening area. Please be advised and keep listening to WOB 102.5…”

Maybe I should pull over? You thought as you looked for a road. Maybe wait for this to pass?

Out of no where, two deer jumped out on to the road. You slammed the breaks and the wheel turned too fast. You slide to the side and felt the car roll, jerking you to the right then left then right again. You closed your eyes and covered your face as glass shattered over your skin. You rolled two more times until you stopped on your tires. The air bags blew sometime before but you couldn’t remember.

All you knew that it was a bad time for the radio to be playing, “Like a Little Prayer”.

Your ears ring as your eyes slowly opened. Your blue vision came clear when you saw something large and black standing in the middle of the road. The wolf must’ve been standing 5 feet tall, and it looked longer than each other. It’s large blue eyes glared at you. The rain poured over it’s thick black as if it were an umbrella for the wolf, but your brain told you it was too big to be a wolf. The paws were way too large for a normal one, but your brain shouldn’t be worried about this.

Then something burned in your stomach. You looked down and nearly threw up. Window glass burned your stomach, stabbing your lower gut. You felt the blood flow from your shirt and warming your thighs. You wanted to scream, to cry, but couldn’t find the strength to do so. You leaned your head back and looked at the dog—

It’s gone.

…maybe it’s better this way.

Your eyes rolled back and started to drift away to a forgotten home where brothers welcomed you. Twins hugging you while another your age giggling about a cool animal he just found. One twin with scars on his wrist. One twin that wore a mask to cover his face, the scar that Daddy left. You couldn’t remember their names, but you saw their faces when you looked at the memories.

You thought there was always wolves around your house when your brothers and real father were gone. There were always a black wolf guarding your bedroom window while another wolf with half a face fought the smaller red one in a playful matter.

Maybe the wolf you saw was your old friend?

Who knows, y/n… who knows.

**************

You were breathing too slow as you came back. You were too weak too move, too tired to do anything. The pain in your stomach and over your thighs, the feeling of dried blood over your hands felt like chipping paint over wood, and your head pounded.

Turning your head, you found that you weren’t in your car anymore. You saw an oxygen tank, and your arm was hooked to an I.V. . Under you, the feeling of soft cotton and cold sheets welcomed your curling fingers as you tried to keep your eyes open. The blankets over you were at your shoulders and kept you warm.

Slowly, you turned your head and looked up at the ceiling. Glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to a dark blue ceiling, just like your childhood room. You smelled the blanket and smiled: honeydew and lemon, your childhood home smell.

You felt as if you were never taken from your brothers.

Thunder rumbled as muffled footsteps came to the room and entered. Then a familiar face came to view, and you felt yourself tear up. He was looking down at you, all grown up, your brother. His bright blue eyes and untamed curls still the same as he gave a sad smile. You saw his wrist, scarred and roughed, as he pushed your hair away and brought your blanket up higher.

You opened your mouth the greet him, to say something, but all that came out was a rough cough. You felt your body jerked at it as it burned your body, and you felt pain surge all around. You closed your eyes as your fit passed. All of it left you exhausted as your eyes opened again.

“Yer safe, darlin’,” he kept his voice low and calm. “Yee gonna be alrigh’.” Sleepiness took you again as the pain became too much. “I’ll stay righ’here as long as ya need, okay, sweetness?” He looked over you then the I.V. Frowning, he looked behind him. “I’ll hav’ Vince put another on.”

…Vince. Vincent.

“B-Bo?” You whispered. “Beauregard?”

His eyes lit up sadly as he nodded. “Yea, yea… ‘at’s right. ‘S me… ‘s me.” Bo chocked back tears as he sat next to you. “Ya need to rest.” Bo should have Vincent put you under some more pain killers. He should try and keep you sleeping until your wounds heal, but that’s not fair. It wasn’t fair for anyone that you were hurt.

It’s his fault. He was hunting, getting anger out. No saw some deer and ran after it and didn’t think that someone would be driving. When he saw your car tumble and roll, he knew it was you. He knew your cherry and vanilla scent anywhere, and it burned his nose as he watched your car.

Granted he thought the state took you far from Louisiana because he lost track of you years ago and… and he gave up. He gave up looking for you. Vincent gave up, too, because he stopped washing your bedsheets. Lester gave up and drank himself drunk. All gave up… but he found you. He found you in the worst place possible: glass squished into you ribs, your leg broken, and blood… too much blood.

If only he wasn’t a killer, a hunter just like his father—

“I’m sor-sorry I left,” you stuttered through pain. You can’t do it. You just can’t. “I’m… sorry…”

“Y/n? Darlin’, shh, shh,” Bo hushed you, his hand combing your hair back. “Save your breath. Please… please, rest.” He looked at the shadow in the doorway and found a nervous Lester standing there with his hand turning his shirt. Bo looked back at you and forced a smile. “I need ya t’rest.” He found your hidden hand and took it. “Bo’ll watch’ya an’ keep ya safe.”

“The wolf,” you babble. “Where’s… where the wolf?”

He swallowed hard as he brought your hand up to his forehead. He kisses your hand as he clinched his jaw. “Wolf’s gone.”

“Killed it?”

He shook his head as Lester stood next to Bo, who had tears streaming down his cheeks. “No, sweetheart. I didn’t.”

“Safe?”

“Yes,” Lester answered this time. “Yer safe.”

Your eyes light up. “Lessy,” you said happily, a smile forming. “Hi..”

“Hi,” Lester answers. “Heya, sweet pea.” He looked over at the door and nodded at the other. Slowly but surely, Vincent stood next to Lester. Under his mask, you saw his lone blue eye and tears falling. “Remember Vincent?” You nodded. “Cause Vincent-Vincent took car’o ya.”

You stiles at them as he winced at the sharp pain. You gripped Bo’s hand and sighed painfully. Bo looked between you and his brothers. He licked his lips. “Sleep, y/n. We’ll talk when ya healed.”

You looked up at the ceiling again and felt a smile form. Home. You were home.

“Bo?”

“Yeah?”

Sleep called your name like a lullaby. “Nightlight?”

“Vincent’ll turn it on. Promise.” Why did he feel like he was losing you? Why did he feel like you were dying all over again? “I promise, darlin’.”

Then the pain took you in its warm embrace. You closed your eyes as the world went black again. Maybe you’re dreaming that you found your brothers, finding hope that there were there in your last moments alive. All you knew was that the monsters were gone and your brothers are here.

Your hand loosened as a relaxed sigh escaped. Hello darkness. Take this Icarus with open arms.

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messy-gemini1 · 1 year

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More sinclair siblings >:3

Y/n: Hey, Vincent you're smart, tell me what would happen if I chugged 3 gallons of chloroform. Vincent *signing*: Have you ever been to a mortuary? Y/n: Yea, grandma lives there. Bo: That is the worst response to that question. _______

Y/n: We can’t tell you because you’re not a member of the club. Bo: What club? Lester: The hating Bo club. Bo: …The fuck? I should be the leader of that club! ______

Young Y/n: So, are you two friends? Teen Vincent: Yes. Teen Bo: No. ______

Bo, to Y/n: You have room temperature IQ. Y/n: What's room temperature IQ? Vincent: 73°. Y/n: Oh, okay. Y/n: How much is that in IQ? ______ *young Y/n and Lester* Y/n: I’m so excited! Lester: We’re gonna have the best costumes, get the most candy... Y/n: And have the biggest stomach aches ever! Lester: Yeah! ______ Y/n, texting: Answer your phone Vincent, texting back: Wait a minute, I can’t find my phone Y/n: Understood Y/n, 5 minutes later: You’re a terrible person. You know you’re killing me. You’re killing me, Vincent. ______

Vincent*signing*: I told Lester to grab snacks for everyone. Bo, looking through the options: Why did you grab fruit snacks? Are you five? Who even likes Fruit Snacks? *Vincent, Lester, and Y/n raise their hands* _____

Bo: I am convinced Y/n and Lester share a brain cell. Vincent*signing*: And it's not in use very often, it seems. *Lester and Y/n fighting over a deer skull* ______

Lester: Y/n spat in Bo's ear today when they were sitting on the couch together. Vincent*signing*: ...What?! Why?! Lester, shrugging: You tell me. ______

Y/n: We need a way to lure in new tourists? Vincent*signing*: Maybe we could have some fun, interactive events! Lester: Lester bath water. Bo: ABSOLUTELY NOT! _____

#incorrect house of wax quotes #lester sinclair #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #reader sinclair #sister sinclair #I love my bois #reader and bo have definitely wet willied eachother on numerouse occasions #house of wax x reader

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dustylava · 2 years

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Y/n sighs wearily, rubbing the bridge of her nose: "I believe, that men are not lost to this world. I believe, that not all men are so bad. This world is not lost yet. I believe, that not all people are bad. This world can still be saved." She looked hopefully at her brothers.

Lester tries to remove the raccoon from the tree, because: "what if he has a family? Wife and children! They're worried about him! He's supposed to feed them!"

Vincent is knitting a hat for Jonesy, so that he can draw her later.

Bo... Bo restrained 2 outbursts of anger today!

Y/n smiled contentedly: "well, at least, my world is definitely a good one."

#house of wax #bo sinclair #bo #vincent sinclair #vincent #lester sinclair #lester #sinclair brothers #sinclair brothers x reader #sinclair brothers x sister reader #sinclair brothers x sister #sinclair brothers x you #horror movies #slasher movies #slashers #movie

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kining-the-evil · 10 months

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I’ve had a Sinclairs x sister!reader fic idea for the past like, 3 months brewing in my head. Shoul I actually write it?

#house of wax #vincent sinclair #bo sinclair #lester sinclair #house of wax x sister reader

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aemondsbabe · 2 months

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Come What May

summary: aemond gets his first true taste of battle, you comfort him in the aftermath.

pairing: aemond targaryen x baratheon!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, reader is described as having long black hair to suit baratheon standards but no other physical descriptors are used, spoilers, mentions of canon character injury but no gore, angst, breast/nipple play, fingering, oral (f receiving), piv sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, slight breeding kink, slight possessive aemond, soft aemond, vulnerable aemond, we love men who cry

word count: 5.8k

a/n: i've had this idea in my head for the longest time and i think it turned out much more delicious than i was expecting! hope you all enjoy!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

divider creds to @targaryen-dynasty

❤️my masterlist

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

“My love, surely Ser Criston can hold his own,” you plead, wringing your hands nervously as your husband reads from the small scroll that was delivered to your chambers only moments ago, “It’s already been days, surely if they were going to retaliate, they would’ve done so by now.”

“We made the mistake of underestimating my sweet sister and her traitorous lot once before,” Aemond sighs, lilac eye scanning over the rolled parchment once more before before holding a corner of it to one of the many dripping wax candles housed on the small desk in your rooms, “It’s an error we can never afford to make again, not after what happened to little –” The muscles in his jaw clench as he cuts himself off with another harsh sigh, tossing the burning paper into a small metal bowl before turning to you.

“It’s an official summons,” he continues, voice softer now as he swiftly crosses the room until he stands before you. “I can’t simply ignore the Hand, nor my brother,” he murmurs, pulling a sigh from your lips as his hands wrap around your waist. You let your eyes slip closed for a moment when he leans down and presses a sweet kiss to the top of your head before resting his forehead against yours, your own hands gripping tightly to the front of his black tunic.

“I understand,” you say softly, swallowing thickly as you try to ignore the tightness at the back of your throat, a million unsettling what if’s playing in your mind's eye, “I just want you to come b-back to me.”

Upon hearing the break in your voice, Aemond pulls away with a tight smile. “Shh, little wife,” he whispers, gently wiping at the corner of your eyes as tears begin to gather, “I will return to you, I swear it.”

A slight flush covers the apples of your cheeks as you peer up at him, still so cautious of being weepy and emotional so soon into your marriage despite the prince’s many assurances that he was more than happy to have you exactly how you are. After a moment, you manage to blink the tears from your eyes and steady your breath, giving your husband a reassuring nod just as the doors open and a flood of servants and squires rush in to assist Aemond with his armor.

Leaving them be, you step out onto the balcony of your chambers, grateful for the cooling breeze rolling in from Blackwater Bay. Resting your hands atop the rough stone wall, you gaze out over the calm waters, watching as the sun rises and paints them in shades of orange and pink. Each time you spot a stray seagull, your heart clenches tightly in your chest – worried for a moment that it’s Meleys and her rider, come to finish what they started at Aegon’s coronation.

You startle as rough hands wrap around your middle from behind, a small gasp leaving you as your eyes pop open, seeing the sun a bit higher in the sky now before you look over your shoulder.

“Dare I ask where your pretty head was?”

“Praying,” you answer your husband with a smile, turning in his grasp, “Asking the Seven to protect you, to bring you back to me in one piece.”

Chuckling, Aemond tenderly cups your jaw with one hand, the smooth leather of his glove soft against your skin. “I assure you they will,” he says, dipping his head and kissing you with a small sigh, the metal plate armor on his torso cool against your skin, even through the fabric of your nightgown. “I do not fear this battle, sweetling, not with Vhagar at my side – she has more years of experience fighting in wars than either of us could dare imagine, many more than that old cunt or her beast. I trust her to know what’s right.”

Nodding, you follow him inside, a small smile on your lips while you listen to him talk about his dragon, finding endless amusement in the way he always speaks of her with such reverence. The two of you stand together in the low, flickering light of the many candles in your chambers, the early morning light from the drawn curtains casts faint shadows across the room as you look over your husband, unused to seeing him in true armor.

“I suppose you’re ready, then?” You ask, glancing over the fine black plates, each custom made to hug his lithe form perfectly.

“Almost,” he says, the corners of his lips quirk into a small smile in the same instance that familiar, mirthful glimmer takes residence in his eye.

“Oh?” You question, already familiar with where this is going; the smile on your lips only grows as he takes your hand and leads you over to your vanity table by the wardrobes.

“Braid my hair,” he says, always one to keep his requests of you simple, “As you do before I go riding… please.”

It’s the small please that always gets you, a courtesy Aemond so rarely bestows upon others. With a small nod, you watch as he sits on the small silk-covered chair, his lilac eye watching you from the mirror as you lean forward to grab the ornate metal hairbrush Alicent had gifted you after your wedding to her son.

Meeting his eye in the mirror once more, you give him a small smile before focusing on his hair. You run the brush through the pale, silky strands with a practiced ease; before you, the prince hadn’t dared to let anyone do his hair, and was quick to snap at any of the servants if they tried. But with you, he was quite different – much more vulnerable behind closed doors than many would expect.

Glancing up in the mirror as you brush through his long hair, the smile returns to your lips when you see his eye closed, a small sigh leaving his lips as he allows himself to relax for a moment more. It’s easy to fall into a rhythm in the quiet of the early morning, your hands steady as you run the fine brush through section after section of hair, humming a song to yourself as you go.

Finally, you set the brush back down and carefully section off a lock of hair at one of his temples, already knowing how he usually preferred it be styled. Just as you have it separated into three sections, however, one of his hands closes around yours and you lift your eyes up to his in the mirror.

“Is something the matter?”

“No, no,” he replies softly, his one eye glancing away from you, almost nervously, “I simply have a favor to ask of you, my lady. Something I’ve been unable to get off my mind, not since the threat of war became real.”

“Ask it, then.”

With a small sigh, Aemond turns in the chair, moving to face you as he takes your hands once more, calloused thumbs rubbing gently over the backs of them. “I know it is a strange request but… I would like a lock of your hair, sweet one, to braid into my own.”

Your brows knit together at his words, having not expected a request such as that, and your head tilts to the side questioningly, “I see no problem with doing it, but may I ask why?”

“I am not a superstitious man, as you well know,” he starts, smiling when you nod along with his words, “However, I have come to think of you as a good luck charm, of sorts.”

“A good luck charm?” You echo, a little blush coloring your cheeks as a shy smile tugs at your lips, your heart racing at the thought of being something so precious.

Aemond squeezes your hands and nods, “These past few moons have been difficult, between my brother adjusting to the crown and everyone else shuffling about, and the horrors that my sweet sister endures, little Jaehaerys, the numerous threats from Dragonstone, everything, I…” He pauses, brows furrowing as he stares at the stone floor, jaw clenched.

Your heart clenches in your chest as you raise a hand to his cheek, thumb stroking over the scarred skin just below his sapphire eye, the sight of it mystical to you even after so many months spent with him. Studying his face, you can’t help but notice the darkness under his eyes, a product of the many restless nights he’s faced, though a small sad smile claws at your lips as he leans into your touch – eye closing briefly as he savors it, practically purring like a housecat.

“Your presence has been the only thing that brings me comfort,” he murmurs finally, lilac eye peering up at you as he makes no move to lean away from your touch, “I find my spirits lift when I’m around you – your touch, your sweet scent, they… they calm my mind, steady my heart.”

“Oh, Aemond,” you breathe, heart racing in your chest at his words.

“I would like a piece of you with me always,” he continues, lilac eye brimming with sincerity, “To calm me when you’re away.”

You’re nodding before he can even finish his sentence, “Of course, my love, of course we can do that.” You sniffle, trying your hardest to keep your emotions at bay as the backs of your eyes sting with love-filled tears.

Again, Aemond watches as you quickly walk over to the small side table where you keep your needlework supplies. Shuffling through the small woven basket they’re stored in, you locate the small scissors used to cut thread and make your way back over to the vanity.

Bending at the waist a little, you look into the mirror, briefly meeting your husband’s eye again as you select a small lock of hair toward the back of your head, one that will be easily hidden among the rest as it grows back. With practiced motions, you quickly knot the fine strand into a thin braid before getting the scissors as close to your scalp as you dare. You carefully cut away at it until it comes away, the bundle of strands clutched tightly between two of your fingers.

Returning the scissors to the basket, you grab a small bundle of thread, close to the same dark color of your hair, and return to the prince, quickly tying off both ends of the braid before holding it up with a small smile.

“Good?”

“Good.”

Quickly taking your place by Aemond, you once again separate a lock of his hair into thirds, adding your own strand to the mix before easily winding them together in a long, silvery braid, the black of your own hair standing out strikingly against your husband’s. Finally, you gather the rest of his hair into its usual half up and half down style, thick braid skirting down one side of his head before joining the rest as you secure it with a thin leather cord.

“There,” you breathe, stepping back just enough for Aemond to stand, “All done.”

“Perfect as usual, sweetling,” the prince smiles, tight lipped, “Thank you.” He murmurs, again, a courtesy reserved for you.

“Of course,” you all but whisper, both you and Aemond pausing as you stare at one another, neither of you wanting to say goodbye first.

You nearly jump out of your skin as a knock interrupts the moment, both of your heads swiveling to the doors of your chambers as they creak open.

Ser Willis Fell, a member of Aegon’s Kingsguard steps into the room, bowing politely as he addresses you both. “Prince, Princess,” he says curtly, one hand balanced on the pommel of the sword that hangs from his waist, “I apologize for the intrusion, I’ve been instructed to inform the prince that he is to depart for Rook’s Rest immediately – King Aegon is already waiting at the Dragonpit.”

Aemond nods with a heavy sigh, turning back to you. Before he can get a word in, you practically throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as the doors click closed once more. “Please come back to me,” you breathe against the crook of his neck, tightness once again taking residence at the back of your throat as his arms wind around you, one hand rubbing soothingly up and down your back.

“I will, my sweet girl, I swear it,” he promises lowly, long arms squeezing him to you as tight as he dares, not wanting to bruise your skin against his armor, “I swear upon the Seven I’ll come back, I will not leave you, I refuse.”

Nodding, your breath catches in your throat as you slip away from him, just enough to angle your face up to his. His eye glances over your face quickly before he presses his lips against yours, both of you desperate to pour as much emotion into the kiss as you can as your lips move together for a moment.

Finally, he pulls away with a pained sigh, holding your face in his hands. “Avy jorrāelan,” he whispers, the very first Valyrian phrase he taught you. (I love you.)

“Avy jorrāelan tolī, ñuha valzȳrys,” you reply, the practiced phrase coming easily to you after all these months. (I love you too, my husband.)

With one final kiss, Aemond departs, the walk toward your chamber doors seeming like the longest of his life.

The rest of the day passes by painfully slowly, though you do all you can to entertain yourself. Everything from taking a much longer time than usual to eat meals, forcing yourself to stomach what little you can with your belly in nervous knots, to spending hours walking through the Red Keep’s gardens.

Which is how you find yourself now, in front of the fire in one of the many ornate sitting rooms, wiling away the time by half-heartedly working on a needlepoint. Alicent sits next to you on the small sofa, restlessly reading over a small stack of letters as Helaena paces, wringing her hands and mumbling to herself under her breath, a common sight following the death of her son.

With a tired sigh, you put down your embroidery hoop, fingers too sore and overworked to continue. “I just want him to come back,” you mutter, staring vacantly into the fire, “Or to get some word, some update. Just to know.”

“He’ll come back, sweetling,” Alicent murmurs softly, setting the letters aside as she places a comforting hand on your knee, “They both will.” She finishes, glancing over at her daughter with a longing stare, wishing there was anything she could do to ease her pain.

The both of you sit for a while longer, the navy sky outside growing steadily darker, before Alicent sighs and looks at you with a sad half-smile. “You may as well go to bed, dear,” she says softly, “Staying up worrying won’t do any good.”

Knowing she’s right, you quickly bid her goodnight before taking your leave.

You lay in bed, tossing and turning for a long while, thoughts filled with nothing but your husband, before sleep finally takes you. Even then, it’s not restful, dreams filled with visions of blood and fire, of the sounds of screaming and swords clanging together.

It isn’t until the wee hours of the night, almost sunrise, that a sound wakes you – clanging again, only soft this time, like metal on stone.

You blink your eyes open, a little groan leaving your lips as you rub at them with your fists before –

“Aemond!” You breathe, scrambling under the blankets to get to him, nearly toppling off the bed in your haste.

He makes a small “oof” noise as you throw yourself against his chest, catching you in his arms and holding you tightly. “Careful, love,” he laughs softly, letting his eye slip closed as he kisses the top of your head, breathing in the familiar lavender scent of your hair.

“You came back,” you breathe, winding your arms around his waist as you kneel at the edge of the bed, knees digging into the plush mattress. Upon hugging the prince, you come to realize that the small clanging noise that woke you had to have been him quickly untying his plate armor and stripping off his chainmail, leaving him in a soft tunic and pants – the aforementioned garments lying haphazardly on the floor, their sheen reflected somewhat in the dim glow of the fire.

“Of course I did,” he murmurs, stroking a hand over your back, “I swore I would, didn’t I?”

The two of you fall easily into a comfortable silence, arms wrapped securely around one another as the only noise in the room is the sound of soft breathing and the crackling from the hearth. You can’t help but notice that Aemond smells smokey, much like he does after riding on Vhagar but stronger now, no doubt having been around dragon fire for hours.

After a moment, you peer up at him, eyes finally adjusted to the low light. When you do, you can’t help the small, pitying little gasp that leaves your lips and one hand rises to gently cup his cheek. You’re no stranger to seeing him after a long day training in the yard with Ser Criston, but this is wholly different.

In the pale light, you could make out small dark splotches on his face and neck and upon skirting your thumb over one on his cheek, you come to realize it’s remnants of ash, staining not only his skin but the bits and pieces of his tunic and pants that weren’t covered by armor as well. His hair was still fixed how you’d left it, though messier now – windswept and slightly dusty as well, many of the white strands stained a faint grey, the flash of black from your own braid still cutting through the paleness of his like a knife.

But what really stopped you was his eye, his lilac one; you frown when you notice the uneasy look in it, full of a bitter sadness. “My sweet husband,” you say softly, brows furrowing when you notice a few scant tear stains on his cheek, their paths carved through the spots of ash, “What happened? What did they do to you?” You question, heart racing at the thought of the horrors he must’ve seen – his first real taste of battle.

The prince gazes at you for a long second, his lips parting as one of his hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair. All at once though, the sadness in his eye changes to a familiar fire, one that makes your heart race for an altogether different reason and desire curls in your belly, coming to rest like a cat in a sunbeam.

“Aemond?” You question, blinking up at him. Suddenly, his lips are on yours, hot and insistent and you’re all too eager to comply, easily melting against him. A whimper leaves your lips, instantly swallowed by his mouth as it moves against yours.

The kiss is more teeth and tongues than anything else, your husband’s slipping against yours with a practiced ease. His hand threads more harshly through your hair, making you moan against his lips as your hands cling tightly to the dark fabric of his tunic, a growl reverberating under them as it emanates from his chest.

“Need you,” he breathes raggedly as his lips part from yours, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your jaw and to your neck. You shudder against him as his teeth nip gently at your skin before his lips suckle at it gently, painting bruises on your throat that match the many he surely has.

“But –” you start, a myriad of questions swirling in your mind despite the pleasure threatening to blot them out.

You’re stopped mid sentence as Aemond suddenly cups one of your breasts, palming eagerly at the tender flesh in a way he knows makes your head spin and don’t miss the ghost of a victorious smirk on his lips at the way you cut yourself off with a small, shuddered moan, squirming in his hold as his thumb skirts over your nipple through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

“Please, sweet one, I need this,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your neck. His hand at the nape of your neck slips down to wrap around the small of your back, arching you against him, “I need you, I need to feel… t-to feel something good again.”

Once more, you’re nodding before he can even finish his request, chest heaving as you fight to keep your eyes open, wanting to keep him in your sights as if he may disappear again if you don’t. “Then take me,” you sigh, a broken moan leaving your lips as he kisses down your neck and across your chest. The hair at the back of your neck raises on end as he mouths over the fat of your breast, dampening the front of your nightgown.

Both of your hands claw desperately at the back of his head, tangling into his long hair messily just as his lips close around your nipple. “Gods!” You cry as he suckles at it needily, still pawing at the other one, savoring the feel of it in his hand.

Just as your thighs begin squeezing together, your center aching, Aemond pulls away, smirking when you whine. Impatient as ever, he quickly pulls at your nightgown, tugging it up and over your head, and tosses it onto the floor with his armor – delicate silk pooling over hard metal – before quickly undoing his tunic, eye glimmering proudly at how you always stare at him with such reverence.

“Fuck,” he growls, hands descending passionately against you once more, one again kneading at your breast as the other slides against your hip, long fingers digging into the fat of your ass, “You get more beautiful every time I see you.” He whispers against your lips, strands of silver hair falling loose from his braid and fanning around his face.

His lips press against yours once more, teeth teasingly nipping at your lower lip as your nails dig into his shoulders and chest, anxious for more even as you blush at his words. Always one to please, the prince wastes no time in trailing kisses back over your neck, pausing to nip and suck once again at his marks from earlier, needing to see remnants of himself on your delicate skin.

Again, he traces a bath down across your chest before licking over your nipple, needing to give attention to the breast he’d missed earlier. His tongue laves over it greedily and you moan at the feel of his length, hard and hot against your lower belly even through the cotton of his trousers.

Just as his teeth nip softly at your taut bud, the hand on your hip shifts toward your center, making your breath catch in your throat. Suckling at your nipple once more, Aemond gently runs his fingers through your already dripping folds, pulling a loud, whiny whimper from you as his lips curl into a smirk, a pleased hum radiating against your breast.

“Husband, please,” you whine, finding your voice once more as he rests his forehead against yours, chuckling at your cries.

“Seems I’m not the only one that needs this, hm?” He teases, eye glancing over your face as his fingers lightly rub against your aching bud, your breaths mingling together.

“A-Always need you,” you say breathily, your hips moving of their own accord as he plays with you, your own hands clutching at him like an anchor, “I’ll always, fuck! I’ll always need you, Aemond.”

He feels his heart skip in his chest at that and once again grows restless, the need to have you, to feel nothing but you burns through him like fire. Distantly, in the back of his mind, he thinks how the sincerity in your tone reminds him of your wedding vows, whispered to him in the Sept as if the two of you were the only people in the universe – how he wishes that were true.

With a grunt, he presses his lips harshly against yours once more before leaning forward, pressing himself over you until you have no choice but to buckle and fall to your back against the bed. Unable to think of anything else, he wastes no time in kneeling at the side of the bed, knees against one of the many fur rugs dotted over the floors of your chamber.

A squeal leaves your lips as the prince clutches at your ankles and pulls you toward him, until your ass is nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. A breathy whimper leaves you as you peer down at him, resting back on your elbows as your teeth bite into your lower lip.

Your hips buck as Aemond kisses up your thighs, long hair tickling your soft skin, and you whine as he licks at the curve where your thigh and center meet. A breath leaves him as he uses his thumbs to part your folds, licking his lips at how your arousal already coats them, wetness catching in the dim light of the fire.

“The Stranger himself wouldn’t be able to tear me from this,” your husband murmurs lowly, nearly growling as he glances between your face and your dripping heat like a starving man looking over a feast.

With a groan, he finally dives in, moaning nearly as loud as you do as he greedily mouths at your cunt, tongue licking harshly over you from bottom to top. Every muscle in your body seems to seize as lightning bolts of pleasure crackle up and down your spine.

Your head flops back against the bed as Aemond licks and suckles at your folds, burying his face against your center as he licks into you, nose pressed tightly against your pearl. Your fingers tangle into his hair once more, back arching as he groans into your heat, all but fucking you on his tongue as obscene wet sounds echo about the room.

“Oh Gods, f-fuck,” you whine, hips rutting against his face as the heat in your belly threatens to boil over already. Your eyes roll back as he chuckles against you and licks up to your bud, suckling at it eagerly, making you clench around nothing.

“Gods, you taste good, so sweet,” the prince mumbles against you, lapping at your pearl as he runs two thick fingers through your folds, coating them in your arousal. “I would kill Death himself for this, my love,” he rasps, leaning up to watch the expressions on your face as he presses his fingers into you, impatiently crooking them up in just the way you like, fucking and rubbing them against the sensitive spot within you with practicied ferocity.

“Please, please, please,” you pant, belly knotting tighter and tighter at his words, the gruffness of his voice, head so clouded you aren’t even entirely sure what you’re begging for.

Aemond smirks and licks and sucks at your bud for a moment more, savoring every whine and whimper he pulls from you. “Let go, my love,” he murmurs, grinning at the way your heat clenches tightly around his fingers, “Peak, let me feel it.”

You wail as the cord within you breaks, shuddering and babbling the prince’s name again and again as pleasure washes over you, your muscles tensing and relaxing in a dizzying rhythm as he works you through it. You nearly peak again as he groans against you, lips wrapped around your pearl as he suckles, gradually slowing his fingers within you.

Finally, you come down, though the fire within you still burns brightly, still aches for him. You watch through half-lidded eyes as he rises from the floor, lilac eye looking over your disheveled form proudly as white strands of hair cling to his face, still sticky with your arousal.

His chest heaves as he quickly undoes the ties of his trousers and tugs them off his long, lean legs. He wipes at his lips with the back of his hand as he leans back over you and you whine when you feel the heat of his length pressing against you, trapped between your two bodies, the tip already red and leaking against your belly.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs softly, leaning forward to kiss you as he savors the little gasp that leaves your lips as he reaches down with one hand, positioning his cock at your sensitive entrance, “My perfect, sweet girl.”

You nod your head, hands cupping his face as he pushes into you. Your mouth falls open in a loud gasp and you tremble in his hold as he presses forward, sheathing himself inside of you completely with a pleased groan.

“Oh, my love,” you finally pant, savoring the way his length feels within you, pressing against every part of you as he fills you completely, “You feel so good, husband, always so good.”

He growls at that, the breathiness of your tone making his eye flutter shut as he begins rutting against you, grinding his hips against your own. “You were made for me,” he muses, groaning when you begin kissing over the pale column of his throat, “Made to be mine.”

“For you,” you agree between kisses and licks, heart fluttering at the way his thrusts stutter each time your teeth graze over his skin, “Only for you, my sweet prince.”

Aemond groans above you and settles into a practiced rhythm, thick cock spearing into you again and again as your legs wrap around his hips, holding you to him as if he would ever dream of pulling away. One of his hands rests at the nape of your neck again, holding you against his throat as the other grabs at your waist, marveling at the way your breasts move against his chest, bouncing lightly with each thrust.

The thought of them full of milk, your belly swollen with his seed, flashes across his mind and he growls low in his chest, cock twitching within you.

As you squirm beneath him, your husband can tell you’re close, as if the steady pulse of your core around his length wasn’t warning enough. “I would go to war for this cunt,” he groans, locking eyes with you as your foreheads press together once more, “I would burn whole villages to the ground just to have you like this, sweetling.”

His words cascade over you like lava, making your brows furrow together as you gaze up at him, mouth agape. You all but forget to breathe for a moment before a loud, whining moan tears itself from your lips, chest heaving as you fight for air.

“A-Aemond, Aemond, Gods,” you babble, legs tightening around his waist as your nails scratch down his back, making him grunt above you. After only a few more thrusts, you break once more, writhing beneath him.

Distantly, you hear the prince groan and grunt above you as your cunt squeezes around him, determined to hold off his own pleasure long enough to watch you peak once more.

Finally, unable to hold back any longer, Aemond surrenders to the fire within him and moans, voice breaking, as he lets it consume him. Your eyes flutter open as you feel his cock kick inside you and you watch him, mesmerized, as warmth fills you, his seed adding to the sticky mess between your thighs.

He collapses against you, hips still rutting against your own in broken, twitching movements as his own high fades. The two of you lay like that for a moment, panting as you catch your breath, until you realize your husband’s shoulders are shaking beneath your hold, his breath coming in unsteady bursts against your neck from where his head rests against your shoulder.

“My love?” You question, cupping his cheek and bringing his face up just enough to see him. Your heart nearly breaks at the sight of tears pooled in his eye, a few already running down his cheek, “What is it? What’s wrong?” You question, quickly glancing over him, searching for some injury, some source of pain.

Aemond merely shakes his head and sniffles, blinking to dispel his tears as his cheeks flush – he hates the thought of you seeing him so weak. “I’m… I-I’m sorry,” he chokes out finally, holding you against his body tightly despite his embarrassment.

Immediately, you shake your head, pressing a hand against his shoulder until he rolls over, pulling you with him. A soft gasp leaves your lips at the feel of his softening length slipping from your drenched folds as he comes to rest on his back, you at his side, one hand across his chest.

“Shhh, husband,” you murmur, cupping his cheek once more as you lean up on an elbow, “You needn’t apologize to me.” He nods, somewhat half-heartedly, at your words and sighs deeply, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows thickly, trying to chase away the tightness at the back of his throat.

You stay silent for a moment, giving him time to calm down, and let your eyes sweep over his form. Aside from the blotches of ash on his pale skin, and some bruises here and there, he looks nearly untouched. A small smile tugs at your lips despite the situation when you see your lock of hair still wound into his, pale braid practically falling apart by now, most of it pulled free of the leather tie holding it together.

“What’s happened?” You finally ask once his breathing evens out some, your thumb rubbing soothingly over his cheekbone.

“Aegon,” he chokes out, jaw clenching once more as tears run down his cheek yet again.

Your heart clenches as a shot of adrenaline all but knocks the wind from your lungs, “He’s not… h-he didn’t –” You start to question, stopping yourself once Aemond shakes his head.

“No, no,” he confirms, voice ragged and soft as his chest heaves with a sniffle, “Almost, but no.”

“Almost?”

“He… He’s hurt,” Aemond starts, barely a whisper as his eye finally meets yours, “Badly. I don’t… I don’t know what comes next, o-or what to do, what’ll be expected of me, of you –” He mutters, breath picking up as panic rises within him, regretting each time he’d looked at his brother with envy – saw the black crown atop his head, glimmering with red rubies, and thought bitterly that it would suit him better.

“Shhh,” you breathe once more, draping yourself over him like a blanket and pulling a tired sigh from his lips as your touch immediately slows his racing heart. You run your fingers through his hair, black intertwined with white, and press a soothing kiss to his cheek, “I don’t care what comes next, my love.”

Your soft words draw his attention and he looks at you, brows furrowed in surprise, “You don’t?”

“Not at all,” you murmur, steeling yourself to be strong for him regardless of the future, “Whatever happens, I shall face it with you. That’s enough for me.”

gen tags: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @imawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @fan-goddess @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @eponaartemisa @trshngyn @brettlovessuckingcocks @alerisc @moonriseoverkyoto @wolfdressedinlace @do-double-g @kennafild @cruelworldlana @mheraxes @eternallyvenus @chaotic-fangirl-blog @simp-hub-bro @badxbabyyy @venchi-cremino

aemond tags: @demirunner @iloveslasher @neithriddle @moneypriestess @anak1nsx @angelinap09

hotd tags: @cuddlejeongin

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

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achaoticeternal · 5 months

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caught at a crossroads

prince regent!aemond targaryen x stark!reader

summary: while seeking safe passage down the Kingsroad to Dragonstone, you travels come to a halt. word count: 1.5k a/n: i would consider a part 2 if people are interested warnings: AFAB reader, mentions of violence and death

The journey thus far had been so silent with hardly any issues arising. Twelve men at your aid - six Stark men and six Queen's Guard - were ready to lay down their lives to safely deliver you to Dragonstone. After the eldest of Rhaenyra's sons came to call upon your brother in haste, an alliance was formed through the most sworn occasion. A marriage between the Queen's firstborn and Cregan Stark's only sister would tie your houses together.

Cregan and Rhaenyra had reached such a favorable outcome for the people whom they cared about most. Still, Cregan understood the dangers that came with swearing an oath to the Black council. If the Green's went North, he did not want you to fall into their capture. As such, an agreement was made that the young Lady Stark was welcome to reside on Dragonstone, within the sacred walls of House Targaryen.

Passage of the Kingsroad was a risk for anyone who dared to use. Miles of the path lived anarchic tribes that cared little for the proper laws of the land. With this in mind, the band of men were forged together to keep you safe from those on the road, and from those who would come to hear of the betrothal.

Already, your group had been riding for eight days, traveling south. They decided to avoid traversing the Westerlands, things swaying off the main road would do little to help if word ever got to King's Landing. It was better to take the faster route so that they could escort you quickly to proper safety. Instead, your path would take a slight risk. You would cross over the trident and pass through the villages on the outskirts of Harrenhal.

Harrenhal and its neighboring lands had become greatly abused during the war. The entirety of the Riverlands had been battered and bruised with forests of ash becoming more regular by the day. It was rumored that Prince Aemond Targaryen had laid siege to the region in reaction to the loss of his nephew, Jaehaerys. If you could lay low and stay away from the rotation of troops that came through the area, the remainder of your journey would be guaranteed safety.

At first, the ambush seemed to be nothing. Just a few bandits who were looking to start trouble. Yet when they drew blades of Valyrian steel, your guards had alerted you to seek cover. Metal crashed against metal, the sound echoing through the forest. Luckily, being a northern girl, you had some natural knack for survival. Swiping a jagged rock off the ground, you first hid behind the cart your band had been traveling in.

From the position, you could see how furiously your enemies brandished their swords. The experienced men of the King's Guard had no issue holding their own against the fierce warriors. However, the youngest of the Stark men was the first to meet his fate as a guard slashed his throat open. A broken cry had escaped past your lips, watching the body fall to the earth below. You had recognized him as kin to your dressing maid, a good boy, now dead.

As another Stark man fell, you took this as a warning sign to advance further into the woods. Gripping the stone, you slunk away from the makeshift camp and towards a mixed assortment of oak and evergreen trees. The candle in your lantern would soon be snuffed out by its own wax, but it did aid to light your path. Behind you, more men continued to fight and fall. However, huffs of aggression and assertion echoed towards your ears. The enemies were advancing.

"The scouts said there were thirteen," A voice barked out, "Find the last man. We must know what the Black's are planning."

Quickly, you moved behind the trunk of a large oak tree and immediately blew out your candle. There was just enough bush to keep you covered unless someone was searching intently or you gave any sign. If you stayed silent, maybe they would brush over you.

However, you heard the grunts of one of your guards, his gravely voice panting as you heard him being drug down the road, "Who is your final man? Where were you going?"

A low chuckle resounded from his chest, "Queen Rhaenyra's army is growing, and soon she will march on King's Landing and the Usurper."

As you went to peak upon the seen, you heard the sound of a sword being drawn and plunged through the guard's neck. Now all your guards were dead. You were alone in the Riverlands. Alone in the Riverlands with a two-day journey to Dragonstone ahead of you. If you could make it through the night.

Footsteps filled the area surrounding where you kept hidden. The width of the tree and the bush serve you well to keep you hidden in the dark of the night. With baited breath, you remained on edge, hoping they would soon give up.

"Ser Cole," A guard called out to his superior, "We have reason to believe the thirteenth traveler is a woman. If the raven from this morning is true, then I believe it could be-"

"I'll alert the prince," The other man replied shortly.

Nearly an hour passed with little disruption. Only the chittering of the forest kept you company. That was until a sinister voice echoed through the trees.

"Little wolf... Where are you hiding?"

So they were fully aware of who you were, but they still didn't know where you were hidden.

"C'mon, little wolf, if we don't catch you here, we certainly will before you are ever able to reach Dragonstone."

The voice held some familiarly to you. Though deeper and more confident, the rhythm and tone reminded you of just a few years ago. Your first and only visit to the Capitol.

It had been the King's 65th name day had approached and your father had decided that the three of you would all take the journey to King's Landing. While visiting, you had the honor of meeting the King's children from his second wife. His eldest son, Aegon, and his sister-wife, Haelena, the youngest, Daeron, and lastly, the owner of the current voice...

Prince Aemond Targaryen

"The hunter has become the prey it seems..." He called out to you once more, "It's been quite a few years, little wolf, won't you do me the honor of reuniting?"

Your heartbeat began to increase, hammering against your chest. Part of you feared that he could hear it pumping in your chest, or even the panting of your uneven breaths.

Silence returned to the wood, and you knew it might be your only opportunity to move until morning. As you moved to stand, a twig crunched beneath your boot. A moment later footsteps could be heard running in your direction. It was time to act, time to find a nice place to hide. Your feet carried you quickly and lightly through the forest floor, the feeling similar to chasing your brother through the Godswood as children. A feeling of hope grew in your chest...

Only to be crushed when a sword glinted in the moonlight. You came to a scathing halt as Aemond stepped out from behind one of the trees. His platinum hair and sapphire eye reflected bits of pale light as he observed your movements, "Ah... Lady Stark..."

"Prince Aemond," The lady quickly straightened her posture.

The man sheathed his sword as he approached the lone Stark lady, "Seems you haven't heard the news, it's Prince Regent, now. Though you would know that if you were where you belonged in Winterfell."

"I-" You attempted to stutter out.

"Yes?" Aemond smirked, knowing that he had you practically cornered, "Well, my lady, it seems you should come with me. It is dangerous for a Lady like yourself to be unaccompanied on the King's Road."

Aemond stepped forward which in turn caused you to take a step back. His smirk only remained at this behavior from you, the excitement of it all getting to him. Another step forward and he snatched one of your wrists in his large, callused hand. He tugged you forward to keep you close and minimize your attempts to run.

"I have a promise of safe passage, it's... it's a royal decree," You stuttered out as his glare only continued to intensify, "I have the right to go to my intended destination."

In an instant, his smirk fell quickly, "Your intended destination or your intended betrothed?"

Everything began to piece together as he continued, "That's right, my lady. I received word this morning that a dozen Stark men and traitors were seen along the Kingsroad escorting a young woman. This news arrived shortly after news about my Strong nephew's marriage approached, I simply connected the dots. But it's alright, little wolf, you are now a welcome guest at Harrenhal."

Your head shook at his words, "No, no, I-"

"It wasn't an invitation," Aemond quickly interjected as he pulled you closer, "By royal decree of Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen, you are my guest until I see fit to dismiss you."

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd #ewan mitchell #house targaryen #prince regent aemond #mattie writes

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being-addie · 1 year

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Sunday Resets

Setting aside time for yourself is so important. I don't think people understand how vital it is to pay attention to your body and just take a day to let your body r-e-l-a-x. We're all so busy fighting to reach the top, that while climbing the corporate ladder, we lose ourselves somewhere along the way. Burnout, depression, and monotony come into play when we don't listen to our bodies telling us they need a break.

Once every two weeks or so, on a Sunday, I turn off all my notifications and have a day dedicated to me. Giving my body some TLC, resting and preparing for the next week. If I have plans on a Sunday, such as brunch or a meeting, I shift that day to Saturday, or at the very least, a day where I have at least 4-5 hours to spend leisurely.

Things I like to do on my Sunday resets:

Wake up early/sleep in: Depending on my mood, and how much sleep I've had during the week, I'll either be up at the crack of dawn or still in bed till it's nearly noon. There's no shame in staying in bed till 11:30 if you're particularly exhausted, but I recommend waking up at least before 11 AM because then you'll feel tired and groggy (of course, this doesn't apply to everyone)

Clean my room: I always make my bed without fail, and if my room is messy, then I'll clean it. Clean the vanity table, my desk, closet, art cupboard and bookshelf, and then the bathroom. If my mom needs help around the house, I do that too.

Food: I make myself a good breakfast, taking time to move around the kitchen and just breathe. I'm getting to eat good food, the sun is shining and I'm alive. It's great. Sometimes my dad cooks for the whole family and we just sit and eat together.

The Everything Shower: I take my Everything Shower on Sundays, where I wash my hair, deep condition, use a hair and face mask, exfoliate and do a face massage. I don't shave because I get my waxing done in a salon. I then slather myself in cocoa butter lotion and apply lip balm. Then do my hair routine (curly hair). It takes a few hours, but it's worth it.

The Next Week: I prep for the next week by cooking something I can take to my classes, like granola bars or homemade pita chips. I also sit down and plan my schedule (any dinners, meetings, parties, etc) and make a rough plan of my goals for the week, like assignments and deadlines.

Errands: I usually make a list of things I need to do during the week, like any specific separate groceries that I use, art supplies I'm low on, or needing to top up the air in my tyres. Then I go complete all of those in the afternoon.

Walks: In the evening, I take a walk around the block with a friend. I usually am too busy to do this during the week, so getting some fresh air is always a treat.

Relax: The rest of the evening is spent relaxing. I watch Netflix with my family, chat with my younger sister, read a novel/play the piano/write poetry. We have dinner together and then either watch a movie or just spend the time talking about our week, or the news. It's fun.

Double-check: Before I go to sleep, I make sure to double-check that my work is done, my bag is packed, clothes are folded and all my devices are charged. I'm in bed by 10:30 PM.

Remember that not all Sundays will be like this. Sometimes I'm extremely drained, so I'll sleep in, order food and just lay in bed recuperating. It's okay to take a rest day. This guide is if you want to be more productive, and it helps the week go smoother. Be the person who has their life in charge. You've got this.

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fayeriess · 4 months

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⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ WHEN ANGER

TURNS TO HONEY ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

daemon targaryen x fem!reader

summary: tensions rise between house targaryen and house royce after the death of your sister, lady rhea. the night of princess rhaenyra's wedding feast, accusations come to light, a finger pointing to the brother of the king — who just so happens to be your lover.

warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, loose enemies to lovers trope, scratching kink (??), graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of loss of virtue, daemon being daemon, the usual hotd shenanigans

a/n: yet another installment of 'birth of violence' that has me fanning myself silly. bear with me if there are any mistakes or if you find anything to be incorrect, as i am still slowly easing my way into the fandom. enjoy friends <3

“I am making an accusation.”

The moment those words were spat out of your cousin's lips with the utmost venom he could muster, you had suddenly wished you were hidden behind the thick walls Runestone provided; mourning the loss of your older sister.

Gerold Royce should have bit down harshly on his tongue the second his heart burst in flames with overwhelming heat — hatred for the man before him, eyes narrowed with murderous intentions he so desperately wished to act on.

This occasion was anything but the correct time to address such serious matters, especially under the scrutinous eyes of the King, his heir, and his Hand who had watched with such caution that you had opted to distract yourself by digging your fingernails in the wax-coated skin of an apple you had plucked from the vast array of foods.

The rhythm of your breathing had grown uneven, breasts squeezing uncomfortable against the upper trim of your dress, pillowed lips pressed in a thin line.

Daemon Targaryen leaned back in the finely carved wood that made up his seat, nodding in faux understanding at your cousin's bold choice of words. Craning his head slightly to scan his violet eyes across his elder brother and Lord Lyonel Strong, his lips jutted before parting to speak.

“In King’s Landing, men are made to answer for their slanders. Even old bronze cunts like you.”

There it was. The infamous insult that sharpened the blade — stabbing it into the already agonized heart of your relative, as well as your own through the sonorous music pouring in the canals of your ears.

You had known this so-called slander to be true; knowing his profound hatred for the Lady of the Vale had finally been acted upon in the treachery of her brutal murder. It was an unfortunate occurrence you had trampled upon.

Her skull was bashed to bits, remnants of brain matter scattered about in thick clots of crimson that had decorated the grass and watered the dirt. You had touched with the pads of your fingers, still slightly warm to the touch. Deep within the pits of your stomach, weaved in your intestines, you had known the silver-haired man before you were to take the blame for her untimely demise.

However, you were in no position to come to such a decision, and nor would you ever be. Therefore, Daemon Targaryen would walk away with every limb intact, and you would continue to suppress your fury, forever scarred by the loss.

It was only then that you had sharply stood from your seat, apple long forgotten as it dropped onto the table with a quiet thud, momentarily attracting the curious gazes of those across from you, the others none-the-wiser as they continued to prance about.

Piercing, violet eyes caught yours for a fraction of a millisecond and if you weren’t as aware as you were now, it was something you were sure to miss.

Destastation never consumed you so… barbarically.

Gerold stepped forward, chubby fists clenched and shaking with contained wrath.

Daemon took it as no threat, offering an amused smile as if to mock his feeble attempt at intimidation and defense of his house, his name, and his cousin.

“The truth is, I’m glad you’ve come. I wish to speak to you about my inheritance.”

“What inheritance?”

“Lady Rhea and I had no heirs. As her husband whatever she was due now passes to me.”

His words to you became a jumbled nonsensical mess.

Surely he had too much wine to drink before he had strutted through the thick doors of the feast hall, all mighty and proud of his feats and dirty achievements.

Before you could stop your actions, you strutted up the four short steps, forcing position next to Gerold whose jaw had grown taut with anger, teeth grinding against each other, practically shaking in place.

“It seems you’ve forgotten that Lady Rhea has a sister,” Your sharp words cut through the pause of uncomfortable silence that had settled despite music still echoing in the expanse of space, dimly lit, cozy yet unnerving at the same time. “and truth that no heirs have been brought forth, I have a right to claim. As long as I continue to breathe, you will take nothing.”

The finality of your statement seemed to have temporarily embedded itself in some part of Daemon that wasn’t as rot-ridden as he was, as he had nodded curtly at you, taking longer than necessary.

His lingering stares had never failed to send a chill down your spine, numbing you at the very core of your existence whenever you’d catch his gaze. He had preferred your presence over your sisters, despite the little time you two had spent together. Though he quickly figured that since you and the eldest bronze bitch had come from the same cunt, you were bound to have the same irritating little quirks — he just found you more tolerable, more sheltered than Rhea.

After all, the eve he had flown on the back of Caraxes back to King’s Landing, he had filled you — had given you something to remember him by. It showed when hues of purples and blues decorated the expanse of your stomach, under your ribcage, everywhere he could reach until you could no longer take everything he had to offer.

Daemon loved to ruin pretty things. And even though he had stated that the sheep were much prettier than any of the women in the Vale, he had not thought of you.

Roughly circling your arm around Gerold’s bicep, you tugged him away, and back to your designated seats, pulling him down to sit with as much strength as you could.

“Do not ever make such accusations in front of other lords and ladies of the realm.” You seethe, feeling him stiffen under your near-suffocating grasp, lips pressed together tightly before he nods.

“Good. Now eat, you’ve been neglecting your needs.”

And without a word, Gerold obeys.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

There’s moonlight casting shadows over the gargantuan towers of the Red Keep, basking certain spaces with a luster so gentle, it almost felt as if you were on your homeland, feeling the grass between your bare toes, inhaling as much fresh air as your lungs could home.

You could not do that here.

You could not taint your body with such putrid, toxic air as what loomed over in King’s Landing in thick clouds, dusting over the already sinful streets, waiting to discreetly make its way down your throat until it attacked every single cell in your body. Refuge from the disastrous occurrence of tonight's feast was not to be found here.

That was something you had quickly come to realize when you had picked at your fingernails draped over the ornate decoration of one of the many balcony railings that riddled the large fortress, mind wandering to other things that developed a small bubble of guilt.

You wouldn’t feed the monster. No. You couldn’t feed it the small handful of ill-at-ease altercations you’ve had with your brother bound by marriage, and the way he looked at you only intensified it to the point where you were sure it was to burst open, spilling your intestines and long-kept secrets.

“There you are. You know, you’re very hard to find.”

Clutching at the fabric of your dress, you rubbed it between your thumb and pointer fingers, spine straightening with such haste that it cracked slightly, back still turned to him.

That voice had haunted you in your dreams once, maybe twice if you could recall correctly despite your enthusiasm to find a way to rid them from the tissue of your brain. It had chosen to gather in the outer fluid of your skull instead, sloshing around the forefront from to time whenever Rhea had mentioned her cunt of a husband. They had not consummated their marriage, as he had no interest in sticking his cock in the likes of your sister, an eagle with wings far too big for her body.

That was something he despised about her, amongst many other things. Yet, he couldn’t find it in his dull, black heart to take any of it out on you, a vision among many; a person in his dreams he wishes he could call a stranger.

You had robbed him of something, and although Daemon wasn’t quite sure of what exactly it was, he’d figure it out in time. As he always did, no matter how rash.

“Should I be honored to be in your presence after you’ve sought me out, then?”

A brush of wind passes, seeping through the thin material of your clothing, through your skin, and wrapping itself around your bones.

“I think I should be … lady of the Vale.”

Turning your head in his direction, you narrow your eyes into slits as he makes his way toward you, hands clasped together firmly behind his back, hair slightly disheveled.

There’s a lump in your throat that you swallow with difficulty, heaving out a large, dramatic sigh, keeping your eyes locked on the side of his face, the slope of his nose. His brows were furrowed, the lines of age even more visible on the face you’ve only had the pleasure of touching once when he had thrust into you.

The mere thought of it calls upon the guilt again. So, you resist.

“I am in no mood for jesting, I only wish for a moment of peace. That is all I ask.” As tired as you had sounded, you had felt even more defeated knowing that no matter how much tea you’d ingest when you reached your temporary chambers, it would not be enough to keep your rumination at bay.

There’s a whistle somewhere nearby, a momentary distraction from how close he’s standing to you, shoulder to shoulder, body heat practically radiating like the fires you’d set deep within thick branches and high grass.

“You have a sly little tongue on you, don’t you?”

“Only when one claims what is to be mine.”

“Hm,” He hums, turning his head slightly to stare you directly in the eyes. “So eager to replace that dear sister of yours. Tell me, how did she so tragically pass again?

Daemon was trying to get under your skin. It was a skill he was best suited at, especially in a time of vulnerability such as this, with no one else around to diffuse the fire sparking between the both of you as your chest expanded so wide, that your lungs burned,

Grinding your teeth together, you could taste nothing but wine on your tongue as you pressed it against the roof of your mouth.

“A snapped neck and a crushed skull.” He tutts, “Such a shame.”

“Do not speak of my sister in ill manners when she has no way to defend her honor.” You spat, hand shaking at your sides, nails digging into your clammy palms – leaving crescent indents in their wake.

“Is that not why she has a sister to take her place when it suits her, to fuck her husband without remorse.” The smirk that appears at the corner of his lips has your chin wobbling in anger, a hand outstretched to clasp at the lining of his blood-red sleeve; the same blood-red that painted your sister's head when it laid cracked open on blades of grass.

“Laying with you was an insult to my virtue.”

Slowly, as if you were to strike him at any moment, Daemon raised a hand, gently pressing it against the pillowed flesh of your bottom lip, wet with saliva and ready for him to devour all over again; the taste of citrus coating his taste-buds.

“I rather enjoyed our time together.” He admits with amusement as if the agony written on your face was purely a source of entertainment.

With unshed tears burning behind your irises, you blink, wrinkling your nose in mild disgust at the man in front of you. “Fuck you.”

And with that, he presses his lips against yours, teeth clashing against teeth as the heat of his mouth overpowers your will to resist. You’re putty in his arms and he knows it by the way his free hand grips your hipbone, gripping as if you keep you in place.

It’s messy, yet delectable all the same as his tongue mingles with yours, hot and needy as they dance, heads growing hazy from lack of breathing. A quiet moan escapes you when Daemon tugs your bottom lip between his teeth as if he were starving, pulling you as close to his chest as he can manage.

You’d burn for this, surely; for fitting in the arms of your sister's husband as if you’d belong there — for feeling some sort of desire — lust all for the man who had taken her from you. It had become all too real to you when he had brought you into his chambers and unclothed you slowly as if you were a sight to behold, drinking you in like the most expensive wine he’d ever sought out in all of the Seven Kingdoms.

It had all become too real when his hands had greedily palmed at your breasts, taking a nipple in his mouth with such enthusiasm, that you were positive this was an entirely different man from the one you had come to know. His cheeks were hollow as he sucked, nipped, and swirled his tongue around your hard bud, an arch in your back only encouraging his movements.

The organ in your chest was beating erratically, practically pounding on your ribs, hoping to crack them one by one and leave you a shell of yourself before you were to return home.

Just for tonight.

You’d feel his touch one last time before you’d beg for forgiveness for the rest of your life.

When Daemon removes his mouth from your chest, he finds himself sucking the skin at the base of your neck, paying attention to a particular spot you had reacted to, bruising all he could to claim you just like he told you he would the first, and only night he bedded you.

The sensation of the bare skin of your legs wrapped around his waist sends him into a frenzy as he inhales sharply, slapping his hands at the meat of your thighs before trailing one between your legs to palm at his hard cock, dripping with pre-cum and ready to bury you to the hilt.

“One last time.” You whisper, letting it mix in the heavy air, watching the way his brows furrow before the only emotion in his dark eyes dissipates.

He wastes no time, gathering your arousal on his tip before he’s sheathing himself into you, groaning lowly in the crook of your neck as your walls shape around him. Your insides are on fire with the way he’s stretching you, left hand gripping at the sheets near your head.

“I’ll never grow tired of this.” He says it as if he’d have you for the rest of his life, a soft lilt to words that you’d find praising if they weren’t coming from him, a Targaryen — a dragon conqueror.

Biting down on the soft flesh of your lower lip, you stared at his features, clouded with a certain haze of carnal desire. The feeling of your heart beating quickly against the bones of your ribcage subsided when a flow of arousal made itself known at the burning intimacy of the action, causing you to clench around his cock buried within you, your nails dancing down the nape of his neck to the expanse of his back.

A groan left his throat when that not-so-innocent sound he relished reached his ears, and it was hard not to pound you into the satin sheets right then and there. Instead, he pressed his bare chest against yours, skin hot and flushed, his wet lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

As the muscles in his back flexed, the light sting of where your sharp nails had once been clawing desperately reminded him just how much he loved the feeling of your nails breaking the skin there the first time. The sadistic action secretly becomes one of his favorites as you do it now. It was physical proof that he could please you in a way no one else could touch you in all the right places, and watch your pretty eyes roll into the back of your head.

Every single reaction you had to even the slightest touch — was all because of him. He’d want his touch to be all you’d ever know.

“So good, sweetling,” He drawled lowly. A quiet but adequate praise before he removed one of his hands from your side, producing a sharp hiss from you as his palm slapped against the outside of the fat of your left thigh once more.

You whined, the pulse between your legs aching with arousal, your slick pooling at the base of his cock when he’d fully unsheathe himself only to ram, back into you again. “Such a tight little cunt, huh?”

Wrapping your legs around his unclothed torso as much as you could manage, you crossed your ankles, pushing him in until he touched a spot so deep within you that you choked on your breath, the air seemingly knocked out of your lungs by his harsh movements as he continued to stretch you.

With closed eyes, you let your eyebrows furrow in concentration at the euphoric feeling he brought to you, a relentless pace that sent your toes to curl involuntarily.

The air was hot and the sheen of sweet blooming between the both of you did little to quell the intense heat. Skin slapping against skin and your lewd moans echoing off the thin walls and right back into your ears was all that could be heard aside from his panting.

It was only when his hand had slipped near your neck to cup your jaw, that you had let out a sob so pathetic that he had chuckled right into your skin, tears distorting your once clear vision of him as he continued to pump himself in and out of out.

“Look at you.” He cooed, “So pretty with those tears in your eyes.”

Your fingers had flexed uncomfortably near the top of his spine, nails scratching against the expanse, and moving toward his scalp, twirling wisps of loose silver hair around your finger as the frame squeaked beneath your bodies.

His guttural groan vibrated throughout your chest, rattling your body. The burning sting that seeped through the minor, raw wounds encouraged him to hold your hips down, ramming so deep into you, that you had started to writhe beneath him.

Daemon could tell you were close.

How could you not be with the way he was abusing your cunt; rocking you through your orgasm.

The slow, deep breaths he took to steady his breathing helped you focus on calming your own as he rubbed the pad of his thumb against your cheekbone, thrusting one, two, three more times before emptying himself in you, painting your walls with his seed, filling you to the brim before swiftly pulling out of you.

Your gaze never left his fit, naked figure as he ran a hand through his hair, shuffling toward the end of the bed, back hunched and toward you as the silence and realization of what you had done ate at you.

Never again. That was a promise you intended to keep.

Never again.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen angst #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd #daemon targaryen

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chronically-ghosted · 6 months

Text

the days i spend with you

rating: T

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: >1000

summary: a snow-storm keeps you from meeting Marcus's family over the holidays so you cheer him up by maintaining Pike family traditions.

warnings/tags: literally none, so much fluff, bad jokes, talking with your mouth full which is bad manners, references to air bud (do y'all even know who that is), minor praise in a barely kinky way, no y/n

a/n: i was feeling festive and my beautiful beautiful moots answered the call! @yoursoulsunbreakable requested: What about making apple scented candles with Marcus P on a rainy day? 🕯️🍎 🍁 this was healing to my soul to write so there will be more autumn/thanksgiving themed oneshots coming soon! (if you like these, please go look at @trulybetty 's october x 500 -- she did all of October with these yummy prompts, so please check them out and give her a follow!)

🤍Masterlist

“Stop it, you’re going to make me laugh.”

“I’m not even doing anything.”

“You’re going to make me drop it!”

“What do you want me to do? Shut my eyes?”

“Yes!”

With a smile, your eyes flicker between the dribbling hot wax and Marcus, laughing as he stands up and goes to the other side of the kitchen. He pops half a Snickerdoodle in his mouth.

“Shee ‘m ev’n in a d’frnt room. ‘Appy now?”

Your distraction taken care of, you return your attention to the culmination of about eight hours of work. Arms straining with the heavy pot, you continue to pour out the amber colored liquid into the small glass container that came with the kit and you bite your lip, focus entirely on maintaining a steady hand. A whole number of things could go wrong here: you could spill the wax and have hot wax splash all over Marcus’s grandmother’s Queen Anne table, which could have been present at the original Thanksgiving. You could pour too fast and the wax would yank down the wick and then you’d have to pluck it out with tweezers before it could harden – naturally clumsy, adding speed to the mix would only incentivize more chaos.

But you hold steady, wrists tight, and the wax slowly fills to the top, the tiny string staying firmly around the chopsticks.

“That’s it, baby, you’re doing perfect.”

His voice makes your toes clench in your shoes and you bite your lip harder. Caught half-way between wanting his praise and finding even his voice a distraction, you block him out entirely and lean forward, just as the wax reaches the lip of the glass container. Like Marcus had shown you on the one he did just before, you flick your wrist up and the flow of the wax drip, drip, drips until the last bit is stopped by the edge of the pot.

For a moment, you worry about what you forgot to do or if you’ve missed a step – because everything looks too perfect. The wax is settling properly, a cinnamon apple smell pungent throughout the house, and the string holds strong.

Firm, warm hands slide over your waist as Marcus kisses your neck. His breath smells like sugar, the weight behind you a balm and a praise all its own.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” He asks quietly as he noses your ear. “You’re a natural.”

You bite your lip and run your palms over his knuckles, up to his elbows, then settling firmly on his forearms.

“I know I’m not as good as your sister, or your mom, but at least I didn’t spill everywhere.” You smile gently when he stiffens slightly behind you. Twisting in his arms, you put a hand on that smooth face you love with all your heart. He returns your smile, but it's dampened. You know he’s disappointed that the weather grounded all planes to Maine where the Pikes’ have a winter home – he had been so looking forward to introducing you to his family. “I hope I haven’t shamed your ancestors with my shoddy candle making.”

Marcus laughs and shakes his head, returning the hug around your waist. “You haven’t shamed anyone. I give that candle a ten out of ten.”

“And I burned the wax only once!” This time you laugh with him as he kisses your cheek. You forget how easy a happy Marcus shows affection, someone entirely different from the forlorn man you met all those months ago after he moved to Washington from Austin. “What’s next for the Pike family Thanksgiving Olympics?”

“Well, for a championship gold medal like that, I think all contestants deserve a hot chocolate and a repeat viewing of A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.” He pats your butt and walks into the kitchen. “Save me a seat, will ya?”

You smirk then flex in a pose as you head for the couch like you’re showing off your muscles on the Miami boardwalk. “You got it, champ. Put me in, cap, I’ll bring home the gold yet again! Airbud ain’t got nothing on me! Those Rooskies can’t defeat my hockey skills and–,”

A hand catches your elbow halfway through a pretend hockey stick swing and you stumble back into his arms. You have a second to see his half-lidded eyes before he kisses you, your cheeks nestled between his palms. And you, predictable, go as weak-kneed as a dame on a tarmac. Your hands curl around his wrists, his cashmere sweater as soft as he is.

He nips at your bottom lip, almost a more affectionate squeeze than a real bite and you sigh, adjusting yourself to get closer to him. When he finally pulls away, you feel a little lightning-struck. You lift your heavy lids to his rich, dark brown eyes. The smile he gives you is a full on Pike smile, nothing dampened or dimmed about it.

“Thank you for being here,” he murmurs to your lips. You can’t wait to kiss chocolate off his later. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Marcus.”

There is no silence with Marcus, only quiet contentment. Outside, the snow patters softly against the windows, piling up in the eaves of the house and the bends of the trees and the curves of the cars, the miles of road – a truly snowed-in Thanksgiving.

“Marshmallows with whipped cream?”

“Marshmallows with whipped cream.” You nod seriously. He lets you go and you kiss him once more on the cheek before going to find a good blanket to snuggle under. His heart so full it truly might burst, he turns back to the kitchen to start heating up the milk.

So the weather ruined his plans this time around, the small black box remaining hidden in the bottom of his suitcase. Well, there is always Christmas to do it in front of his family. And if the weather continued to thwart his perfect proposal, he’d do it in the damn driveway if he had to.

He didn’t want to waste another second with his ring anywhere but your finger.

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike fic #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x female reader #thanksgiving 2023

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brainrotbunny · 1 year

Text

dirty sneakers and denied handshakes

library love: chapter one

remus lupin x fem!slytherin!sirius' sister!reader

moon phase: waxing gibbous

synopsis; remus and yourself bond over coffee, books, and making fun of your idiot older brother.

warnings; blood purity? swearing?, sirius being sirius.

A/N: first chapter is now out! this is my first fic so be gentle w me :,). the series masterlist will be out vv soon and so will the next chapter!! the moon phase is at the start of each chapter for context to how remus is acting. this is an extended version of the preview/blurb so the first couple paragraphs may seem familiar . thank you for reading <3

you had spent your first morning of your fifth year rushing around hogwarts, helping first years arrive to their classes while also trying to get to your own on time. It didnt help that your first class, transfiguration, was the class you had struggled with the most the previous year, was also shared with the house you struggled with the most, gryffindor.

your first class was filled with glares from your brother, being a black was difficult, and you could say being sirius' sister was just as hard, after all he was known for his dramatics. even after he had run away from your unfortunate home situation the tension between you and your brother didn't subside.

in-fact it felt as if a bigger rift had opened between you and your eldest brother, being divided by more than just opinions and school houses, but by space as well. so as you stood in your first class of the year, which happened to be a year above your own it didn't shock you when you saw your brother and his friend james potter, what did shock you was the glare he was casting your way, grey eyes splintering into your own.

now you were used to sirius' glares and his comments by then, and it had never helped that you had made a few of your own but it looked like he was ready to rip you to shreds, as if you had imposed on his space and that was in-fact what he thought of the new arrangement.

your marks during 4th year had been exceptional, your professors let you know that if you kept up your marks, you would be able to move up a grade the following year.nonetheless , despite your grades being exceptional the stress of keeping them up had caused you to fall slightly behind in transfiguration, but that didnt stop you from advancing, your professors had agreed your marks in transfiguration, herbology, potions, history of magic, and oddly enough divination were exceptional and you were eligible to move up a year.

that being said your fifth year came with alot more challenges than that of the academic sort, it was your first year as a prefect and you had been assigned snape as a patrol partner for the first month, severus snape had seemingly assigned himself as your shadow; walking with you from the train to the great hall and he had taken it it upon himself to sit with you during the sorting ceremony as well , not that you minded, he was never close with you or your twin, but snape had never been a bother to you. despite the rumours following snape, you never had an issue with him.

your second class of the day, sixth year advanced potions was filled to the brim, hufflepuffs huddled with their friends, slytherins sitting on desks, and you assumed, griffyndors who were sure to get there, just on time.

you stood against the left wall, next to evan rosier, a tall slytherin boy with dark blue eyes and light blonde hair thatstood out against his dark skin. you had been relieved he was there, not like you were close but you shared a house, blood status, and he was a close friend of regulus so by proximity you two were civil (at least by your standards)

"ah, here come the gryffindors" rosier spoke up looking to you.

"almost late as per usual"

you watched as other students filed in by the door, lupin, evans, and mary mcdonald appeared and to your relief they were lacking a certain boy with long black hair, who had made sure to stare daggers through your head all through transfiguration

evans, lupin, and mcdonald walked in, forming a small group against the opposite wall, the redheaded girl stood with her back straight, her chin up, and her green eyes directly on severus who gave her a small nod to which she returned with a wave.

mcdonald was stood beside evans, her head resting against her shoulder, dark curly haired splayed against the red and black of lilys robes.

lupin stood silently with his arms crossed and his back slightly pressed into the wall behind him, his shoulders sagged, his back was slightly hunched, and he was shifting his weight from foot to foot. his freckled face twisted up into a frown,the paleness of his scars stood out against his tan skin and sandy brown hair. His arms were full, loose parchemets, a few books, a muggle notebook, and what seemed to be a ballpoint pen.

you and remus had never spoken before, and to be frank you didnt pay much attention to him. of course, you knew him. everyone did, he stood out against the other gryfindors he called friends, his scarred face, quiet demeanor, and knit sweaters set him apart from the lot.

he stood tall over the rest of them as well, and despite his opposing demeanour to his strong willed friends who has gotten themselves quite the reputation, he was known as the kind marauder who mostly stood back and watched his friends in their fun.

though he was rumoured to have quite the temper, but most assumed that was just that, only a rumour, because no one had ever seen sarcastic, sweet, and albeit mischievous remus, angry.

your eyes were stuck to the floor in front of you, your mind drifting far away from the potions classroom, you could already feel yourself growing tired you didnt even know if you would have time to run back to the common room after dinner, since severus had signed you both up for first patrol of the year.

everyones heads turned to look at the front of the class as professor slughorn flittered around his desk, pulling what seemed to be a list out of a mess of papers.

“ah-ha, the seating arrangements” slughorn announced happily.

“yes, yes i know but it must be done” slughorn said as grumbles rang throughout the classroom, he got up from his desk albeit struggling a bit before walking over to the first desk in the room, calling out two names you hadnt heard before, a light-haired ravenclaw sat down followed by a short and pudgy slytherin.

he continued calling out names, one by one students sat down followed by their prepicked partners, you werent paying much attention to the whole ordeal more interested in picking at the cuticles of your nails, and once in a while lifting your head to acknowledge a comment from rosier.

“snape and mcdonald”

“evans and hedgeflower”

“lupin and black”

you heard that alright, your eyes glanced over at lupin who seemed to be equally surprised. You both walked over to your shared desk, it was situated to the left side of the room, third row down. You dropped your books to the far left of the desk, to the point that they were nearly tipping off, you sat down on the stool and crossed your legs, trying to avoid touch and honestly conversation aswell.

lupin followed shortly after, sliding into his seat. His long legs took a majority of the space underneath the desk, he had to awkwardly attempt to cross his legs at the ankle to fit. he almost looked as if he was folding in on himself. he had dirty sneakers on that peeked out from underneath his robes and while that wasnt uncommon for muggle borns or halfbloods you couldnt help but quirk a brow you were sure you had seen sirius wear a similar pair in a different colour.

he laid his books and parchment down ,rather ungracefully, almost knocking over the cauldron that was dividing your shared space. He glimpsed at you briefly before ducking his head back down, organizing his papers and lining up his stationary in a neat row.

you ignored him or more honestly you just weren't paying attention to him, you had barely noticed him, instead focused on the other students being assigned partners, you watched as rosier was partnered with a meek looking hufflepuff who appeared practically terrified of him. he gave you an amused look that you returned, before mouthing something you couldnt quite make out. in your confusion of trying to discern rosiers words you hadnt even noticed lupin was turned towards you.

“erm, m’remus” he mumbled out, holding out his hand “lupin, by the way”

turning to him, you glanced at his hand, looking over the numerous scars running across his palm and his slender fingers. his hand quickly dropped into his lap when he realised you werent going to shake his hand.

“lupin?” you questioned, he nodded “lupine like the plant?”

“lupin like the constellation”

“hmm” you puffed

“disappointed?” lupin implored, your eyes locked and narrowed on his, an unreadable but almost certainly mischievous look gleamed in his hazel eyes.

“quite”

wordcount: 1438

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loveandmurders · 1 year

Text

Jonesy knows III (Sinclair sister!reader x Sinclair brothers)

Hello everyone! I want to thank you all for the support you have been giving me lately. I’m really happy to have been enjoying my work that much <3

This is the last part of this little series about Sinclair sister!reader finding her way back home and Jonesy recognising her after all this time apart. You can find the first part here.

Hope you will enjoy this <3

Warnings: distressed brothers, mention of dead bodies and violence.

You could only imagine how insane your brothers must have gone when they discovered that you and Jonesy were gone. However you couldn’t really understand the pure feeling of distressedness: after having finally gotten their baby sister back home, why would she decide to run away from them? And to take Jonesy with you?

You needed some time to understand what to do, and your brothers were unable to give you that if you didn’t force them.

So you had eaten with them, faked some calmness and they had relaxed. Lester went back to his home, Vincent went to the basement and you started to watch some movie with Bo. He didn’t know what to say to make you feel more at ease, so he stayed silent. He wasn’t the best with emotions; and Vincent couldn’t easily speak with you. Lester wasn’t too sure it was a good idea to leave you alone with Bo but he didn’t want to sleep at Ambrose. You quickly understood that there was something missing in the Sinclair family. The brothers clearly loved each other but they weren’t fully functioning. You were pretty certain it was because of your absence. However, you didn’t feel ready enough to let go of everything you knew and stay there with them. They were strangers… and dangerous ones too.

You waited for Bo to fall asleep, to slowly move from the couch. He had woken up instantly, grabbed your wrist and you had to shush him and tell him you were just going to bed and that he should do the same. He had trusted you and he followed you upstairs, without noticing you taking the front door key as you went by the entrance. He tucked you to bed and kissed your forehead before going to bed himself. You felt the pure tenderness he held for you, and you were almost feeling guilty for what you were about to do. You had waited a little longer, Jonesy also wide awake next to you. After a little while, you got up, dressed back up and carefully walked downstairs. You left the little note you had prepared on the kitchen table.

Need to think about all of this. I take Jonesy with me, I should be back soon. I’m sorry about that, but it’s too much and I don’t want to be locked up in here.

You only put on your shoes once you were outside the house. You were worried Bo or Vincent would hear you, so you thought you needed to be quick. You rushed to the entrance of the town and once again you took comfort into Jonesy’s calming and soft presence. You had noticed some wrecked cars over there, and you hoped one of them would work. If Bo was a good mech, he probably did his best to fix them all. You got quite lucky and the first car you tried, started. You drove out of Ambrose as quietly as possible before speeding up to where you had left your own car. You took your stuff and disappeared in the night.

The next morning, Bo absolutely lost it when he read your note. No need to say the boys had a pretty bad day, week… month. They had lost you once again. And on top of that, they didn’t have Jonesy around them anymore either. She had brought them a lot of comfort the past few years, and not having her was just breaking their hearts even more. It felt like an unfair punishment.

You, on the other hand, had very nice holidays with Jonesy. You were really the perfect match together and she was following you like a lost puppy full of love. You were adoring her, and you were so happy to have her back. Your whole childhood you had asked for a dog from your adoptive parents, but they had always refused, saying that a pet was too much work. It was true, but it was also a lot of love.

You had called your mom to appease her once you had reached your hotel. You had called almost everyday, but it started to annoy you. As days passed you realised you didn’t want to go back to your previous life. You even thought about quitting your job. You found yourself looking for a new one around Ambrose and you found quite a few announcements not so far from where your brothers lived. You were bored in your actual life anyways, everything was so safe, so “normal”. You wanted something more. Maybe that your brothers’ way of life was a bit extreme, but at least you would be home. And you would be with people who really understood you. The way Vincent held his knife was the same as you, the same Bo could be a little bit too protective with what he loved was the same as you, the way Lester loved animals so much was the same as you. And inside of you, there was a darkness you knew they would understand too. You could be free with them.

Yes, you thought it would be nice… As long as your brothers didn’t lock you up. You had to admit you were a little bit worried of their reaction the next time they would see you. But at the same time, you just couldn't think about never going back home. You even wanted to call them to let them know you would be back home soon. Very soon. You weren’t too sure you noted down the number of the house though… You hoped you did because you knew Bo was going to act crazily. No, you had no number because things happened too fast. You sighed and cuddled with Jonesy.

“They’ll be angry at us, you think, baby?” you pouted and Jonesy softly whined. She knew they were going to be on edge. But they were also going to be so relieved to have you two back home. On your own accord too.

You started to do a list of all the many questions you wanted to ask them. There was so much you forgot, because you were very young, and you needed to fill in the blank. And you had started to take ASL classes online so you could communicate with Vincent. You thought you remembered that you used to talk a lot with him when you were a child. And you used to be clingy with Bo. And you used to cause troubles with Lester.

You had disappeared for a month so you had time to remember and to learn some more about ASL and your family. You found out some very old newspaper articles about Ambrose, and one about your father. You remembered his medical room very well now, because you indeed prepared a lot of the bodies with him. Maybe you could be useful to your brothers then, even if you knew they wouldn’t ask anything of that kind from you. They just wanted you back home.

And you were ready to be back home.

It was the end of your holidays, and you decided to go back to your adoptive parents, but only to grab more belongings. Your parents were quite surprised and they believed you had met someone. You didn’t really answer them. You were grateful for everything they did for you, but at the same time… They weren’t truly your family. They were too worried, too overprotective. You knew your brothers were going to be like that too, but it would be different. They were your blood and you wouldn’t have to obey them like it was with your adoptive parents. You could argue with them without feeling like you weren’t allowed to. And your whole being was craving your brothers. You thanked your adoptive brother and he smiled at you. He knew you had found your family, and he was happy for you. For a long time, he had known you weren’t belonging in the bubble your adoptive parents created for you. You belonged in a more violent place; you had everything in you to become more powerful. You needed to be a Sinclair again, even if you were a little bit scared.

You hugged your parents, without them knowing it was a farewell. And a hello to your new life.

You drove back to Ambrose. When you arrived there, it was quite late, and you saw light in the living room and kitchen. You also saw Lester’s truck so you guessed they were all eating together. It was a good thing, because you were starving too.

When you opened the front door, you were greeted by Bo aiming a gun at you. But he instantly lowered it down when he saw it was you. He didn’t say anything, walked straight to you and tightly hugged you, so relieved you decided to come back home. He was quite surprised when you hugged him back and didn’t let him go right away. You hugged Vincent and Lester as well and smiled at the three of them. Jonesy greeted the boys too, really happy to be with them again and Lester cradled her against his chest, gently cooing at her while Vincent kissed the top of her head. He noticed how careful and a little bit possessive you were over her though. Like when you were a child and you didn’t like when strangers touched her. Before Bo could say anything, you told them:

“I’m moving in, so I brought a lot of stuff from my parents. They are in the car I borrowed you” you sheepishly explained as you pointed at the car outside. Your brothers only heard the first part of your sentence.

“Why the change of heart?” Bo asked

“Never had any change of heart, I just needed some time to think about all of this. And it’s difficult to think when someone is threatening you to lock you up if you don’t do the “right” thing” you explained and Bo looked away “But it’s fine, now I’m back home. I’ll live here and I’ll find a new job close by and we’ll do as if I never left. I don’t want secrets, I want to know what’s going on. And I have a lot of questions to ask. And I want to help with the family business too. If I used to help dad with the bodies, I can still do that”

Vincent was quick to sign something to Bo for him to translate it to you, but you understood thanks to the classes you took.

“I know I don’t have to” you replied and it took them aback “But I really want to. And if one day I don’t want anymore, I want you to leave me alone. I’m happy to be here on my own, but I refuse to be treated like I am your belongings, or your prisoner.” you explained and Lester chuckled so you raised an eyebrow at him

“Ya always were so strong minded. Ya started to help dad ‘cause ya couldn’t stand him tellin’ ya no. So what’s the deal? Ya come back home but we let ya do whatever ya wanna?” he asked and you hummed in thought

“Pretty much, yes. Good for you?” you watched the three of them with intensity. They knew at this instant that their baby sister was really home. Bo enjoyed the idea someone was going to challenge everything he could say a lot more than he could admit it. But it was because it was you, because you used to treat him with so much affection, no matter what your dad could say about him in front of you.

“All good” Lester nodded, eager to please you. Vincent nodded as well and reached for holding your hand. You looked back at Bo.

“Clearly don’t have my word to say in this. ’m glad ya’re back. Go have some food, I’ll unload the car.” he offered and you gave him the key

“Go watch him Jonesy, he can’t be trusted” you teased and Jonesy obeyed as Vincent was starting to guide you in the kitchen

"Oh and by the way, I fixed your car” Bo yelled

“Knew you would, thank you!” you yelled back.

And as you sat at the kitchen table, you felt peace for the first time in your life.

Taglist :

@feathery-ass

@g0thl3zz

@erasable-mustache

@cavern-creature

@peachycupotea

@p0rn-stargirl

@akemiixx01

@zebralover

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atomic--peach · 11 months

Text

Her Grace's Handmaiden Pt.6

(Cersei x Fem Reader x Jaime. Sandor Clegane x Fem Reader)

AO3 VERSION: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48276340

"Are you happy now?" Robert raged as Cersei gazed dispassionately at him. "It's not enough you bring your whore across the fucking continent; you have to make a show of fucking her in front of the whole camp?"

"You don't bother to hide your infidelities" Cersei glowered, "why should I hide mine?"

"You humiliated me!" Robert slammed his cup on the nearest table, pouring himself another helping of strong ale.

Cersei simmered in silence. She knew what she did was foolish, but the satisfaction of the court knowing King Robert was the cuckold for once was almost worth it.

"It was an offense to The Faith, not to mention High Treason! I should have both your heads on pikes"

"Robert, please. It's not like she can father my bastards, like your mistresses have."

Robert's bloated face blanched at this, and Cersei rolled her eyes.

"Oh, don't act like it was some big secret."

Robert's rage returned, further fueled by indignation.

"Out of my sight, woman. Before I have you scourged in front of the whole camp."

She left willingly, knowing exactly where she would find you.

Jaime had been charged with keeping you company while Cersei received her tongue lashing, and the queen found the two of you at play like a couple of teenagers.

"Sister" Jaime grinned, his arm pressed against yours as the two of you held a thin candle between your forearms. "You're just in time to watch this little minx lose."

"How are you?" You ignored Jaime's taunts as the flame grew closer to your skin. "What did he say? Am I to be sent away?"

"I don't know. He didn't say much of consequence, he mostly just blustered." Cersei poured herself a glass of wine and watched the flame between your arms sink lower. Jaime was starting to sweat now.

You frowned, unsatisfied.

As it had turned out, Cersei's little exhibition had spread through the camp like wildfire. You received looks ranging from awe to disgusted from everyone you passed the morning after, and certain people wouldn't even look you in the eye anymore.

"Just ignore them, sweetling." Cersei had said. "They don't matter."

To your great relief, Sandor didn't seem to care at all. All he said when he heard was "It's about time."

Sandor had become something of a comfort to you this past month, and while he tried to treat you with mostly indifference, it was clear he was partial to you as well.

"FUCK" Jaime cursed as the flame reached his skin, flicking wax off his forearm and rubbing the bright red skin soothingly. "Have you no sense of pain?"

You didn't answer, only smiling coyly and kissing the burn on his flesh. "Poor baby"

"I should finish packing your things, Your Grace." You sighed, standing and brushing grass off your dress. "We'll reach Winterfell by this afternoon."

The last stretch of the ride was surprisingly easy. Your mare had adjusted to your leadership, and your body had grown accustomed to the long distances.

"Are you sure you're not embarrassed to be riding next to Queen Cersei's Whore?" You teased Clegane as he mounted Stranger next to you.

"Not as embarrassing as trying to keep her little cunt of a son alive long enough to inherit."

"Sandor" you hushed him with a blush, fearing you would be heard. "You mustn't joke like that. I'm on thin ice as it is."

Sandor made a guttural scoffing sound and eyed the horizon.

Winterfell was truly, unbelievably massive.

It had to be, to house as many people as possible when the harsh winter inevitably fell upon the land. What were those ever-ominous house words?

Winter is Coming.

"Clegane, Y/N" The king's squire rounded his horse along side Stranger. "The King wishes to speak with the two of you, right now."

"Now?" You blinked but steered your horse behind Sandor, who seemed equally skeptical as you neared the large, rumbling royal coach. The King, it seemed, had opted to arrive in style rather than on horseback.

"Halt" a voice called, and Robert exited the litter, followed by an unusually tense and somber Cersei. One look at her face, and you could sense something was horribly awry.

"You asked to see us, Your Grace?"

"Indeed" Robert breathed, looking very pleased with himself. "I thought the two of you ought to know, shortly after our arrival at Winterfell, the two of you are going to be married by a Septon of the Faith of The Seven. Congratulations."

You very nearly fell off your horse in shock.

"Y-Your Grace, I don't understand I-"

"Young Lady," The King whipped back around, his jovial face replaced with a look of contempt. "I ought to have you stripped naked and whipped through the streets of Kings Landing for treason, do you understand that?"

His tone shocked you into submission and you gazed at the ground fearfully.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Instead, I'm showing you something called mercy. I'm allowing you to keep the skin on your back and solving our current issue as diplomatically as I can. You should be on your knees thanking me, instead of talking back."

"Yes, Your Grace. I'm very sorry." You nodded, "Thank you for showing mercy, I will strive to be worthy of it."

"And you." Robert eyed Clegane. "Bed her, ignore her, lock her in a sept somewhere for all I care. Just keep her away from my wife."

Sandor nodded slowly and you cast your gaze on Cersei whose face was twisted into a look of utter frustration and disappointment.

As the litter took off once more, a deep coldness settled into your stomach. You should have known it was too good to be true.

"Y/N?"

"I am so sorry."

"I-" Sandor paused, considering his next words. "I didn't expect that, did you?"

"No." You shook your head. "Oh Gods, Sandor I am *so* sorry. I never meant for you to get dragged into this. If I had known-"

"He didn't kill you" Sandor cut you off. "Just be grateful for that for now."

"How are you so calm about this?" You turned to face him, "In fact, this whole trip you have been unnervingly cavalier about this whole situation. You were just ordered by your king to marry some no named nobody from flea bottom who's only claim to fame is being the Queen's whore. And you don't even seem upset."

Sandor shrugged, "I've done far worse things on the orders of far worse men than Robert Baratheon. Besides, it's just marriage. I can't imagine it will change things much. On my end anyway."

It's just marriage.

You thought this over a moment. It was true, High-borns married complete strangers all the time. And it wasn't like you and Sandor were *complete* strangers.

"I guess I haven't thought about it like that." You nodded, somehow soothed by his lack of response. "You're right. We just need to...roll with the punches."

You took off a little ahead of him, and Sandor watched your back as you went, oddly enough noting that your riding form had improved immensely.

"You took that remarkably well."

Sandor stifled an irritated groan as the Kingslayer rode up beside him.

"Fuck off"

"No, it's true. You did." Jaime insisted. "I'm impressed."

Sandor attempted to move ahead of him, but Jaime kept pace.

"Seriously though" Jamie grew more somber. "She's a sweet girl. I doubt she even fully understood what she was getting herself into. I'd hate to see her stuck in a life of misery because of this."

Sandor cast him a poisonous glare, swallowing a mouthful of insults and instead saying;

"Just because you've had your cock in her doesn't mean you know anything about her, Kingslayer."

Before sending his horse into a gallop to catch up with you.

You arrived in Winterfell with much pomp and fanfare.

Keeping yourself concealed from the main group, you watched as the official greetings were exchanged, bows and curtseys and full honors bestowed, until Robert separated from the party to pay respects at the crypts.

When the king was well out of sight and there was commotion loading and unloading wagons, Cersei pulled you aside.

"I did everything I could" were the first words out of her mouth.

"I thank you." You wanted to take her hand but did not dare. Not now. "Honestly, it's a better punishment than I could have dared hope."

"Indeed?" Cersei pulled a tense smile, "I thought you and Clegane weren't-"

"We..." you searched for the words, "We've settled into each other. If that makes sense."

"Ah" Cersei's face was tight but tried to remain neutral, "That makes things easier then, I suppose. All the same, I'll find something for you to do in the Keep, sweetling. I won't let him win."

You smiled gratefully, excusing yourself to unload and carry her bags to her and Robert's shared room.

As you left, Cersei found herself wondering exactly which *him* she meant.

#cersei lannister imagine #cersei lannister x reader #jaime lannister x reader #jaime lannister imagine #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane imagine #asoiaf fanfic #game of throne imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #Her Grace's Handmaiden

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messy-gemini1 · 2 years

Text

Don't play with guns

ok so I've been seeing some Fics where Lester is the one who shoots Victor and I thought I'd do a little story where our sister! Sinclair reader decides to be the one to pull the trigger :)

You could say you're a very smart person, even from a young age you were intelligent, gaining most of your knowledge from your father's side, you didn't talk much either, only giving little one word replies or quiet words.

you always had a fascination with guns. Whether it be Bo's little pistole he keeps hidden in his dresser or your dads Winchester shotgun that he kept locked in the cabinet.

You knew better when it came to the marks on Bo's wrists and the emotional damage Vincent faced from mama. Or how Lester often stayed away from home when mama or daddy would yell at him for messing with animal bones.

Your brothers always tried to reassure you they were fine. but you knew better. You knew better when mama got sick, you knew she wouldn't be alive long, not if your dad had anything to do with it.

You could see it in his eyes. The way he would scowl when your mother cried for Vincent, or how she would howl in pain throughout the night. The dirty looks people gave him throughout town. The anger in his eyes when arguing with Bo.

You could hear their screams from the basement, Vincent bringing you down in hopes of you not getting in the middle of it. But you were far too deep. The things you've imagined in your head, the dreams that plagued your sleep, the whispered of the gun, drawing you nearby.

It wasn't until you watched your father smother your mother with a pillow as you watched from the crack in the door did you finally decide to listen to the whispers and let them guide you.

It was late, Daddy had explained to the boys what happened to momma, "stroke" he said. The boys seemed upset, but you only watched your dad, hugging the stuffed rabbit momma made you, gripping its neck tightly.

Bo gripped the arm of the couch. "And you didn't let us say goodbye? just wrapped her up and threw her away like trash?" he shouted, standing up. Vincent attempted to calm his twin down, but it was no use. Bo and daddy started arguing, until Daddy decided to slam him into the wall by the neck, getting into his face.

Lester grabbed your form, pulling you away from the mess while Vincent tried to pry his dad off his brother. You watched and waited.

'Tonight, grab it' your heard them say. your eyes glaring at your daddy as he finally let Bo go who panted and rubbed his neck which was already bruising.

That night, as Vincent tucked you into bed, you gently cupped his cheek. He froze watching your form. "it'll be ok" you whispered, getting comfortable, not saying much else as he hesitantly turned the light off and walked out of the room.

You waited hours, until you could hear no sound in the house. only the crickets outside. Your feet lightly stepped onto the floorboards, voices guiding you on which boards would creak and give your away.

You opened your dads door slowly, eyeing the glass bottle by the bed, hands gripping the door frame. 'desk~' they whispered, your eyes gliding over the messy room to the shining keys on the desk.

your form moved against the shadows, grabbing the single key from the desk and making your way back to the hallway, unlocking the gun rack but not opening it. you quickly placed the key back where it was and went back to your room, eyes trained on the moonlight out the window.

The next day, Bo and Vincent were outside working on digging a grave for mama, Lester was watching television with you while daddy was in his office, writing a death certificate for mama.

"I'll be right back, I'm gonna get us a snack, ok?" he said standing up. You sent Lester a smile and nod. He smiled back and left the room, walking down the small hall to the kitchen.

A second later you quickly walked past the kitchen, sneaking past your brother, you quietly opened the gun cabinet and pulled the shotgun out, the weight seemingly unaffecting you.

You turned and walked down the hall slowly, listening to the pen scratching on paper. You creaked the door open slowly.

"Hello, sweetie, daddies busy" Victor said, not looking up. You said nothing taking another step. Victor gave a small growl and turned his head quickly "i said i-" his eyes widened as the barrel of the gun pressed underneath his jaw. "o-ok princess, very funny. You know how many times I told you to not play with those, guns aren't toys" he said, sweat starting to form on his forehead.

Your eyes only hardened as you pressed the cold barrel rougher against him.

"g-goddammit you brat! put the fucking gun down" He growled, hands flexing. "its not a fucking toy"

"listen to me!"

"your just like your damn brothers! don't listen to a damn word-"

The loud bang and kick back of the gun and spray of the wetness was your only way of knowing you pulled the trigger. You hear the many footsteps running to the room.

"o-oh my god" your heard Lester say, then you heard Bo take a deep breath, your body turning around to look at them. They stared at you with wide eyes.

"He hurt you..." you spoke. "he hurt momma" you said, tearing up. "i-i didn't want him to hurt you anymore" You sniffled, watching as The three boys stepped closer, Bo taking the gun from your hands.

"Hey hey its ok, w-we'll clean this up" he said, gulping.

Vincent had taken the liberty of cleaning you off, while Lester and Bo cleaned the mess in study room.

"He shot himself, ok? After the death of mama, he couldn't take it ok?" Bo said, looking at Lester who only nodded. "w-what if they don't buy it?" He spoke.

Bo gulped and looked at the mess of blood and brains. "Then I did it. You guys can say he was putting his hands on Y/n and i shot him" Bo said, Lester looked at him with wide eyes. "they'll believe it's me, I already have the bad behavior record" he said.

What frightened Bo the most of it all was not the idea of separating from you all, no.

It was the fact you didn't seem to care that you had killed your own father. The fact you did it to protect them when they were meant to protect you

#house of wax 2005 #bo sinclair #lester sinclair #vincent sinclair #house of wax #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #sister sinclair #slashers

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dustylava · 2 years

Text

Y/n Sinclair was just sitting on the couch, between her brothers, Bo and Lester. The family doggy was sprawled on the lap of the younger sister, while you gently stroked her tender tummy. Vincent was sitting on a armchair, and periodically glanced at his brothers and sister. It was a quiet, lazy afternoon. It was very warm outside, but not hot. The house was cooler, thanks to a homemade fan, that Bo and Lester had assembled from improvised materials. While the brothers were busy with the assembly, you, Vinny and Jonesy just stared at them, silently asking, why you can't just buy a normal one? Lester was almost asleep, his head lolled back on the couch. You carefully covered his slightly open mouth, from which, with a quiet grunt and startled, the man woke up. You apologized, but your brother just smiled and relaxed back on the couch. Vincent has been yawning under the mask for the millionth time. He even lifted it up a couple of times, to wipe away tears after yawning. Bo gently pressed his finger on the dog's leather nose, which made her squirm on your lap. Everything was quiet and cozy, just like you all love.

And suddenly, you aware of life. -You lying piece of faggot… - You looked at Bo with eyes, full of disappointment. - You're a liar. - Bo froze in the middle of a yawn and closed his mouth, already looking at you, with incomprehension and absolute confusion. -What the fuck? - Lester even woke up. All three of them stared at you. Only Jonesy was still lying relaxed on your lap. -All my life, when you said: "my flower, come to my arms", you put me on your lap! When you take someone in your arms, you do it, - you took the dog in your arms, like a child, so that Jonesy's head was resting on your shoulder. - Like that! - Bo was still staring at you blankly, while Vincent and Lester were doing their best, not to laugh. - You really took me in your arms, only when I was injured or you had to move me somewhere. -Y/n, what the fuck..?

Lester burst out laughing. Vincent pulled his knees up to his chest and wheezed with laughter. -And what are you laughing at? You're just like him! Liars! - Now all three brothers were staring at you in confusion. But the long-haired artist quickly recovered. He wanted to hold out his hand to you, but still reached for a piece of paper. After a couple of moments, he handed you this piece of paper. "S L A N D E R! Don't lie about me! Put the dog away, please." You put Jonesy down on the floor, while Vinnie was coming up to you. The man picked you up in his arms, so that your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. He croaked something like, "like that." -Oh! And I, usually, take her, you know, like brides in movies. So that her knees would be thrown over my arm. - The younger brother stood up. - Let me show you. - In response, Vincent shook his head negatively and walked away from the couch. - Hey!

While Vincent was running around the house, with you in his arms, from Lester, Bo was looking at the wall, trying to figure out, what the fuck was going on here and why? -She just sucked the problem out of her finger, didn't she? - In response, the best girl just barked and went to the bowl of water. - Fuck my life...

#house of wax #bo sinclair #bo #vincent sinclair #vincent #lester sinclair #lester #sinclair brothers #sinclair brothers x reader #sinclair brothers x sister #sinclair brothers x sister reader #sinclair brothers x you #horror movies #slasher movies #slashers #movie #тупые шутки как смысл жизни

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satocidal · 8 months

Text

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ Unfortunately, Yours

↳ Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Episode 2:-

||Masterlist||Taglist Form||Previous Chapter (one)—Next chapter(three)||

Synopsis: It is when the birth right is snatched from your hands that your eyes truly ever open—especially when it’s always been there, right in your grasp. The Throne was yours, that was the truth promised and yet- yet your fate lay sealed with a certain Gojo. With an arranged marriage set in plan, alongs sets the plan of murder—within a wife who wants the throne and a husband who wants nothing but power, but suffers with them the present and the future of other two—especially when the lies of the past start surfacing.

— Word count: 3.5k

— A/n: First things first, I’m so glad you guys like the first one because ajahkahaka the comments? So lovely. Second, this chapter is ig has…more depth? Idk lmao and and I’m kind of confused to as how you guys would like the fic—Royal and 18th century based? Or Royal and 21st century based?

— Warnings: Gojo shames reader for being virgin; mentions of cameras; illegal filming; reader is naked and gojo is partially naked; just gojo being a jerk here tbh<3

The ride back home was quiet- slow, heavy.

Two ends of the car, the two doors you two sat by- separated in between with all that was to be offered. Fingers played with the hem of your gown- you hadn’t shed a single tear, all spent already—while your sister let out a few, your mother none and your maids all too many.

The music your driver played was slow, a decent hum you supposed- he seemed a talkative man at that too-“I must say, M’lady, if allowed,” he paused and you eyed him, “It’s a blessing to have you as our bride,”

Our.

The word somehow found its way around you all the time—‘our daughter’, your family had said- ‘and now ours’, the Gojos had responded.

A gift passed hand to hand.

You smiled, “The pleasure’s all mine sir,” you smiled kindly—hands grip tightening on the bouquet beside you.

The rest of the ride was no more a blur than your wedding, it was late—exhausting.

Your eyes zoomed past the many trees, the road- a hefty conversation about taxes the driver initiated with Satoru—you couldn’t care less.

But you did care about him.

A certain charm he’d carried, a certain flair to it—just something and a lot of it too. You very wary, yes, Father had taught you better than this- he wasn’t honest. And you guessed, never would be, not for the longest time at least.

But you couldn’t help it- a moth to a flame and yet you watched as the wax that tipped away.

You were however sure of one thing, your plan- the perfect little plan crafted along the counts of the gazillion stars- he wouldn’t let it be that simple.

But enough we’re the thoughts of a man that wasn’t to be yours, enough thoughts of a man you weren’t supposed to know much of—enough to let your eyes wander back at the white haired man—your husband.

The car halted just then- you were there, the Gojo Mansion—your home- no, your house.

Shy glances spared, a lick of the lips- you could taste your sister’s lip gloss still, strawberry —you weren’t sure what it was called- you never cared enough.

Satoru stepped out himself—you paused, not sure if he’d open the door for you—Father always did.

You waited and waited, his silhouette never moved so the Driver did—a kind man, you presumed him to be. With the gown a heavy set and shoes that bled your ankles anyways you stepped into the chilly night—the mansion, a dream, a ghost.

It was dark, the mansion built secluded- garden, large; a fountain resided in it too- unnecessary, you mused—a fence and a couple 100 guards— white, marble, orthodox. Your eyes narrowed- the moon was bright that night- the mansion reflected it beautifully. You despised it.

Yours was the last to arrive, the other cars parked outside- of course, formalities and lies, smiles and frowns- weddings.

Your mother-in-law, she rode the blue—The Gojo colour the tabloids had called it- now yours too.

Suguru rode in black- it was his, always. Up until your wedding, Satoru rode it too but as traditions went, Satoru’s new colour was White.

Yours and his.

Reflective, pensive, beautiful and pure.

“Come,” he ushered you inside finally- but you were already there, no? In there house- a month ago itself.

He was never around when you dropped by, calculated of course- shy smiles and elegant touches, you’d never gotten so close as to see his room- you were grateful but mothers, his and yours, they were persuasive enough.

You walked quietly beside him, equals, the law had defined you now. Equal footing.

Satoru Gojo didn’t bother much, or at all and you realised the first night of your wedding, none of the Gojos did. The first step inside was hollow, quiet, empty. The living room a dark hall and the pictures- a display of what these people could be in front of cameras.

His footsteps were heavy, your gown heavier, and your heart.

A thud you heard behind you- Suguru came to your vision, his smile first.

“Suguru,” you murmured, eyes seeking after Satoru instantly, you felt lost.

“M’lady,” he grinned, chills danced along your spine—“Satoru,” he nodded towards his best friend—“Glad to see you’ve reached safely- I’d be worried had something happened to either of you,” only the faint light in the corner lit up the room- cynical- your eyes narrowed.

“I’d have hoped it would,” exhausted was he? Perhaps, you supposed for he didn’t even care enough to hide his desperation, his frustration of the wedding- your eyes narrowed further.

“Why Suguru,” you reciprocated his gaunt smile, “We have your blessings on us, and the family’s right? Nothing could ever…” you let your words trail away, you stood vulnerable—not a single weapon in hand, you’d felt naked all night.

“Nothing of course,” he nodded, reassuringly- reassuring himself.

A cough- sudden, Satoru’s—“Come,” he repeated, leading the way this time, finally to his room—and just something in you hardened; nervous, you followed him.

You stood there, quiet in his room—unsure.

A month had gone in the preparation—the wedding, your stances, your elegance, your beauty. A month to perfect your youth and yet not a single person crept in to tell you of what was, perhaps, the most important part, at least it seemed to be.

Your husband was gone a decent 15 minutes, you stood there blankly—would he do it? Your heart raced.

Has he done it before? Why, of course he must have. But pity befell you all together, a life time spent in living after your father’s potential, all that was yours was gone. Privacy and curiosity of self—gone.

The bathroom door snapped open, sudden, your eyes rushed on to it—hands clammy and beats, faster—his brows raised.

“What are you doing?”

You didn’t know.

Silence you offered him—a hand raking through his wet hair he responded with—a bathe, you realised he’d taken.

But evident it was, with his black sweatpants and dark blue shirt, oversized even for him—the one Suguru had gifted him years ago draped over his body, a towel resting upon his shoulders.

“Sorry,” you muttered quietly, “the luggage confused me,” you lied through your teeth—embarrassing was the fact you’d stood all straight, unmoving in his thoughts and yours.

He hummed—“Strip,” his voice a command, your eyes watched him slowly.

“What,” you mumbled—not believing him—not wanting to believe him.

He rolled his eyes, “Don’t act like you’ve never…” he paused, a brow raising, “Have you ever?”

You found yourself shaking your head—face warming up and embarrassment flooding you.

You weren’t truly sure what you’d have expected of him—not compassion, no—but then… a chuckle was not quite it.

“You’ve never had sex?” And all too suddenly, his voice sounded ten times louder—and an immeasurable times cockier—“A prude, aren’t ya? Bet you are,” he grinned- your heart sank.

You bit your lip, the gown and it’s accessories digging into your plush skin—uncomfortable you stood your ground.

“Kissed? You must’ve kissed someone?” You felt your voice get shaky even when you hadn’t spoken a word- your silence, he presumed to be denial.

Another chuckle—your eyes were moist.

“Oh bless my heart,” he chuckled, “I scored myself a virgin Hm?” Amused- he found you amusing, a toy.

You wanted to fight back- you wanted to shout, scream but when tears streaked your face, because you knew they would, you were unsure to how serious he’d deem you.

A silence enveloped the two of you as he let himself get comfortable on his bed- his- “Tell me darling,” he purred, “Ever touch yourself? Or waited your Daddy to teach you that too?”

Your face downturned- it didn’t show him your baffled expression- you were hurt, raged, saddened, a mess.

“Shut it,” you whispered- he laughed.

“You really were daddy’s princess Hm?” He’d gotten up now, so did his impeding pace- “So, gonna strip for me now darlin’?”

Only your disgusted eyes met him- “you’re pathetic,” you rasped- feet worked fast to move away- your night suit grabbed, the new one, the one your mother packed forcefully and how wished she’d have helped you through this too—your door locked.

The light in the dressing was low—it could’ve been better, you made a mental note to have it changed too, your hefty hands craft fully took off your gown- heart aching, mind a mess and gasping for space.

Your fingers slowly took off everything, everything but the ring remained — vouched at least to not be throw away on the night of your union; a steady rhythm of “don’t cry” repeating in your mind.

You sighed- eyes not daring to look at yourself once in the mirror—ashamed you continued, exhausted limbs slowly carried upon your form the silk suit. Your eyes landed upon your makeup, your hair—you weren’t very sure on the process of getting it off, you tried your best.

The hair was left as is, too afraid you were to tangle it and the make up drained by the clog as you washed your face twice, any and every sign of your tears gone—you finally stepped out—Satoru was awake, hands that typed fast on his phone came to a halt.

The smirk, the boyish kind adorned him again—“Thought I told ya’ to strip princess,”

You didn’t reply, you didn’t want to- mayhaps you couldn’t.

You frowned shortly—“Wouldn’t want a manwhore like you to touch me,”

Voice all the more cocky, “You should feel blessed darlin’”

His grin—his empty attempt of saving his reputation at your words was nothing short of unnerving- your jaw clenched.

You moved slowly towards his bed—about to climb in when—“What are you doing?”

You didn’t know. Was it some tradition you didn’t know- your mind ran fast—“wouldn’t wanna sleep with a man-whore either right?”

Silence—you licked your lips.

“But I’m generous sweety,” he chuckled, “the floor must be as comfortable as ever,” with that he nodded, lights switched off all too soon—indication of the end of the conversation.

And when all was said and done, your body found itself pressed on the hard ground — back aching, mind more so —heart broken already. Never expected your marriage to be great, you hadn’t but this certainly was not it.

A tear fell down your eye, this time a loud sob too- you weren’t ashamed anymore, not in the presence of man you didn’t care about you whatsoever. Eyes red and pillow wet by them too—you slowly drifted to slumber unwanted.

In moments such for you guessed there were more to come, you hated him.

The morning was bleak, the morning was shy.

“Morning,” a voice chirped- your fingers moved to grab your blade- none to be found, in fact now that your consciousness lay awake , you realised you weren’t laying on the ground you slept on.

A duvet wound around you and a pillow under your head—tears dry and measly.

“Morning,” you rasped—mind instantly drifting onto him—your plan—the mansion—“Sato’s practicing out there with Master Gojo,”

Eyes narrowed at her words—Sato?

Presumed to be her personal assistant, you looked up—mid 50s you assumed her age to be, short, rounded and pretty.

Humming to her words, you slowly got up—all too aware of her wandering eyes to your white bed sheets—meant to be painted red last night.

“How was the night?” Voice sweet, she chuckled quick—“Fine,” you replied and perhaps it was just fine in some sense of it.

She grinned at your words—brows you raised with an element of surprise when she handed you warm water, “For your throat baby,”

You nodded.

Your eyes followed her quietly as she shuffled around the room, working quick to gather Satoru’s daily attire—“He’s a good kid,” she said softly, “A little rough on the edge but you’ll be soon a part of him,” her smile was nice—you didn’t favour much, that which was considered nice.

You walked slowly around the bed—“You’ll go to meet him right?” An internal groan let out—you didn’t want to meet anyone, let alone him of all—mind too preoccupied with other thoughts as is.

“I’m not…” you paused, the excuse on the tip of your tongue, “uh- not freshened up,” a wholesome chuckle left her- you couldn’t help smile at her smile too.

“It’s not the fifties sweety,” she grinned, “I’m sure your husband can handle you in the morning after a decent night,” your face felt hot—your husband—his wife.

You nodded, a lick of the lips—“I’ll be there soon,”

She nodded now—“you know the way sweetcheeks?” Your heart warmed at her constant nicknames, “Yes…” your voice faltered, embarrassed slightly to not know the kind woman—“Kanao,” she smiled.

You smiled back.

Footsteps were oh so light as you walked, hair matted- shame left in that room as you walked- the simple art of walking, Father called it.

Walk along the hundred servants you did- half didn’t acknowledge you, half didn’t know you—and so you walked. The kitchen and then the garden—little cameras you’d planted everywhere, you smiled.

Intact.

A month since you’d begun your little charade—harmless really, in a way for you’d never release these videos—not unless it was necessary of course—it was self defence really.

5 in the kitchen and you had full knowledge of every cabinet and the rat poison’s the Gojos stored, the sharpness of each knife memorised; 3 in Kana Gojo’s bedroom—blackmail after all was taught to you hefty—your heart jumped at the letters she’d bring in the room, intel of yours knew the contents of all.

But only you did—not your father here nor your sister; this was your fight.

You’d checked every room you’d planted those cameras in—grateful to every lesson your Father implanted in your head—two room remained.

The dining and Your Father-in-law, Ginji’s—hand grasped onto the handle, you turned it—“M’lady?” You’d have jumped if not for a childhood spent in training your nerves—you smiled politely, confusion masking your expressions.

“Suguru,” you exclaimed—“This is the recreation room, yes?” Lies fell from your tongue sharp, easy.

His brows furrowed, “No?”

“No?” You mirrored his expressions—Father used to call you the perfect mime.

His brows raised—“That’s…Master Gojo’s Room?” Your pretence would’ve caught most, not him, but he smiled all the more—“Satoru’s down, here, let me take you,”

You knew he knew and you smiled just the same—“Yes please,”

Hands held behind his back, he walked swift—eyes downcast, whispers in his shadows—loud.

Suguru Geto, the assassin, some called him, the generous one—the others.

Neither shared a word until he finally halted, “Here it is,” door opened ajar—a slight scent of musk prevalent.

You peeked in—men and women alike—practicing all the same—no classes held, no power.

Sheer strength and agility.

Your eyes were quick to find him, towering most he stood—your eyes widened still, bare chested.

You’d seen men such all the time- Father trained you well after all, but those men weren’t supposed to be your husband- those men were different. Suguru seemed to have caught that still, a smirk plastered on his lips- “Most his girls have that reaction,”

Words mistaken, he realised quick, “My apologies M’lady,” eyes not daring to meet your amused expression- you chuckled, “I’m sure you have the same effect Suguru.” With that, you left him standing back, a smile on his face too.

Seduction lay at your finger tips—ironic was the fact; mastered weaponry in your other hand—result of nights and days spent crying in pain.

“Y/n,” a voice boomed loud—your father-in-law, you grinned, “Father,” you called him—as you had been for a month now.

“Here to watch the loser?” He laughed- always the chummy kind he was, “kind of here for the star of the show,” you wink at him, “Which is you of course,”

It was light hearted banter- a here and there which never mattered, he was different, far too different from your father.

“Why of course, but pray tell- is it today I get to set my eyes on your skills? I’ve heard much too praise to believe it,”

No.

Your smiled pursed—“If the King so orders My Lord,” you bowed your head slightly—words charming enough, “I’ve seen your mind Y/n,” he mused, “It’s beautiful,” no, it was dangerous- it was brilliant, you knew that.

“But the old heart craves to see the spin of your hand, the control on your swords—vicious, don’t they call you?”

A flick of the dagger embedded into your slip on gown—the one you’d hid quick from Suguru, the one you’d had crafted just for yourself, the one which was yours—a single swish and the King would be dead.

“My lord,” you bit your lips, “Are you sure the word was for your sweet daughter-in-law?” His laugh boomed again—“Humble Hm?”

You scoffed—“Dad,” face whipped to come to contact with Satoru, you looked away instantly, “You’ve got her blushing already kid?”

Lips bit you turned away slightly, fingers curled hard—“Wouldn’t want her showing you nothing today dad,” Satoru grinned as he sat down, a short breath exhaled as he sipped water, “Too sore after last night,” your face heated up at his comments- widening eyes stared at his hair.

Ginji merely chuckled away, leaving you two behind—“Loser,” Suguru mumbled, smacking his head—“Have some shame,” Suguru didn’t meet your eyes.

Interesting a man, you deemed him.

“My wife, my rules yeah?” Satoru stared at your feet—your eyes trained on his sweat lined shirt—riveting an action, he tickled your mind just a certain way.

You sat in his bed, it was tall- long- meant to suit his size, you felt small. Hands clasped onto your bath gown you waited for Satoru to get back, “Stay in the room,” his words seemed a warning then.

Satoru didn’t bother being nice anymore, he hadn’t at all even in the beginning but the facade was dropped all too soon as he pushed you into the room.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” His voice a whisper, sharp—“Why did you go out there?”

No issues traced your mind to your stepping outside—his tone enraging you all the more—never one to take unnecessary issues at hand, your forehead ticked, “I don’t see the issue dear husband,”

“Blinded by your own stupidity?” A smirk rested on his face quick- peculiar was the sudden change, “Alright whatever,” he scoffed, “Breakfat is a certain time,” —8:35 a.m., you had the time memorised—“they’ll expect you at the table by then,”

Eyes drifted to the clock, both of yours—it was 8:05 a.m.

“Let me go first,” not a request, more so a command.

He snorted—“Alright, here’s rule no. 1: never tell me what to do because I do not listen to the likes of you,”

Your jaw clenched— before you could add your own insult, he grinned—“Should’ve never stepped out of the room, should you baby? Tried at being a good little bride and actually done your job—prodding little bitch aren’t ya?”

Blood boiled inside you, hands curled into fists, tempted all too much to land a punch—“get out off my way,” through gritted teeth your words fell—never so patient with your own family.

A shake off his head had you regretting your own patience—“Two options,” he mused and turned around- entering the bathroom, ushering you outside still.

“Either you wait, have your privacy and ruin your first breakfast here or,” he eyed you softly, “bathe beside me. I won’t join you but you’ll have to do it within my presence,” all too sure if the fact that you’d never choose the later, he cackled.

The door almost locked at your face when you dropped your gown—naked you stood, his brows raised.

Fighting all urges to be embarrassed you stepped into the shower- eyes down cast, not a single attempt to hide your form—we are married now, you reminded yourself, we are one.

Satoru watched you amused for a second too long- eyes lingering and then swept away as if you didn’t matter, as if he didn’t care—your heart ached at the ignorance.

Shy hands lathered your own body, eyes drifting to his torso—your scars complimented his, you hated yours but his seemed so gorgeous.

Everything but his torso covered, yours naked—your eyes danced along his form, his never at you. The power play was simple.

Swift hands pulled the razor—he shaved quick, you washed your body faster, biting your lips when he didn’t spare a single glance back. You didn’t crave validation from most, Father was enough but these were matters beyond that- not a little girl you remained, someone’s wife. Heart raced at the thought of your naked form in front of him—in front of anyone for that matter.

A first for you, nth for him—you didn’t matter, your heart had presumed—never be pretty enough for him, you consoled. A heart begged for some recognition and you got none, a towel wrapped around you as you stepped outside—glad you were that hiding tears in the shower was easy a feat enough.

Satoru stood in—finally allowing himself to shower, the room scented of your perfume, your maids worked quick on your make up- your eyes laying bare, a new topic for their idle gossip.

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