#lady smoke spoilers

[mschismosa]

a fun little request from twt of young van zieks & klint

i dont care how close they were i know what siblings are like FOR REAL

#ik from personal experience that younger siblings are always scheming #i am the younger sibling #wheres that gif of the duck shaking its head smoking a blunt #thought this was funny #dgs spoilers #barok van zieks #klint van zieks #lady baskerville #klimt van zieks #sillies #mschismosa #tgaa spoilers

[spookysspoons]

Jon: How did Gertrude possibly stay so level-headed through all of these absolutely soul-crushing horrors??

Gertrude, at her desk at 4am, smoking a shit-ton of weed: Michael? Michael, come here please, I need someone to scream at.

#/hj #she was such a weird lady #i both love and hate her #but tell me she didnt smoke weed because i just know she did #anyway #gertrude robinson #jonathan sims #tma #the magnus archives #slight spoilers tma #michael shelly

[stillabookworm-ifonlyinspirit]

Moiraine Sedai IS THAT A JOINT??

#young lady moiraine damodred smoked weed confirmed #wheel of time spoilers #wot on prime spoilers #wot show spoilers #wheel of time #wot on prime #the wheel of time #moiraine damodred

[brichan132]

Tears of the kingdom spoilers, don't read if you haven't played the game yet. Also rant coming up for those who don't like rants about stupid shit when it comes to ships and slightly toxic shipping.

I hate that everyone is hating on Yona for getting in between the sidlink ship. Like I ship sidlink but damn some people are taking it way to fare for their hate for Yona.

I like Yona, yeah she is kinda a jumpscared and seems to be forced in as there are no mentions of her existing in breath of the wild, but like Sidon has two hands and I think she is very nice.

And also he sees Yona as more of a sister, maybe mother figure? As he written in those tablets, along the fact that he seems to speak mostly of link.

Like y'all are getting way to angry at an character that, while maybe shoehorned into here, could be written as an arrange political marriage.

Or something similar in a way that both are in the married states because of politics, and also when Sidon gives you the power of water from him after the water temple, he legits gets down on one leg and holds your hand to give you it.

Like y'all the ship isn't dead and Yona is probably in the marriage for political shit because of the upheaval.

I personally like her, she is nice and looks very nice and kind. While she is shoehorned in here without warning, I personally like that she actually cares for the people and Sidon... Like mipha.

Again, I'm personally a sidlink shipper, I like the friends to lovers trope way to much but the hate on Yona is unjust and rude.

#totk spoilers #legend of zelda #sidlink #lady yona #like yall chill the fuck out #take a break and smoke some weed idk RELAX #like yall are so mad at this character for mear existing #she could be a wing woman! #or she could be a sister figure who he married for politics #like yall are taken this hate waaaaaaaaaaay too far #go touch grass #or snow #idk just take a break #i personally like lady yona! #she is a very nice lady

[pythiaswine]

*spills a pitcher of hot milk on myself at work* sorry just thinking about how all my faves are dead

#on my break i put on sad music and think about them #and on my drive home #and my drive there #and just in general #ben howard comes in clutch with the mood #i wish i was the lady smoking a cigarette next to me. i could use a cigarette #john laurens #alexander hamilton #historical lams #nacho varga #my nachito im crying #kim wexler #brba #bcs #bcs spoilers

[preciousfawn02]

Smoking kills spoiler but it's gonna happen pretty soon: Dina gets the role of Henry Higgins tee hee

#god i love my fair lady #daily smoking kills spoiler

[zanathan-aisling]

also god DAMN it its old news but himeno hot

#chainsaw man anime spoilers #chainsaw man spoilers #for. tags later. lmao i just had to offhand mention shit. #'hottest anime lady has worlds worst predatory 'coping mechanisms' on earth' GOD #ALSO THE DISCUSSION SHE HAS WITH KISHIBE ABOUT TRYING TO TRAIN AKI TO BE LESS 'SANE' GOING ALONG WITH HER PRESSURING HIM TO SMOKE #AND THUS THE RELATIONSHIP TO GROOMING IS. OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW #I DON'T THINK KISHIBE HAS DONE ANYTHING LIKE *THAT* BUT. FUCKS SAKE THE SYSTEM REALLY IS BUILT TO COERCE SELF-DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOR OUT OF TH #THOSE WHO PARTICIPATE IN IT #even the lesbian with kishibe's hairstyle *is* buttering up a newbie in their organization adult or not. the whole god damn thing is. #*elects SPOILER as boss of your company* hey why do we have systemic workplace harassment problems

[safirefire]

Major Ash Princess Series Spoilers

I know it’s not perfect but for ya fantasy Ash Princess does a lot of things well-

Ash Princess being a good example of a colonizer prince actually owning up to his mistakes and committing to a better future:

Another woman of the same nationality of the afore mentioned prince being a prime example of White Feminism and ignoring the plight of the indigenous women of their land:

#ash princess #ash princess spoilers #lady smoke #ember queen #colonialism #feminism #ya fantasy

[thegreatestsandwich]

I’m too wicked, I want to take all of your heart (Aemond Targaryen x f!reader)

(I can’t with this man, by the way, this is completely free of spoilers as I am saving myself from them as well, so I might be off until monday.)

Masterlist

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: An act of jealousy made you want to possess your husband in every sense

Warning: Mentions of cringy bathtub sex and then the bed, but still cringy, really possesive behaviour from both parts, also jealousy from your part, read if you want, but if you are a minor, leave! why are you here?!

A/N: I’m kinda angry that the final episode that was leaked, so I’m planing to just go off tumblr until it airs. So this is spoiler free and a thank you from my part as I have reached 200 followers, that is crazy guys! thank you so much, hope you enjoy this little thing I made instead of my homework. 

It was way into the night, you knew it perfectly as you made your way across the almost empty corridor. You knew this was beyond your agreement, but you didn’t care, you needed to see him. After many days without any news from him, you needed to see with your own eyes he was unharmed.

Your bare feet made no sound as you carried yourself to your destination. You enter without knocking as there was no need for formalities.

You glanced around, a few well-placed lit candles illuminating the room. It wasn’t bright and the occasion didn’t demand it. You walked towards the bathtub, your fingers caressing the gold edges of it, feeling the heat of the water that was already there, waiting to be used.

You closed your eyes, slowly inhaling the aroma of the room, a few herbs made contact with your senses and everything screamed of him. The scent of your husband already penetrating your persona: sandalwood, lemons and smoke.

“My lady? Is everything alright?” The sound of Lillen, the girl in charge of bathing your husband asked you in confusion. She was filling the bathtub with hot water.

You stayed put, your hands carefully tidying your night dress. “You are dismissed.”

“Dismissed?” She asked you. “My prince will need me to bathe him.”

You chuckled. “I am perfectly capable of doing that.”

Lillen’s eyes sparked with amusement at your request, almost laughing at your ridiculous words. “The prince will still need me to undress him, I cannot leave yet my lady.” She turned and continued her task of filling the tub. “It is late, my lady. You must go and rest. Do not worry about the prince. I will take care of him.”

Your brows twitched with anger, hands curled into fists. You tried so hard not to explode with anger at her innuendo. You took a deep breath to calm yourself. “I believe I have not made myself clear.”

“Is the bath ready?” Aemond, your husband asked without looking at you or Lillen, too busy throwing his coat on the floor.

“Yes.” You answer softly, ignoring how the girl turned at you with anger, your eyes scanning his full body, trying to locate any wound he could have. Aemond turned at the sound of your voice, his face not showing any emotion but you could have sworn his eye opened a bit more in surprise. “You must hurry, the water might turn cold in any second.”

He nodded at your direction. “My wife, I apologize but I didn’t expect you to be here, I thought you might have been already asleep.” You smiled at his words, you could understand the tone he was using. He didn’t want you here.

“My prince, I was telling my lady she needs to go back to her room and rest.” Lillen stood next to Aemond, her hands touching his arm, tugging him a little towards the bathtub.

“Leave us.” You firmly told her, your eyes staring at Aemond’s face. “I can take it from here.”

Your husband’s eye sparked with amusement at your tone.

“I apologize, my lady.” Lillen continue arguing. “But I am capable of doing my job.”

“My wife has order you to leave us.” Aemond stared at the girl. “Do not question her authority in front of my persona.”

You felt the knot between your shoulders loosen in relief at his support. Lillen shot him a look with complete shock but said nothing as she made her way out of the room, her shoulder colliding with yours as she left. You sighed in relief and began walking towards Aemond.

Aemond stayed quiet as you began to unbuttoning his shirt. You tried to calm your temptation as his proximity demanded to be touched. You could feel his warmth throught the layers of clothes he wore. Your mind began wandering back to the Lillen for a second, her resistance to stay told you one thing. She hoped for something more from your husband.

How many other women had the privilege of undressing him? Of touching him?

You didn’t want to know the answer.

You didn’t like the answer.

Your eyes looked up, Aemond was watching you carefully. “Yes?”

“You seemed distracted.” His hand grabbed yours, feeling it shake. “Is everything alright? Has something been bothering you?” You looked up, meeting his violet eye. Your hands touch his stomach, carefully sliding upwards until both of them rested against his chest. Aemond quickly covered them with his. “What is it?”

You shook your head, a soft smile made its way onto your lips, your gaze returned to the open shirt. Had he been with another woman tonight? Weren’t you enough? You pushed that thought away from your mind and glanced up. “Please.” You whispered.

He help you slide the shirt from his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground without care. You were aware of his intense stare. His breath stirring your hair, there was a faint smell of wine. You didn’t know where he went these past few days. Perhaps his mother asked him for a few favors. Who knew, they never let you know their affairs.

Your fingers fumbled on that last thought and then you felt it. Jealousy. You knew before he married you, before your father offered your hand to his house who his brother was, so it was completely understandable that he might be the same. You believed you could be happy with whatever small part of himself he could share with you. You knew and you tried to prepare yourself for the other woman that could came to him in secret, you thought you could simply ignore it. But having him away from you, not knowing what could happened to him or what he would have done without your acknowledge could destroy any preparation you had.

But now. Now in this moment, now that he was in front of you, supporting your orders towards the servers, letting you undress him. You understood perfectly. You wanted him, you wanted all of him. You wanted to make him yours.

The warmth of his skin surrounded your fingers. The scent of his skin was hot and masculine, completely delicious as you breathed in. You almost close your eyes to savor him. “You don’t have to.” His whispers brought you back to reality.

“I know…but I want to.” You reply silently.

He straightened for a moment and you almost forgot how to breathe. Aemond was a tall man, your head only reaching his chin. He was slim but his body demonstrate the hours he put to train. Long, lean muscles corded his arms and shoulders. You knew how hard he work to be perfect, you saw him in the secretness of the shadows. You had the urge to touch him, to trail your fingers across his body.

You glance up and he was still watching you, his face still not showing emotion. Your hand reached up and touched his eye patch, your fingers carefully traced the borders of it but didn’t reach far as Aemond’s hand grabbed yours, slowly pulling it down, softly kissing your palm before placing it against his cheek.

“I don’t want you to see it.” He whispered. “I don’t want to scare you.”

You sighed and gestured it towards the bathtub. “Please enter before it gets cold.”

He nodded silently, quickly undoing the rest of his clothes. Aemond entered the bathtub, closing his eye for a moment before offering you his hand. “Come.”

“I believe my job is to help you bathe, my husband. That was the servant’s job, wasn’t it?” You sat at the border, your hand placing a strand of silver hair behind his ear.

He smirked for a second. “Jealousy does suit you.” He tugged at your hand. “But at this moment, the only wish I have is for my wife to bathe with me. Come.”

You hesitated for a moment.

“Do you trust me?” He asked you.

You watched him in silence before nodding, his hands grasp your waist and dragged you carefully into the water. The hot water made you hissed at the feeling. Your night dress began sticking to your skin but neither of you bothered to take it off…yet.

“You had me worried for your safety.” You stretched for a second, your hand grabbing the silver bowl at your side. You filled it with water and Aemond tilting his head backwards, so the water didn’t enter his eyes. “I thought the worst.”

“I apologize, my mother send me to resolve a few problems my brother has caused.” He close his eye at the feeling of your hands massaging his scalp. “You could come with me if it bothers you.” He muttered contently. “You could ride Vhagar with me.”

You chuckled. “Your mother will have my head if you allow me to accompany you to these quests.”

“Ah, so my mother is the one who forbid you to meet Vhagar?”

“I did not say that.” Your fingers tugged his hair a little bit making him chuckle. “There are other factor that intervene in riding your dragon.”

Aemond open his eye, stopping your hands. “And which are those factors, my wife? Perhaps I can help to dissolve them.”

“Well, there’s the possibility of your dragon eating me.” Aemond smirked. “There’s also the possibility of me falling to my death.”

“I see, Vhagar won’t damage you as he would see your connection to me and be assured that I will always catch you.” Aemond smiled, his hand caressing your cheek. He leaned towards you, his breath brushing your lips, making you shiver. “Do not listen to my mother, you marry me, not her.”

You tried to hide your smile. “Are you wooing me with your words?”

“Am I?” He returned your smile, his hand trying to make you go closer to him.

“I’m already your wife, there’s no need to woo me.” You whispered against his lips. He moved his hands around your body, carefully raising your wet night dress, you raised your arms and let him took it away from your body.

“I believe you are in the wrong, my little wildflower.” He said. “I think there’s every need for it.”

Aemond closed the distance as his need to feel your mouth against his overpowered his senses. He needed to feel it, need to mark it as his own. Days apart you had said earlier, he felt them as well.

Your cheeks blushed at his forwardness, he felt you submit at his actions. He loved how sensitive you were, how responsive to the smallest actions. His hands gripped your hips and force you to close the nonexistence distance between the both of you. If he could make you cum by simply kissing you, he would spend hours and hours doing so.

Your hands reach for his eye patch. Aemond stop abruptly.

“Then let me woo you as well. Allow me to do it.”

“Why bother at all?” he asked you. “I’m yours.”

“Let me love you.” You kiss his cheek, Aemond closed his eyes at the feeling. “Let me cherish you.” Kiss. “Let me possess you.”

“Possess me?” He allow you to slip off his eye patch. You softly kiss his scar. The beautiful sapphire showing itself.  “Do you want to possess me?”

“Yes.” Your nose bopped his. “I do it in front of the king’s eyes, I do it legally.” You softly said. “But I don’t know if you truly are mine.”

“I’m yours.” He said again. “I’m yours the same way you are mine.”

His hands slid down your back, his eye open and he groaned when your hand wrapped around his cock, slowly sliding it up and down the shaft. “Ride me, my beautiful wife. Ride me until I fill you with my seed. Show me the way you want to own me.”

Your hands went to his shoulders, gripping them tightly, your nails digging at the skin. You slowly sank down his cock, soft panting breaths escaped you as he slid as far as he could.

Aemond was in heaven hearing the beautiful sounds you made as you began to ride him, you went slow and he didn’t want to take charge, not yet as he wanted to do it slowly, do it with care, with reverence, he wanted you to feel he was willing to submit to you. But Gods, you were tight, so fucking tight and it was impossible to stay still. He began moving with you, forcing himself to take his time with each thrust. He put your hands around his neck before hugging your figure. His eye opened, wanting to see your expressions.

“(Y/N),” He whispered. Your eyes opened at the sound of your name, he never used it. “That’s it, feel me. Feel how hard I am for you, only you.” He kissed you quickly. “Fuck.”

Your hands slide into his hair, beautiful strands of silver across your fingers. With a growl, you clash your mouth with his. The way he tasted was something else, it was strong and masculine, it made you feel hot, wanted, needed.

“Aemond.” You breathed against his lips. “Please.” You lifted your hips, trying to take him deeper. “Please, my love, please.”

“Tell me.” He grunted. “Tell me what you want, wildflower. Tell me, I will give it to you. Only to you.”

“Faster.” You moaned and his control finally snaped. He grasped your legs tightly and stood up. The water moving wildly at his actions, completely wetting the floor. He step aside of the bathtub carefully and made his way towards his room. “Aemond!” You gasped as he moved both of you naked. “Someone will see.”

“I’ll kill them if they see you.” He grunted. “I will show them no mercy.”

You moaned.

He walked rapidly to the bed, carefully placing you on it, not caring if you were wetting it. He grasped your legs and put them around his hips, entering you quickly. Both of you moaned. He stood still, savoring the how wet and hot your cunt was around his cock. He kissed you and began pounding into you with so much force.

“Yes.” You moaned. “Yes, yes…please…please Aemond, please.”

“Take it, I’m yours.” Your slick walls contracted around him at his words. You arched, pressing your breast into his chest. Your tights clenching hard around his hips as you came. Aemond sloppily kiss you, biting your lip. “Another, give me another.” He demanded.

“Faster…harder.” You reached back and buried your fist on his hair, clinging to him, forcing him to kiss you.

“That’s it, take me.” His thrust became harder, his expression intense and wild. Your hips met every thrust he gave you. Your soft cries fueled the insanity he was feeling. “You won’t ever doubt me, you are mine. I’m yours. That’s how it was meant to be.”

“Aemond, please.” You cried against his lips.

Pleasure washed over him. An addicting euphoria took over his body. He wouldn’t last as your cunt was tightening again against his cock. “I will show you. I will show you.”

He gasped. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” His head burying into your neck. His breaths were harsh as he pound even harder. “So perfectly mine. Only mine.” You held him tight against your body as he began cumming. You felt it fill you completely. Gods, how you love that feeling. “Mine. Mine. Mine.” He repeated as his hips slowly began pausing his thrust. “Mine.”

“Yours.” You answered against his temple. “And you are mine.”

He stayed there for a few seconds, savoring the feeling of your body against him. With a grunt he rolled off you before tucking your body at his side. His legs intertwining with yours. His hands slowly caressing your side.

You closed your eyes. “I mean what I said.” Aemond kissed your forehead. His hand brushing away your sweaty hair. “You are mine and I am yours. There’s no changing in that.” A smile broke against your face, your eyes slowly opening. He smiled softly at you. “Erase your fears from that beautiful head of yours, there’s nothing to fear when I’m at your side.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, sleep. I have tired you enough already.”

“You will be here when I wake up?”

“I will not leave your side, my beautiful wife.”

#aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x you #hotd #aemond kinslayer #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen smut #no spoiler #house of the dragon imagine

[simply-wlw-kpopstan]

1.The beginning

⚠️ Spoilers ahead

Baek Harin

She's the type of girl that gets what she wants, no matter the consequences. But what happens when she wants something she can't have? Someone who doesn't want anything from her?

You met on a sunny day at a bookshop, she was looking through the shelves as someone bumped into your shoulder making you drop your bag. The person didn't acknowledge you and just left the store as you bent down to pick up your stuff.

"are you okay?" a soft voice filled your ears. You looked up to see a beautiful girl staring down at you, "some people really don't care about others." she smiled.

"yeah, I'm alright thank you."

"You're not from around here are you?" She tilted her head slightly as she looked you up and down, "i'm Baek Harin. My family runs one of the businesses down the street."

"one of? How many do you own?" you chuckled but quickly stopped as you noticed the serious look on harin's face, "sorry. I didn't mean to be disrespectful."

"Oh no, it's just that it's refreshing to meet someone new. You really don't know anything about this place. My family owns Baekyeon Group, it's a big corporation here."

"ah, now that I understand." you looked around the store as you noticed some people staring, " so those people staring aren't because of my clumsy mistake but because of you."

You noticed the stunned expression on her face before she turned around, "if you didn't drop your bag you wouldn't have caught the attention from the whole store."

You furrowed your eyebrows, was she mad? Maybe she didn't like her status being brought up? "i-I didn't mean to-"

"didn't mean to be disrespectful? Yeah, you've said that before." she passed by you as an older lady walked inside the building, " what school do you go to?"

"i have some offers but I don't know yet" your gaze fell to the older woman who was staring at harin and you.

"you should come to baekyeon girls high school" harin didn't send you another glance as she left with the older woman.

You couldn't help but think back at your meeting with harin, eventually curiosity got the best of you and you decided to look her up. Baek Harin, the grand daughter of Baekyeon Group. The list of businesses under Baekyeon Group seemed to be endless and random. You couldn't believe how powerful her family must be, the things they can achieve with one phone call.

Before you know it you had gotten a letter from baekyeon girl's high school offering you a full scholarship and privileges of using the facilities for your art projects. How did they find you? How did they even know about your art? You were going to take it, you would be crazy not to but you couldn't ignore the feeling that something was off about all of this.

As luck would have it you run into Harin during your first day, " so your name is y/n? Nice to know since you never introduced yourself."

"in my defense I didn't have much time to introduce myself." you chuckled, "do you know the way to the-"

"no need. You're in my class." she smiled and motioned for you to follow her, "our class has a few privileges, we have separate breaks from others and we're the only class in the building." As she walked you around the school you couldn't help but notice the smell of smoke, perhaps harin was a smoker? You didn't blame her, she must deal with a lot of pressure with a family like hers." we have another classmate who's Into art so she'll show you around the studio during our break."

"huh? Oh, yeah. Thanks." you got so lost in your thoughts, you zoned out during her tour. "sorry, I was just thinking."

"well if there's anything you need you just tell me and I'll fix it for you." you don't know why but the way she said that made you a little uncomfortable, perhaps it's just your nerves for the first day?

Soon enough you got introduced to other students and then the pyramid game. You didn't like it and weren't afraid of voicing your opinion about it, the others got a little scared as you declined and doah explained you would be in F if you didn't play. You took your chances and nobody disturbed you. Days went by and you spent all your breaks and study time in the art studio, Sometimes yurim joins you to work on her own paintings but your mostly on your own.

One day you were working on a clay sculpture, using a description of some mythology book you found in the library, to create a unique creature. Little did you know that harin was standing in the doorway, watching you in silence as you worked on your project while listening to music. Only when you turned your body halfway to check if your creature looked good did you see harin.

"Hey, What are you doing here?" you questioned as you took out your ear buds.

"I was curious about where you escape to during breaks and yurim said I could find you here" she said as she stepped into the room, "What's that you're working on?"

"just a little mythology creature. I looked up some creatures and combined my favorite one's into one" you pointed to your sketches on the table beside you, "they're rough sketches but get the idea across."

The brunette walked closer towards you and looked down to the papers. Only when she was focused on your drawings did you realize how you looked. Your t-shirt, jeans and hands were dirty with clay, it was even on your face and in your hair since you took out your ear buds without wiping your hands first. "Don't get me wrong but don't you go for a smoke around this time? "

Her eyes immediately fly up to yours with a smug smile on her face, "and how do you know what I do around this time?"

"I-I uh" you stammered before clearing your throat, "you can see you're smoking spot from here." you pointed towards the window and she follows your gaze to the window.

"so how many times have you been watching me smoke?" She turns her attention back to you as she slowly walks closer to you.

"It's not like that." you tried to find something to say as you got too distracted by Harin stepping closer.

"You're pretty good by what I'm seeing. I could help you get your name out there, I know some art gallery owners." she stopped when there was barely any space left in between the both of you, "you must have very skilled hands if you can make things like that."

If she wasn't standing so close to you your brain would've come up with a clever and smooth come back but alas, Harin filled your senses and you didn't even think about your words when they fell from your lips, "I am great with my hands." by the look on her face you knew she didn't expect you to say that and it pulled you back to your senses.

You grabbed the cloth from behind you and cleaned your hands from the clay residue, " it's very tender and soft. I know perfectly where I need to caress, where I can be a little rougher, when I need to get it wet." you trailed off and noticed her little breath she took before wetting her lips. "I could show you if you'd like." you smirked as you finished toying with her.

"What?" this was the first time you saw her taking a step back herself, it was always the other person that backed down and you noted it down as a victory.

"tell me, have you ever gotten dirty yourself princess?" you knew the nickname could be a lowblow but it was a calculated risk, " you have a lot of people running errands for you. I know because I see them come and go when you're smoking out there. Don't you want to get your hands dirty yourself?" you took a step closer to her and before you know it you had her pressed against the table.

Big mistake on your part. A sound came from the hallway catching your attentions and as your gaze slips to the hallway harin picks up a paintbrush and smears it on your cheek, "there, I got my hands dirty."

"wha-." you were stunned but quickly laughed it off. "that was very sneaky." she caught you trying to steal away the brush and quickly put it into the water jar.

"I win" she smirked.

"really?" harin followed your gaze to a wet clump of clay that was laying on the opposite table and She shook her head.

"don't even think about it. I can ruin you if you do." you scanned her face to call her bluff but she was dead serious.

"I won't if you apologize for this." you pointed to your cheek with a challenging expression. She grabbed the cloth from before and dipped it into the water jar.

"i'm not going to apologize for something you started." she handed you the cloth and walked towards the door, "besides you were already covered in clay. You should probably spend more time practicing your art instead of watching me smoke." she sent you a smug smile before leaving you alone in the studio.

As you were cleaning up another student walked in and saw you cleaning off the paint from your face and immediately turned around without saying anything. Based on the weird things going on in this school you just brushed it off and continued your work.

Things had changed when Seong suji joined your class. Harin started to smoke a lot more, she didn't really talk to you and the tensions in the classroom got a lot heavier. You'd be lying if you said you didn't know about the bullying but you really didn't know that Harin was one of them.

Suji visited you in the studio during one of your breaks, "Hey I heard about what happened in here a couple of days ago. I didn't know she was doing this to you too."

"What?" you looked up from your sketches as she walked closer.

"Harin? I heard that someone walked in here after she left and you were covered in clay and had paint on your face. Why didn't you tell anyone? Jaeun and I went through the same we can help each other."

"we were messing around. she wouldn't do something like that. She's a good person, sure she can have a scary look in her eyes but it's just a look."

"you don't have to defend her y/n. We know what she's capable of. You ca-" suji got cut off by the door flying open.

"What's going on here." dayeon's voice filled the room, " are you plotting something?" She smirked. "I can't wait to tell harin about this, maybe she'll finally let me have my way with you." her eyes stayed on you as she walked closer.

"What are you talking about?" your heart started to race, you knew what dayeon had done in the past. She's quick to lose her temper and if you're at the recieving end it won't be pretty.

"haven't you wondered why nobody comes after you? You're an F just like Jaeun and suji but we don't hurt you because Harin said you were off limits. That Will change once she knows about this and I'll make sure we make up for lost time" dayeon had a sinister smile on her face.

You looked out the window but harin wasn't in her smoke spot. Where was she? By this time she's had a smoke and someone finds her there to ask whatever it is. it always looked exhausting to you. She tries to escape and yet they still find her, always wanting something from her. Was she bullying someone right now? No, you can't let them get in your head! "don't you have anything better to do than stand here and threaten me? And you.." you turned your attention to suji, "don't talk about things you don't know, Harin didn't do anything wrong that day. Things escalated and whatever happened is between me and her."

"Why-" suji tried to speak but you cut her off.

"don't. Both of you get out. I need to focus on this and you being here is ruining my mood." you sat down and focused on your papers. Suji and dayeon stood there for a minute before they left, you heard them fighting down the hall but you couldn't care less. Why should you care about them when they tried to bad talk Harin? Then again why would those two help each other? Why did she tell them you were off limits? Is she playing a game with you too? It didn't take too long before the door opened up again and there she was, Harin.

"dayeon told me something very interesting. Are you-"

"If you're here to play games I'm not interested." cutting her off wasn't the best idea but you had to know if harin was capable of the things they accused her of.

"games? Who said I was playing games with you? Was it suji because she's just looking for attention, you shouldn't believe anything she says."

"I'll choose what I believe myself but it was dayeon who told me." you dropped your pencil on the table as you looked up at her, "why did you tell them I'm off limits? What does that even mean? Why do you even come here?"

"Do you want them to treat you like they treat jaeun and suji? I can easily call it off right now" She says bluntly. "I come here because I like spending time with you."

You scoffed at her answer before looking back at your papers. "you like spending time with me but have been ignoring me for the past few days. Do you really think I would believe you like that?"

"Did you miss me? Is that why you're lashing out right now? " you can hear the smile in her voice.

You Quickly turn back to face her, "No." you stood up from your place and walked up until there was no space left in-between you two. "i'm being like this because I don't know who you are. There are more than enough people talking about what you've done to them, how you manipulate them into getting what you want but I never listened because that's not how I know you. But even your friends are telling me the same stories now and it's getting harder to see you in the same way then before harin."

"friends? You think dayeon is my friend?"

"i'm starting to think you don't have friends, you have pawns. You're just testing what kind I'll be to you."

"that's not..." she sighed and took out her phone, "give me your number." she held out her phone but you didn't take it, "fine" she put it back in her pocket and took one of the papers and pencils from the table. She scribbled down an address and slipped the little piece in your pocket, "come to that address tonight if you want to know who I am."

"What if I don't?" you asked as she was nearly out of the room.

She stopped in the doorway, "I won't disturb you or intervene in anything that's related to you."

"you mean I'll no longer be off limits."

"that's up to you now." and with that she left you alone once again. So it was true. Harin had told everyone you were off limits. what else were they right about?

masterlist | next

#baek harin x reader #baek harin #pyramid game x reader #pyramid game

[badass-queer-couples-battle]

Sword gays showdown, final round of bracket three

Propaganda:

For Gideon:

she's incredibly good w/ her two hander and less good with her rapier but she's still pretty good!! she is a horny lesbian who's taste in women seems to exclusively be "girls who have tried or are going to try to kill her". she's a redhead. i love her

Gideon’s a HUGE Butch lesbian and literally always wanted to use a broad sword. Specifically a broad sword. She said fuck rapiers. Uhhh literally dies to save the girl she cares for and the sword she uses then becomes like an altar for said girl. Gideon Nav Supremacy <3

oh she is the most badass swordswoman lesbian in media. she’s her gf’s cavalier, defends her in battle, she’s incredibly butch and buff

C'mon shes THE sword lesbian like... canonically 

Loves her broadsword more than anything on her home planet and practices whenever she can. Spoiler it’s possessed by her mom. Gave everything so her best enemy could eat her soul and become the new saint. The character of all time child of two separate threesomes, child of the god emperor, she’s dead, she’s butch, she’s a dork, she’s doomed by the narrative. She’s my favorite.

girlie is literally the swordswoman supreme. she’s the cavalier primary to her necromancer. she has a fuckoff huge longsword. she gets absorbed into another person SPECIFICALLY to swordfight for them. in a gay way too.

While everyone else was developing common sense, she studied the blade. This dyke's main weapon and true love is the long sword, but she's also passable with a rapier. The sword is, in her own estimation, pretty much all she's good for. That and her smoking hot bod and terribly charming sense of humor. 

"While we were developing common sense, she studied the blade." (Direct quote from the book). She's the most useless lesbian to ever exist, and she's obsessed with an absolute wet cat of a woman. Learned longsword mostly on her own and is such a genius with the sword she learned rapier in a few months (by personal experience, it's really really hard)

Most badass broadsword wielding lesbian easily slaying bone monsters and evil space wasps

The cavalier to her necromancer. very gay. in a complicated codependant lovehate relationship with the only other person her age she knew growing up.

For Adora:

Finding the sword kicks off the whole show. She transforms into a giant magic lady and is now in charge of saving everyone from the  big bag guys (which she used to be a part of). A bunch of stuff happens, but eventually her identity is now tied to having the sword. She is fully convinced that w/o the sword (and therefore She-Ra) she’s worthless. This culminates in having to destroy the sword or the world ends. She’s super depressed bc her whole self worth was tied to the sword and being she-ra. On the way to save her gf, she turns into way cooler she-ra (her own version of it that is not controlled by the sword which was made by her colonialist ancestors). Her sword is now part of her identity instead of her identity revolving around the sword. 

lesbian chosen one who was given a sword that activated her powers and made her into a living weapon, but she destroyed the sword to save her planet - and then made her own sword with her magic and saved the entire universe

#sword gays showdown #gideon nav #adora #she ra #spop #gideon the ninth #the locked tomb #she ra and the princesses of power #tlt

[its-actually-minicika]

The Harshest Winters (18+)

I - II - III - IV - V;

Pairing(s): Jacaerys x Reader x bookcanon!Aemond;

Warnings: We all know what to expect by now - sexual themes, obsessive and possessive behaviour, bookcanon Aemond, angst (there is no light at the end of the tunnel ♡), semi-spoilers (but not really) for Fire&Blood;

Word Count: 23k+ (yes. yes indeed.)

Author's Note: AND I HATH RETURNED!!

Only 3 more instalments to go - this feels surreal. As always, I would like to thank all of you from the bottom of my heart for still following Lady Tully's adventures, and for being so patient with my updating schedule (or lack thereof). Without further ado, please enjoy ♡

♡♡♡ Drop me a comment if you would like to be added to the taglist! And don't forget to reblog your favourite fic writers ♡♡♡

Paths that used to interwoven thread themselves with great uncertainty. When you're free to roam again, which road will you choose to take?

When Aemond beckoned his return, Harrenhal was basked in smoke. Vhagar shuddered low beneath him, letting out enraged, rogue roars. His guts hung low inside his midriff, his heart ached hard inside his chest… his one lone thought was of his Lady – of what became of her, of them.

"Ah – My apologies, Your Grace!" The muted hues of her blue dress obscured across his measured view. Thus Aemond hummed, dissatisfied, and merely moved his gawp ahead. His eye transfixed her for a moment, yet bore through her slighter frame. Nought of what he noticed then deterred him to even bow. To even offer her the courtesy that a highborn lady would receive. He had left their clash at that – with not a singular lax word exchanged, and not a singular exultant glance. He spared no reaction. No compact feeling. And the deep courtesy she offered him was met with deplorable impassiveness. Whether or not she had felt slighted, or passed across as less compelling, was of nought of his concerns. He heard her steps, although unwilling, move fast across the vacant halls – the mousy girl with straight long locks ergo dissolved through the thin air; and as if made of feeble matter, as if diffused whole by the soil, she shed herself briskly afore. Perhaps, he thought but for a moment, the paling shade suited her well. And as she skipped her trail all proper, through the obtrusive and abstaining lanes, her gown outcast a pleasant echo – the rattled bite of a spirited woman, a proof of presence, of fair existence. He made his strides long and decided, reaching towards the damp courtyard. And as he trained, breaking his stupor, the man had thought of her quick struts. Perplexed and quite unparalleled, he deemed the dress had worn her nicely. The girl was far from an alluring beauty, standing small and slight in stature. Still the brief sweep of her garment reached for the goal it had then bared – for the Prince thought of it, admired it, and thoroughly remained somewhat impressed.

He’d been a foolish boy back then, though he remained so as a man. A roguish Prince of one and twenty, far too absorbed by pain and ire to even care about the keep. Alys’ heed had been ignored, his lungs had been filled up with ash. His headlong steps urged through the hallways, desperate to reach for the one door that served so long as their shared chamber. He screamed her name from the base of his throat, so wildly torn and fraught forlorn, that his shrieks of anguish reached for the ears of the few maids and wenches left rooted in place, all hoarded outside and taken aback by his despondent outraged display.

But that wouldn't be the last he'd see her – and the chain of humdrum meetings would thereon constantly happen. They were both quite early risers, insatiable to the seductive waves of glaring rays of humid sunsets, and devotees of the peace and quiet brought across by the luminescence. Still the synopsis would repeat – he, far too preoccupied with the handling of putrid sticks; she, far too absorbed by her dashing knight of golden armour; the Waters brute, as they so styled him, who seemed to be rooted abreast her, eternally waiting for some command which rested readily atop her lips. Though she wasn’t one of his sister’s ladies – the smirking vixens with a lacking sense of pride –, she served as a ward under Lyman Beesbury, the old Master of Coin of his father’s late Small Council. Not the particularly quiet or specifically reserved young maiden, she failed to strike up the attention of any callow man at Court. She wasn’t one for idle chatter, or flamboyant dances at Soirees. Yet he would hear her voice each morning, as she bowed low to him and slithered away.

‘Good morrow, Your Grace.’

‘Greetings, Your Grace.’

‘Good day, Your Grace.’

His hands balled up to aching fists, as the grave callouses inside his palm slid across the piece of silk. Several slices of burnt meat adorned the ground he stood atop. The mess that was made of the bed they had once slept on and the tapestries behind the grate all but pointed towards one thing – that she had made her brash escape, and effectively deceived them all. The Crown Prince sucked in a breath, and turned his head towards a rattled and alerted Alys. What was expected was for him to scream. Trash about, around the room, until his blood would cease to boil. She was ready for that. On all accounts, she had prepared for that. What was most unexpected was the lacing calmness of his evened tone.

“I don’t suppose she morphed outside, waiting submissively by the guards.” Within the first half of a drawn-out breath, the older woman shook her head. “No, my Prince.” He nodded slowly, and expelled a weighty laugh, “She started a fire and ran away.”

“Yes, my Prince.”

“Did she take a horse, as well?”

“... I don’t kn–”

“Every man, woman and child in this stronghold knows by now. Did she take a horse, as well?”

“No, my Prince. I swear she didn’t.”

“How much of this was of your doing?”

Two years she stayed inside the Keep. Two years of residence, of life, of growth. Two years of incandescent worth, during which he could have acted.

Notice her.

Court her.

Marry her.

Cruel Fate had all but laughed at him – for two years she had lived below him, right within his steady grasp. In those two years he could’ve bedded her, he could have won her horrid heart. He could have fathered her her freckled children, he could have owned her House’s flags. He could have dressed her in the finest dresses, and ripped them off her every night. He could have seen her cross stark naked – then it would have been his right. He could have kissed her, touched her, fucked her… he could have made her love him back.

A fantasy. A bitter laugh. A pang of pain, and guilt, and wrath.

The Gods spoke of their directed favour – when the Whore of Dragonstone came forth home with her misbegotten son. When his bastard nephew set his eyes on her, on the nameday of his eldest brother. When he sullied her with his abhorrent probe, and when he danced with her throughout the night. The night of which he finally saw her, twirling in her auburn dress.

“My Prince, I’ve helped you find her before – I shall help you find her again…!” Her delicate fingers entwined together in a tightened and reluctant hold, which morphed the pose of a covetous and tattered statue; a ready vision of the Maiden, praying to absolve all sin. Her slit eyes widened to two round specs of emerald sheen, and Alys opened her mouth again, only to be stopped by Aemond. “‘Tis not your barren promises I want – rather, I demand something more palpable.” She quirked her head low to the side, and almost caught herself relax her shoulders; Endless thoughts surged through her head, each more humiliating than the next. If it was her body he desired, she would promptly let him take her – disputes of the flesh she’d handle, and face proudly with a stiffened lip. His wife was gone, and though lamentable, she could still surge him back in. Shake and wake the stifled feelings that he’d once relished her into, win his favour and his grace, save her and her unborn son.

But two blind steps he took towards her, and Alys finally understood.

“You watched your home burn to its core." Aemond's tone was light and leveled, "You must have gazed into the fires.”

It had been a truth universally assumed, that he wouldn’t even look upon her. Though a first daughter, she presented as a mere third child. Loved among her Lords, ‘twas true, but with a trivial, worthless last name, who’d be of little to no use to him, and honour him no less or more than a lease daughter of Pike or Ambrose. He’d scoffed back then, under his breath, as the two conversed so freely. The graceless children of low descent, so shamelessly engrossed in the raptures of the other’s company.

If only he had loved her then. For Jace wouldn't have walked away from Aegon's nameday scrape unharmed. How many things would have played differently, if only he asked her first to dance? ... But a lowbred with a bastard was a common sight to see. Aemond thus stood at his table, playing harsh tunes with his slim fingers, whilst knocking on the table’s wood.

His hand enwrapped at the base of her throat, moving languidly over the nape of her neck, and thwarting her forward with an exponential pull. The dying logs inside the fireplace still cracked with their dispersive strokes, impelling the air with charred ashes, and softened groans of sizzled smoke. Her cheek had touched a snapping flame – the arch of her enticing lip almost pressed firmly against it. The low sputtering of her ragged breath, the agonizing scream she’d let out, the fear that seeped within her bones; they deterred her to choke out worried, terror-stricken by his dwelling words. “My Prince, please, I’m begging you –” His silk-smooth baritone came out sullen by perpetually placid waves. A clementful element to the fear and trepidation swarming about the narrow place.

“I’m merely helping you reach a conclusion.”

Her body contorted in a desperate attempt to flee him, and her hands pushed instinctively into the fires, as if to cast aside their perpetual danger, and better protect her face from the raptures of the growing heat. Fellen sobs escaped her lips, rolling down and off her cheeks, hearthing right in the blaze. “Please, please, please–”

“Well?” He sighed, calm and taciturn inside her ear, sparing her no lessened hold. And she failed once more to answer him, opting instead to let out another shrill of strangled moans. Her vision blurred throughout with horror – her gaze cast forth the lingering effect of fear, and her body stiffened in anticipation.

“Perhaps you need more help, then.” His disquieted mutter churned her guts over with dread.

Her wails of anguish pierced through his heart – yet his grip didn't uncurl.

He’d be a liar to say he thought much back then of their light and foolish prancing. The shades of orange in her dress laced his eye with milky spots of irritation, and Jace’s laughter filled him with surfeited hatred. Thus he didn’t linger past the notion of a second, and when Daeron’s warm eyes met with his, he only hummed in discontent. “You ought to dance with someone tonight,” He reminded his elder brother through the musings of a quirked-up brow, “There’s plenty of handsome ladies here tonight.”

Strenuously he looked around, though at last settled his orb on the heaving and coveted form of the latter of Helaena’s ladies. Her very own shone bright with wonder as she listened to her nearby friend, which dispersed her hands about with adorning youthful bliss. She was laughing in good spirit, whispering her minor gossip; Still, when his gape was met with hers, her slight smile instantly falthered.

Five seconds it took for her to turn and flee into the crowd – and five more it took the Prince to work through the nearest cup, by fully draining it of wine, and allowing its sharpened sting to warm and breach his stiffened limbs. His deflation would be short-lived, and the ripe pierce of rejection heal itself in a moment’s heed.

“‘Tis not their looks I’m worried of.” He pensively added to his brother.

“She had a rather awkward smile.” The youngest tried to comfort him.

“Yet she still preferred to flee.” Though his tune carried no bitter candour, Aemond sharply turned around, “You’re wasting your time with me, brother. You fail to look where you’re supposed to.”

“Your Grace, I know – I know of another way!”

Confused by his elusive words, Daeron turned his head around. “Elanour Frey has all but thrown herself at you.” He clarified slightly amused, and when Daeron’s ears piqued through with red, the corners of his mouth quriked up. “Go take the fair cunt for a whirl. Enjoy her smiles and dulling company.”

“She’s a Lady, brother! It’s wrong of you to slight her so.” Despite the youth’s endless chastising, the boy still rose to kvetch an approach.

“The spell is not without its consequences.” She drew in through a shaky breath, “B-But I can make you see her by yourself. I know the Riverlands like the back of my hand. I’ll tell you where she’s headed.” It was a risky plan. Yet it had the potential to appease Aemond, and in the process, save her life. When his iron fist had loosened, she hastily convulsed away. Her words spoke of an old ritual, one she could avid perform – one that would show him his Lady, one that would reveal her whole. “I’ll need your blood – blood from the both of you. The fresher it is, the better for the enchantment.”

Aemond solely parted with the piece of cloth used for their wedding. When the notion of shared blood was uttered, he hastily dug for the sleeve, revealing the blotches which took the front of a maroon-brown colour. “It’s two days old.”

“It’ll work for her part. But I greatly urge you to spare fresher droplets from your own share.” Her heart beat frantically inside her chest. She prayed to her God to send her lease, to grant her mercy and forgiveness for that of which she would soon do. She nicked Aemond with the sharp end of a perusing tool. Drops of thick, red-bludgeon clot surged over her waiting hands, dripping in rapid slithers from his damaged shoulder. She forged a phoney incantation, muttering it slowly for the man to hear. She then waited, and waited, for the sphagnum moss to reach its peak. “Tonight is a half-crescent moon,” She explained brashly in a lulling tune, “I’ll throw the damp cloth into a fire and we’ll see where she is headed.” Why exactly she had lied to him, and continued to do just so, eluded Alys in her steep attempts to cast her spell. Perhaps it was due to her poignant state – as her condition would begin to show erelong, and Aemond had to be reminded of the care he held for her. Perhaps it was because she’d die if his wife of chestnut hair uttered to him that she’d helped with her escape. Perhaps it was because she’d learned to like the forlong and dismissive Lady, and saw within her the potential to prevail. Perhaps his loyalists had begun to matter – as she well knew the wrath and ruin that Aemond would bring upon the boys, were he to notice that they all survived the clashing flames, and not emerged with his sweet Lady. “... But we need to leave, Your Grace, and soon.” She ergo pleaded as she sewed him shut, “Daemon Targaryen reached the gables of Maidenpool. He’s to come for us, for all of us.”

“Yet another reason not to leave without my wife.”

Perhaps she’d seen enough of death, and felt the need to reach for safety – for the reclusion brought by Oldtown, and for the one she'd felt with Aemond. The lot of troubled knights be damned down to the Seven Hells and back. Criston Cole could meet the troops, take them to increase his numbers, and march on towards the Fields of Fire, to join forces with the Lannisters.

"There is a chance he's still unaware of your union. If that be the case, she’ll be safer without you taking her back right now.”

“Are you suggesting I leave her here? To be used by the Blacks as leverage?"

"– Twirled with two Princes in a night! Gods, and the most comely of the bunch, as well…"

"How lucky she must feel right now. Having two push for her hand."

"She's not that much of an exquisite beauty. And her sewing is quite crooked." With a loud huff to calm her nerves, the Lady dared to carry onward, " I wouldn't go as far as to proclaim something like that."

His wide step fathered on the course of the narrow and secluded hallway. The maidens’ voices washed over his form like whiplash, and Aemond stood hammered in place, whilst listening to their low chirping.

The latter lady of the two shrugged her shoulders in indifference, as she jabbed her slight companion right into her bottom ribs. Her painted lips sketched to a smirk, and her thin brows rose up in wonder. “Poor Dyenne,” She snickered briefly as she paused her idle gossip, “Imagine having the One-Eyed Prince glance at you with such a stare – reckon she’ll send out a raven and beg her father to return to Pyke?” The taller redhead looked around in grave and unmistaken panic, before setting her washed eyes on her giggling accomplice. Her hands wrapped around the shawl that she wore over her gown, and she sighed in discontent, as she weighed her words inside her. “Hush now, Talia!” She ended up conducting sharply, “You shouldn't dare to speak such words. Especially in the Red Keep!”

His hands formed into light fists, as the rousing sting of shame prickled across his pale-white skin. With his jaw now tightly set and a frown upon his face, the Prince cast his long gaze downwards – vexing himself for the impropriety of eavesdropping in the first place. He’d come to terms with his mien, well before he turned a man. With how he scared the finer ladies, with how they all deemed him a cripple. But to be such crass acknowledged as a ghastly and revolting monster, so coolly and without chargin, with such ease and nonchalance.... A bitter taste caught in his mouth, as aggravation dauntly surged him – for how dare those two low women speak so freely of his face?

The shorter girl huffed out expectantly, whilst her companion rained her chastation. Her face was hidden, protected onward by her loosened golden locks. But even so, by name alone, Aemond had apputed her; She was yet another one of Helaena’s hexing ladies. “Even if someone would hear me, certainly they'd feel the same!” With her nose held high and her back all straightened, the lassie added with a perfect diction, “I, for one, would never dance with such a brute. He could be the heir to the Iron Throne itself – I would still flinch at his touch. He is such a morbid freak.”

He could feel his cheeks catch on to a shade of putrid red. His probing and now heated leathers fell tightly on his heaving chest, leaving him appalled, constricted, and resigned in his dark space.

Black spots surged and filled his vision before he could extend his arm. Heinous pain stabbed through his heart, rushing through his mustered veins. The last he felt was of his shoulder, which throbbed in place with blazing heat.

***

“Aemond? Gods, Aemond, are you alright?”

The mere softness of her distant voice sent a pleasurable thrill within him. His lilac orb opened with stupor, gazing above him at the remnants of the littered candles, which flickered both across her face and at the sobriety of the dark room. His tenebrous brow rose in surprise, as her brilliant eyes met him with love, and her reddened lips broke to a smile.

“Thank the Gods you’re awake.” She whispered with a timbre of exhilaration, as her small hand came up to brush over the arch of his unfurrowed brows and against his tired face. Her touch was light and barely proded – and, for the first time since he’d truly seen her, a refulgent smile formed on her lips; caused by and bared out for him – in all its kind and gracious nature. His chest heaved once with every turn of his lungs’ deep and churning exhales, as her vivid and concisive image allowed for a heatwave of ardour to surge through his very being. The deep purple of his eye glimmered with abstained affection – the corners of his downward mouth all but quirked into a grin.

As if burnt by dragon fire, his body rose to a quick halt – propped upwards by his left forearm, and supported through the same. The wound that caused him ached discomfort all forgotten with the notion of her brightened and reclusive face. “But –” He began feverishly, whilst turning her head from side to side, “How,” He choked out with a desperate hiss, caressing her cheeks with his rough digits, “You left. You left me.”

A soft gasp lodged from her throat, as Aemond’s hands enwrapped her whole. Her own slim limbs entwined with his, running through his silver hair and over his unyielding jaw, resting on his raucous back and grazing over his resounding heart. The tension in his rigid shoulders eased with every gaudy touch. She wordlessly reached for his eyepatch, and yanked it off in a swift move. Her lips descended on his shoulder, moving upwards to peck lightly at his jugged and immersive scar, reaching for his poignant cheekbones, and pressing softly at his mouth’s high arch.

“How,” He whispered lowly once again, as her eyes met his with glee. "Foolish boy,” She kissed him slowly, whilst aligning her hips to his, “I came back for you. We’re man and wife now, you and I.” She added with a prompt elation, “I could never truly leave you.”

“Harrenhal, the Riverlands –” He grunted meekly as he insatiably chased her mouth. His wife bit over his lower lip, and swallowed down his grouchy growl. “Shh,” She subdued him back to calmness, “We are both in Oldtown now. All is well.” She nodded once to ease his nerves, “Your brother, Daeron, took care of everything.” Before the Prince could inquire anything less or more wanting, her leg prodded in between his thighs, widdling to pry them open. She moved her attentive focus to his red and swollen lips, and gently led his heated body back into a lying pose. The woman smirked at his perplexed submission, and flummeted a listless array of sensual and loving kisses down the curve of his adonis belt. Her knees plunged into the mattress that enwrapped him in a state of lust, straddling and guiding him as she considered at that time.

“Relax, my love,” She urged him gently, “I plan to take good care of you.” For but a moment, her movement stilled. And his wife rose up her head to kiss him in pleded benevolence. “I almost lost you. Never again.” She promised him with an elusive stare. The hardness in his hazy iris softened with her every word. His digits came to touch her own, and he entwined their hands together, taking her own to his mouth. Tenderly he kissed each finger, trailing the softness of her palms with the unquaint and possessed devotion of his flectuous and awaiting lips. She relaxed into his hold, and used her thumbs to graze his cheeks, rubbing faintly at the jarring redness that was forming on his skin. “I would burn the world to ashes if it meant possessing you,” He muttered lowly as he kissed her hands, “The Gods may curse me if they will it – but I would sooner kill a thousand men, and ravock against hundreds of armies, before I should see you leave again.”

Her giggle pierced his very soul, and that alone had been enough for him to free his damning urges. He pawed at her compressing bodice, and sucked with fevervour at the apex of her thighs and neck. “I am sick with the desire to have you. I am not a man to be tamed, my Lady; ‘tis with you and only you that I will submit willingly.” Poignant yet without a hurry, her fingers threaded through his silver hair, earning a salacious moan from the lips of the perturbed. Aemond’s eye was blown with lust, and a shallow but incessive pant ached within his naked chest. Desperate to hear her voice, and maddened by her ceaseless silence, the man drove on with upstrained force. “Tis only you who makes me whole,” He whispered as he shut his eye, “Your beauty is a curse that bound me since the first day that we met. No matter where I turn to look, I cannot escape your presence.”

“Say something – say anything. Tell me that I may – may I?” The desperate edge within his tone transpired over his extended hand. Tremulous and undecided, it touched the lacings of her back, itching to reveal her skin. “Please let me touch you. Please… I need you.” A reserved smile upturned her lips, and the woman trailed her hands over the appended width of his shuddering and throbbing chest. His every muscle tensed at the feeling of her cold and sanity hands – a downy sigh beleft his throat, followed by a swallowed whine. She leaned over to his ear, and trailed a long lick to his jaw. “I love you…” She subdued to his lax face, whilst letting out a brisk exhale. Her forehead came to touch his own, as she muttered once again, “I love you, Aemond.” The sluggish roll of her scant hips deterred the Prince to drone a curse. "Don't say that, my love," His breathing came to ragged pants, "I'm going to… spend… if you say that once more…" His hand came forth to grip her thigh, pausing slightly for a moment to ensure her disposition, before leading her into him with nuanced and languid movements. His brows furrowed in concentration, as his hazy and fogged over eye trailed across her freckled face. “To hell with keeping the bloodline pure,” He gulped as he relaxed into her, “Fuck principle.” His loins ached him with elation at the promise of release. The way she looked at him was too much. “Sīkudi nopāzmi, skori ao umbagon va bē hen issa…” His speech halted with the abstinence of another guttural growl, “Qrimbrōzagon, jorrāelagon, nyke jāhor tepagon ao nykeā gār trēsi.”

Very little he could say on the wild infatuation that he felt for the slight girl. He knew that he had well surrendered his will, his mind, and his whole being to the jolting peaks of madness – of love and lust and quaint desire.

He’d been a man bound by his duty. Prepared to marry his own sister and ensure their pure volition, should his brother prove himself more or less inapt to do it. Marry the Baratheon girl, concur with her father’s banners and one day sit at Storm’s End. But then he went against his mother – against the wishes of his grandsire, against the better of the Realm; he’d married her in disheartened haste, with no quaint or real regard over what would come of them. His extended family, the premise of his purpose as a simple second son, the scarce but mandatory expectations that were laid upon him since the first conditioned moments of his cursed and unwanted birth… they’d all have grown to account to nothing in the face of her lithe form. She was, by all righteous accounts, the one woman that the poets spoke of. The inviting and mistrusting siren that would lure tired men in, the innocent and stainless maiden that drove them all insane with need. His wife, His Lady – the only woman who could drive Aemond Targaryen wild with pure fervour. With every kiss on her pale skin, the falthered licks of true devotion cascaded from his parted lips – with every promise that he uttered in his olden mother tongue, too scared and afraid to claim them in a way she’d understand. For he was nought but a damn coward. A foolish man. One that was frightened. Frightened of the situation which he himself had put her under. Frightened of being rejected by his one true love again. Frightened of loving her wholly, as if but a single touch placed upon her skin would burn him.

Scared, that he would do anything it took to have her. Scared, that he would desolate his House, renounce his titles, give up his birthright – just to be allowed to stay quaintly over by her side. The tightness of his burdened sex deterred him to writhe and moan. His hands had worked throughout without him, undressing her with a light tremour – one that would have better matched a young and senseless stable boy, than a true and balanced Prince. His mouth latched on her heaving bosom, sucking its possessive mark along the low side of her collarbones. His right hand touched upon her thigh, and she immediately spread out her legs. “Se nyke jāhor jorrāelagon hen se tolvie mēn hen zirȳ.”

His trail of open-mouthed kisses faltered in their pushed longevity, as she offered her reply in kind. Her eyes washed over with confusion, and a quivering but dainty hand came up to rest over his scar. Her mouth opened as his closed, daring to utter but one question, after what felt like an eternity of eluding and punishing silence. “Is everything alright, my King?”

As if struck by a red arrow, Aemond countered her position – though he kept her tightly on him, his own chest touching with hers. “What did you say?” Following his own accord, the Prince wrapped a hand around her, “You do not speak High Valyrian.”

Not with this level of content.

“My love…” She strained herself to finally stay, whilst the Targaryen seized up her hand, “Aemond, my heart, what are you doing?”

“This isn’t real,” His voice cracked with dissolution, “This isn’t real.” His thumb trailed where her cut should be, across the soft mound of her flesh – though the only feel against it was her soft and healed-up muscle. In vain she tried to grip his face, and make him face her eyes again. In vain her face had gotten closer, urging him to probe her skin. “Aemond…” She tried her best to reel him back.

“You couldn’t have healed in two days' time.”

“I’m here, Aemond – I’m real. I am real just as you are.”

His thumb grazed her lower lip, trailing at her cupid’s bow. “No,” He muttered with a broken tone, “No, you’re not.”

Regret washed over her fair face – though whether felt or simply mimicked, Aemond wouldn’t dare to guess. Before he could swat her away, her hands gripped urgently at his loose shirt. The sick illusion stilled her movements, and merely pressed up against his form. “What does it matter if I’m not cut?” Her gaze softened as he pulled her nether, “This can be real,” She muttered meekly, as she trailed her smaller hand down the apex of his silver hair. Shyly she encouraged him to wrap a hand around her waist, and to rest his cluching chin on the nakedness of her small chest. “You and me,” She deterred further, “We can make this whole thing work.” She nodded fervently at her own words, as she unclasped the ready dagger that remained tied to his leg. Quietly she brought it forward, presenting it in her clean palms – and smiled at him encouragingly, as she pointed it to his big hands. “We can wed each other again,” She promised with a sweet allure, “And we can make it right this time.” Roaring anguish and relenting pain was all that Aemond found he felt, as her soft digits tried to trail over the sharpness of his jaw again. She raised herself back to her knees and straddled him with a shy look. “You know the words, Aemond, come on,” She coaxed him with a shallow grind, “Father, Smith, Warrior,” Her lips descended on his neck, “Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…” A blinding array of wet kisses was panned insistently across his face. The cruel illusion pouted slightly, as her lost set of aching motions failed to be returned by Aemond. She stirred observantly in her found seat, and simply grazed his chest again. “I am his and he is mine…”

“Stop this.”

“From this day, until the end of my days.”

His hand had wrapped around her throat, holding her gently in her place – though firmly enough for her plump lips not to scoot a figment closer. His lone orb bore into her form, sending waves of apt vexation down the curve of her hicked bosom, “Enough.” He domineered his lady faintly, while swatting her off his heaving body. “Aemond,” She tried once more, thoroughly banished, and latched onto his extended arm, “Please,” Her tune had grown desperate in edge, “We can be so, so happy… I can be so good for you–”

But by then it’d been too late – for Aemond opened his eye, and was met with thorough light.

“Aemond.” A faraway voice called out for him.

His head was throbbing, his scar itching, stinging at his tightened skin with waves of blinding and deafening pain. His lips parted with the prying of a hardened groan, and the man hissed at the contact that the mattress made with him. “Shit,” He panted with a shaky exhale. The Prince’s lips pressed hard together, and a harsh frown scorned his features. As he glanced on at the man who’d dared perturb him in his sleep, his own surprise jolted him upward. “Daeron?”

As if motioned by his hiss of pain, the young Targaryen heathered closer, enwrapping his own slender fingers around his older brother’s forearm. Gentily he hoisted him better, making sure to shield his shoulder and press his back against the tall edge of his given bed. “You have slept for too long, brother.” He uttered in a sympathetic tone, “We thought that you might not wake up.”

“What happened?” Aemond jerked his whole arm forward, loosening his sibling’s hold. He winced at the grave discomfort, and Daeron breathed out a tut – though the two remained up close, even through Aemond’s conniption. Defeated or perhaps unnerved, Daeron straightened back his shoulders, broadening his slighter frame. He hummed towards him in slight admission, before resuming his known poise. “It’s good to see you, too, dear brother.” A sadenned smile played at his lips, before his eyes bore his again. “... The Riverlands have been secured two days ago by nuncle’s presence. I came and took you back to Oldtown.” His reply had been quite simple, yet Aemond’s blood surged through with ire. He almost jumped up to his feet, demanding for a hurried answer. “You mean to tell me… Harrenhal has been abandoned. The strongest keep in terms of rally.” His voice had grown huskier yet, as he strained his vocal cords to concur a neutral tone. A bludgeon red obscured his vision, as a palpable realisation hit – his wife had been abandoned, too. “The Lady of Riverrun –” He began with grave ferocity, yet Daeron’s voice befell his ears.

“What was once your prized war captive appears to have remained scot-free.” The deep purple in his eyes registered his wrathful face, “There was nothing we could do. Your shoulder blade was soberly infected. The girl could have been anywhere further South, and Daemon emerged up North with that vexing bastard filly.” As his speech came to a halt, the man expelled a briskened heave, “You’re lucky that you’re still alive, and that Ser Cole stuck out from Maidenpool to take over your share of men.” Aemond’s features turned impassive, as his bold and younger brother carried forward with his discourse. Recoil sprung inside his guts, densening his leaden body. Fury fought with better judgement, until the former struck its claim. “How long have I been asleep.” Though a poignant and illusive question, his words spewed out as a command, “How long has it been.”

“A little over three moon turns.”

“Three days,” The man spat out in disarray, “Three days,” He thus insistently repeated, as he fixed on the lowest point of the cranky wooden floor. His mind’s eye surged with hasty questions, with possibilities and made scenarios that could have feasibly played at her fate. She could not have gotten far. Walking through those fields on foot came near close to be impossible, even for the ones who worked them. She hadn’t stolen any horse, for Alys told him –

Alys Rivers.

The harlot witch who’d sworn before him that she’d find out where she would be.

“Where is the Rivers witch residing now?” Almost clearing through his trail of thought, Daeron’s body hindered forward. “Take it easy, Aemond, please. You have not yet healed your wounds.” The sharpened edge of his advice echoed through the dim lit room. “I shan’t allow your temper to recline your better health.”

“You listen here and listen well,” His wide stance dominated their reclusion, “I remain your Prince Regent until Aegon’s recuperation. You will tell me where that bastard is, or I’ll break this hedge to find her.”

“Do not make me choose between my man’s honour and my family,” Daeron sighed as he unsheathed his sword, “Lady Alys is under my protection. And no harm shall fall upon her.” A humourless laugh broke Aemond’s scowl, as a wild expression settled in. Her ongrowing popularity with younger men with silver hair hadn’t failed to irk him onward. “Ah, she’s shown you her loose cunny yet?” With two wide steps, he reached his brother, “You get the bull-tip of your cock wet and call that an act of honour? For agreeing to protect her whilst buried to the hilt inside her?”

Her deep-set eyes shone with uncertainty. The witch had bit over her lower lip, surging forward with her pleading. “I’m begging you, my Prince, Aemond cannot know.” Taken aback by her renowned persistence, Daeron merely nodded his head. “My Lady, you are well in Oldtown now. For saving my brother’s life as you did, I remain deeply indebted.” Though his stare had but ghosted over the appendix of her womb, the man frowned with laced dubiety. She followed his fixation vaguely, before bringing out a hand to rest over her emergent stomach. “Your brother isn’t a bad man – and he’s never wronged me, my Prince, however–” Her quaint unease shortened her argument. And alas, she’d lost her courage, lowering her arid stare. “However, I do not think it wise to spur him on with my condition.” With how her eyes avoided his, her kind admission of his resting brother might not have been all true and fair. Still he didn’t dwell on it; and merely chose to nod his head.

“He is certain to be mad at me.”

“You ought not to feel afraid, my lady. Any news of your condition will not come forth from my own lips.”

“Careful now, Aemond, you forget yourself.”

“And remain unarmed.” He gingerly agreed, “Did lord Ormund tell you how to be a man of honour? Was swinging your sword about in the face of your unguarded kin a lesson he’d formerly taught you? Or did you already possess such knowledge?”

“I do not wish to fight you, brother. Though you will stay your hand whilst here.” A damning silence cut right through them, clogging up their lungs with pressure and spiking up their avid hearts. Restlessness and grief filled Aemond, who only glanced in trepidation at his shorter and unmoving brother. The crackling fire of the room danced its flames across his face, thus distorting Daeron’s image of the fervour which he felt. “I’d tread lightly if I were you, brother. The Blacks did style me a Kinslayer.” Though filled with vehemence and zeal, Aemond had been smarter yet. With his small hum and low admission, he relaxed his back again. He took a seat near the small fire, and glanced at the boy again. His eye swirled with an iron glint, that merged into the biting flames of the red inviting blaze. His right arm rose in mocked surrender, though his sharp features didn’t lessen from their venomous display.

Despite his face being flushed red by his brother’s cruel last words, Daeron faced his flare with courage, and a straighter back than most, “Is it true?” He interjected, after a trifling plummet of silence. Though neither Prince required clarity upon the nature of his question, the younger lass protracted onward, as to secure Aemond’s reply. “Is it true that I should call the Tully girl my sister now?” The remnants of the aching fire danced across their heaving bodies. The avid churning of the olden wood dominated the wide room – two Targaryens singled each other, mirroring their counterpart in both elation and in stance. Aemond’s orb never once found itself leaving his face. Lilac clashed with spilling purple, until the latter of the two men moved.

“Yes.” Was all the Regent mustered to answer.

The oak floor creaked under the pressure of Daeron’s long and urgent steps. His hands sprawled over to the pine-wood table. His head lulled forward in a broken image.

In the nearing distance of the fertile fields of Oldtown, both Tessarion and Vhagar unleashed their frightening and unruly growls.

The Rushing Halls. The Half Calf’s Inn. Green Fork. Hag’s Mire.

Rushing Halls, Half Calf’s Inn, Green Fork, Hag’s Mire –

The North.

Words she whispered under her breath as she ran with a willingness unbent but strained. A ceaseless mantra of tied locations, that would hopefully bring forth her safety. Eventual peace within the Ream, to her family – and Gods be good, to the kindred spirits of all the souls she had selfishly left behind. She prayed and hung upon the last image that she got of Alys. Nought of what she said to her could be tested to be certain, and she might as well have sent her to an early and untimely death. She knew I wanted to march North, she'd ceaselessly remind herself, Could my own judgement be faulty?

Her legs had long been taken over by the blissful licks of numbness. And the soles of her silk shoes were long gnawed over by the pressure she had tirelessly put them under. Heaving breaths rattled her throat, and hot tears rolled off her cheeks. With a stupor which perturbed her greatly, the girl observed what had occurred.

She’d been crying. And for an awfully long time, at that.

Of exhaustion, of guilt, of desperation. Of feeling more caged than before, moving blindly like a pawn when bigger schemes were now at play – schemes that could have only been orchestrated by the Greens. Or the Blacks. Or the allies of those fractioned Houses. She could feel her heart emerge in the back-end of her throat. Her mouth dried up, although her tears quickened their flow into a heavy sheen of frightened spoil. The question in her mind remained – How long would it take until word reached the Blacks' most leal camps? Until Daemon or Rhaenyra found out about her bitter marriage, until her family – her real family – was used as bait to sway her heart?

They couldn’t know.

Would they believe it?

Would she be wrong to reach up North, in the hopes of peace and solace? Would she be caged and executed by the one Jace called his friend?

Her Jace. Her sweet and kind and perfect Jace.

His fingers threaded through her hair, as she sat across his lap. The padding of his calloused finger ran over her puffy cheek, prodding at her jaw affectionately as she read the book aloud. “Jace,” She hummed with contrary amusement laced within her tender voice, “However do you plan on learning all those words in High Valyrian if you can’t focus at all?” A boyish smirk spread on his face, which followed suit with a slight chuckle. Despite her chastising remark, the girl rose both eyebrows in wonder – she clicked her tongue in feigned dejection, but soon gave in to his strange joy. “Ah, but how can I be expected to concentrate on anything when you are so very beautiful,” Her Prince lowered his face to her, “And your lips look so inviting?” A myriad of little pecks descended on her face like rain, reaching wherever they could.

Three on her forehead, two on her brows, five on her nose and six on her lips.

A rather violent and aggressive turn stole the ground beneath her feet, and the woman found herself lying on the mudded earth.

Get up. Hurry and get up right now.

No matter how much she’d dare to try, she’d never be an avid runner. She’d never dare desert a post, but she’d never win a race.

Their giggles filled the blooming garden, as they both whispered their stale promises. “Avy jorrāelan,” He muttered right above her lips, “I swear that I’ll make you my Queen.” Her tiny gasps were soon all swallowed by the hunger of his mouth, “Avy jorrāelan–” She tentatively rolled the words in the back end of her throat, “That means ‘I love you’, doesn’t it?” The older boy let out a pur at her rightful and correct assumption, “My beautiful and smart betrothed,” He gently caressed her cheeks, “I love you,” He mustered up to say again, “I love you. I love you so, so much.”

“I love you more,” She strained herself to faintly exhale as she captured him again in an open-mouthed kiss.

She’d never seen love as a weakness, so she never felt the need to run. Although she’d never been the one to chase – always the last to eat her dinner, always the last to speak her mind. She was, in fact, a mere ground-holder. The one that always chose to stay.

“I’ll go with you,” Her weary eyes searched wide for his, “I won’t let you face the Triarchy alone.” Jace’s hands beckoned her hither, in a tight and chaste embrace. “You must stay here,” He softly uttered, “Your grandsire and brothers need you.”

“Not as much as you need me,” Her hands tightened their loose hold, “We’re a team. We’ve always been a team. I just–” Although the latter of her words were muttered, Jace still broke into a smile, “I just can’t let you go alone. I have a bad feeling about this.” He kissed the crown of her tied hair, and breathed in her daisy scent. “Stay,” He sighed in a low tone, “I did promise you, did I not?” His hawk-like orbs bore holes into her, “I swore to you that I’d return. I intend to keep my oath.”

Even when her shoes were laced, or when all her muscles tensed at the simple call of ready – she just wouldn’t move her legs. She was a stayer. Always the one to get up last.

“You shouldn’t be so taciturn,” Kermit’s voice rang through her ears. “Good things come to those who wait.” She dismissed him with a jab, and Oscar’s lips pulled to a smile. “In this world? In Westeros?” Her younger brother tightly questioned, “To a Tully? I don’t think so.”

Gods be good, her knees were bleeding from the sheer force of that fall. She blinked her eyes and panted loudly, trying to regain her vision. Dwellings on matters disclosed were the least bit of her worries. If she managed to escape her husband, then she could torment her soul.

The Rushing Halls. The Half Calf’s Inn.

Alys had at last been right.

“Hey, boy! You, from over there!” Her breathless callings were soon answered with a frail and slight refrain.

“Greetings, traveller!” The man instilled his horse to stop, whilst turning his face towards her. “You seem to be in a big rush.” Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Her breathing came as short and laboured. “Aye, I am,” The girl agreed with a forced smile, whilst focusing to stop her pants. She glanced atop the horse’s rider, and merely nodded up ahead, “See, I was planning to go to High Heart – take the Gold Road back to Silverhill.” As she winced at her attempt to recall the map of Westeros, the nervous Lady of the Riverlands shrugged her shoulders in dismay. She swallowed deeply for a moment, and prayed to whatever God would listen for the man to be convinced. “But, uh,” She took in a shaky breath, as her lungs burned up her insides, “I didn’t realise the lands would be so muddy.” She chuckled as the boy relaxed, and aligned his horse to face her, “Not from these parts, are you, Lady?”

“I’m afraid I’m here in passing. My own family awaits in Appleton.”

If until then the lass had treated her with piercing and perusing distance, his facade had broken down, in the singular and stellar moment when her words mentioned the Reach – the modest castle of King’s Road where some lower lords resided. Immediately his shoulders slouched, as his eyes widened with joy. “You’re from Appleton, Lady?” Without awaiting for an answer, the boy shook his head and clarified, “My good mother comes from Appleton – she used to take me there in summers, since I was still in my cradle!” He dismounted his small horse with a feverished, good-willed felicity, and approached the waiting girl, “‘Tis good to see another lowborn of the Reach! My name is Dalron. Dalron Flowers.” As he proudly spoke his words, the Dalron bastard of the Reach leaned into a profound bow.

Another bastard of the Reach – this was starting to become a theme.

The amusing thought that reached her mind hindered the girl to suppress a laugh. Still, her eyes darted in focus to the side of the road, and she faltered a moment to plunge back into her words.

“I’m Sara Webber.” She lied without a single tick, and smiled crookedly when the man tripped over his better words, “M’lady!” He forthwith spat out his flattery, “Forgive me, m’lady, I hadn’t realised I was talking to a – well, uh, ah, a highborn lady.”

Relieved that her lie had worked and that her new identity had stuck so well – for she was painfully unaware if such a Webber even existed in the lands of Coldmoat Keep –, her hands came briskly in the air, as she waved them both good-heartedly. “It is I who should apologise, ser – I don’t reside exactly in Appleton. Though I share the enthusiasm: it is a rather beautiful place." Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and her stare focused on the tiny horse; how very perfect it would suit her in the joncture of her little trip.

“I struck up a conversation to inquire about your horse. Would you ever think to sell her?"

“She's not truly a horse, my lady, but a half mule –”

Alys.

"Still, she's as good as any purebred! And she can last for a long distance."

“She must be quite valuable and dear, then!”

The lanky bastard nodded with a smile upon his lips. His eyebrows furrowed shortly after, as he patted the old yerdle on her boney and emblemished back, “Aye, m’lady, dear she is – but I must say with honesty that she can’t carry much weight.” A shy quirk befell his lips, and the boy dared to look away again. His black eyes ran over the hills she’d pointed – and he shook his head whilst thinking. “But with just you on her back, m’lady,” His yellow teeth showed for a moment, “I’d say she could take you to Appleton.”

Her dirtied hand dug through her breeches for the remaining coins from Alys. After but a hissed-out curse and a sheepish smile thrown at him, her unclenched palm revealed both silvers, and a carefully polished ring. “It’s not much, I must confess,” Her breath staggered with an inept swallow, “But it should be of enough value to at least make up for her.”

The way his face switched brash emotions made her squirm within her place. She filled her lungs with putrid air, and merely drove on ahead, “Of course, I’d deal you with these clothes, as well.” She humorously jabbed at Dalron, “If you could tell I was a lady, then my job wasn’t done right.”

The rags the bastard wore in daylight contrasted her shirt and braise. And Dalron looked at the two silvers, and at the stone caught in her ring.

In those unparalleled moments of quiet, the Lady smiled at him with patience, but prayed upon the Seven Heavens that the man accept her offer.

***

The mule’s strides were long and hearty – filled with more determination than the girl ever expected; swift and agile on her scrawny, although weirdly elongated feet.

The girl noticed, although dumbfounded, that her shoulders had relaxed. Her lips pressed into a tight line, as her back turned stiff again.

Such a fool’s role she was playing, disassociating from her nimble body, daydreaming with her eyes wide open, when she hadn't yet found shelter. She could not afford missteps – not another hurried movement, or another close miscall. Relaxation was a dreaded feeling.

Her, overcome with confidence in her own wit and reason, on her slim chance of escaping and her margin of enclosed direction could not have brought good news with it. And that bastard boy she’d left, wearing all of Aemond’s clothes…

She’d smiled at him in a faint manner, and fooled him to dress in her garments.

When quietness set in the fields, and all the birds ceased with their loud humming, the tired Lady of the Riverlands wondered if she’d killed the lass – if somehow, although unwilling, she’d condemned him to his death. Would he be found out by Aemond? Or by one of his unchanged supporters? Would any woman from his town recognise the three-faced dragon on the back-end of his shirt, and denounce him as a traitor, style him someone who plotted against the betterment of the Black flags? … Would he know her true identity? Had he figured it all out from the moment that he saw her, and only bargained with her money to suck her dry of all she had?

She was Elmo Tully's daughter. The granddaughter of mighty Grover. Kermit's sister–

Aemond's wife.

Both her brothers were well-liked, known and welcomed with great reverie on North to Kingsroad and South to Ashford. Surely then the boy won’t talk.

… But what if he were made to talk? Tortured on and on for hours, seemingly without an end? He’d seen her take to Wayfarer’s Rest, so if he’d give them those directions, then at least they would be wrong.

The mule was panting, hard but slow. Her feet had started giving out.

“Attagirl,” The girl encouraged, patting her on her slim neck, “Hold on for me. Hold on, sweet thing – we have to walk for a while longer.” The half-breed puffed through her pink nose, and merely grunted in her slight retreat. “I promise you, we’ll stop real soon.” Had she turned fully insane? Overcome by grief, fatigue, and so desperate to talk again?

Human company couldn't be traded with the one of a small horse. But conversing with the mare was better than not cackling at all.

A lousy crack of a felled branch unsettled both the mount and owner to the heights of deep hysteria – but only the former jolted and curdled out a high-pitched shriek.

“Shh, shh, attagirl – calm down, sweet thing, calm down.” The Bliss of Riverrun commanded gently. Her hands were shaking, still holding up the yearling’s bridle. She exhaled once through her straight nose, and tried to calm her aching nerves. “I got scared, too, but it was nothing.” Though darkness ate away the forest, her avid eyes searched through the shadows – and her own hand rested quite stiffly, palming at her thigh to ground her. “See, it was just a stupid bird. The breeze. A noise.” Her own breathlessness surprised her.

In olden days, she'd laugh at that. For she always teased the children that were still scared of the dark.

Droplets of sweat coated her forehead, tickling down her dirtied cheek. The girl didn't feel like laughing. The girl felt the need to scream.

Should Aemond venture out to find her, she’d be well aware of that. And no amount of greenery would mask Vhagar’s laid out shadow. The dragon’s roars had made her ears bleed – they would be louder than a measly crack.

As she looked up from the bushes, the girl's big eyes filled up with glee; for there it was, up on the hill – the unkept and deformed Hag’s Mire.

《"You'll go towards the Rushing Halls and buy yourself a mule from the Half Calf's Inn." As the younger Lady nodded feverishly at her late advice, Alys clasped her cheeks with her hands, and brought her head further towards her. "You'll keep a straight line to the Green Fork. You won't stop to eat or drink – you won't stop until you reach Hag's Mire.》

Alys told her she could stop there. And Alys had been right before; why would she be lying now?

Maybe she should stop about. Allow her mule the rest of night, eat something hot, starchy and fat.

She still possessed her golden pendant. And she could trade it for a meal, and a high stable for her tired mule. Her heart picked up with faith and hope, as her own lips parted with gratitude.

Thank the Gods for Alys Rivers, she compelled within her thoughts.

His eyes looked far into the distance, matching shadows to their forms. The grey within his tired iris faltered over with light languor – and a quaint sigh left his lips, as the man straightened his back.

“And so quietness enwrapped the Realm.” Her satin voice enveloped Cain, and whilst he turned his head around, he returned her smile with grace. His fatigued limbs chastised in protest, yet he still bowed in his reply. “Lady Arryn,” He echoed slightly, announcing the woman's presence. The night’s air flogged at his pale skin, leaving forth their angry marks at the apex of his hollow cheeks. “The hour’s grown quite late, my Lady.” Instead of an outright reply, the woman nodded in effervency, as she walked on by to sit near the stones he rested on. She turned her stare to the vast distance, and sucked a breath with a light tut. “When my ancestors built the Vale,” She began with a small hum, “They said it was impenetrable.” Her hands rested in her lap, playing with her golden rings.

“Why are you here alone?” The quaint recoil of her tone matched the weariness of his low stance. “Apologies, my lady. I hadn’t meant to abandon my post.” Though he tried his hardest to level out his prickled throat, the words he uttered maintained their shaky undertones. The subtle feel of her wool shawl surrounded Cain with love and warmth. Her hands had draped the silky felt over his unyielded back, and she rubbed long, soothing circles in the thick of the material. Twice she had patted his shoulders, before gently letting go.

A wordless colloquy was thus exchanged. “It’s really cold.” She hushed beside him.

“But I’ve always found their logic to be lacking in that sense.” Jayne transfixed Cain with her blue eyes, “No one's tried to break us in. But I'm certain that some could." She paused a while to maul her thoughts, before she carried on her speech, "Just because something looks to be untouchable, that doesn't make it rightly so.”

“It doesn’t quite inspire men to go to arms, either, my lady.”

“Yeah…” The knight chocked-out an affirm, “It is.” Her eyes pleaded silently with his, and the five and ten year old lowered her head over her knees. “You talked to him.” She merely sighed, as he quickly shook his head. “He reached out to me,” Cain muttered simply, “I was in the training yard when he showed up out of nowhere.” A wobbly hand came to wipe his tears away, and the lass scratched himself with the callous ends of his rough digits. “Said we needed to talk. I thought that… Gods, I never allowed myself to hope, my lady, but for once I–” The fever in his growing tone wantonly shredded his heart. The anguish in his gape was evident, but the girl lest found herself transfixed by his iron gaze – so close to being blue or green, so close to turning milky white. “Is he…?” She asked him with a reserved pitch. “His twin brother.” Cain huffed out, as a bitter laugh slipped past his lips. “Tyland was just there to make sure I wouldn’t yelp. His brother’s too much of a coward to address his son his questions.”

Lady Arryn forced a smirk, yet agreed with the tall knight. “Every coward seems courageous in the safety of the crowd.” She murmured through a marginal chuckle, “And bravery can be contagious when the band is playing loud.” Her tense gaze drowned him like a river – and the swirl beneath her eyes let the man know of her wide plan. “To be led by the force of example can be a very tricky thing.” Cain exhaled through his nose.

“Is that why you cannot find sleep?”

“Was he worried you would say something?” Her drawn voice laced with the cobwebs of uncertainty, “What would you have to gain from calling yourself a Lannister’s bastard?”

“A whole lot, Tyland thinks.” The corners of his mouth quirked upwards, “For one, Jason doesn’t have any sons.” Her eyebrows rose from perplexed to intrigued. “Even rumours of an illegitimate one could very well ruin their thread of succession.” As the two friends pressed on forth with their treasonous exaltion, the younger girl lowered her head. “But you don't want it. You don’t want Casterly Rock.”

“No.” His own body had become a vessel, a means to chain his most protruding thoughts. The corners of his mouth had watered, as his vision turned unclear. Gods forgive him, and Gods be good – but how he wanted it as his. He wanted to sit on that damned chair more than presidency would allow. He wanted to feel the weight of that ridiculous and pompous cape upon the broadness of his shoulders, he wanted to know what it would be like; For but a moment, he wanted to know their power. To know what it was like to be seen, quaint regarded as an equal, and not as a produce of lust. “No, I don’t want it.” His head surged clear with a response. The world was yet to make a man who lacked the much needed ambition to climb the ladder to the heights of power. The impulse he felt had made no difference – what he wanted and what he was owed were on the two sides of the same coin.

His shoulders tensed, much like that night. “I feel…” He strained himself to give an answer, “When I faced the Kinslayer in that dark, secluded cave," His diction halted for a moment, as he thought on what to say, "I felt more than prepared to die.”

“But you didn’t die.”

“No, I didn’t.” His shame slid down his throat with ease, “I survived; and in the process of that, I failed her.” His stare threaded with the winter’s sky. And when he dared to speak again, his voice hung low with deep uncertainty. “There’s nothing to say I won’t fail again.”

“Nothing makes a man so bold as a woman’s smile, and a hand to hold.”

The redness in his cheeks had deepened, and though his mouth opened in protest, quietness ensued a while – He would have avidly denied her musings, swearing on the Gods above that what he felt for his fair lady was nothing but a lasted friendship.

I owe my very life to her, he might have been endowed to say, When no one else believed in me, she was the one who gave me hope. And the right purpose to uphold.

Only when he turned her way, did the knight realise that he was tired. Tired – but tired up and far beyond the constrictions of the mind and flesh. The only sound that left his lips was a faint sigh of refrain. Everyone inside his life abandoned him or ran away. How cowardly it was of him to wish to do the very same.

His weary and incessive shoulders stiffened with the gentle breeze.

A single tear rolled off his cheek, and Cain swallowed back a curse. “I always lived under the impression that fathers grow to love their sons.” The silence that swaddled the gardens exceeded deafening amounts. Crickets nestled in the grass, opening their wings to fly to the delicate petals of flowers in the raptures of the night. A gust of wind prodded her vision, swaying forth her longer hair. The young girl’s eyes closed shut in focus, as her lips parted instead. “Jason Lannister is an idiot.” She ended up concluding then, “He doesn't deserve to call you that.”

A steadied breath escaped Cain’s throat, and her wide orbs softened in pain. Her gaze moved forth to the green bushes, and her smooth hands twitched in her lap. Suddenly and without thinking, her palm enwrapped his shaking fist. “I’m glad he’s not making you live with the shame of being his first male offspring, you know.” Although her moody tone of voice snapped right through the orchid garden in a patronising way, the Bliss of Riverrun made use of her free remaining hand; digging through her gown’s loose pockets, searching for a piece of cloth. They emerged not moments later, holding up the handkerchief – which she brought up to his face, to wipe away his trail of thought. “Fuck him.” She disclosed with a sure frown, “How something so defiled and ugly managed to mend such a good and patient boy should be studied by the Citadel.”

“You should go back to the feast, my Lady. Your grandsire will be very mad once he notices you left.” Though his gentle tone of voice tried to lead the girl away, his calloused thumb stroked tenderly at her palm’s inner soft flesh. She gave his hand a caring squeeze, and aligned her grasp with his. “I’m not going to leave you.” Her eyes spoke the honest truth, “Not when you’re hurting like that. What kind of friend would I be then?”

A small smile formed on his lips, pulling them upward in a comical but quite strained fashion. All his blood surged in his ears, and the tall and blonde young knight wished to tell her how he feels. He wanted to at least say ‘Thank you’, but the words escaped his clasp. His weary eyes were set upon her – upon the small curve of her nose and the wide curls of her soft hair. His tongue felt tied inside his mouth, and he was glad she’d smiled instead. “Besides,” The young girl spoke to fill the silence, “I don’t think I’ve ever attended a more dull and stale soiree.” Though his tears had long dried up, her hand stayed rested on his cheek. “The smallfolk starves so the Lannisters can stuff their faces, and congratulate each other for being so stupidly wealthy.” She threw her hands up in the air, peeking at her sole companion for one of his amused reactions. Sure enough, the boy was grinning – and that lone and simple notion made her all the more excited to upkeep cheering him up. “They must think we’re stupid,” She hummed in a degreeing voice, “I swear to you – they’re taught one dance, and one dance only. They just slightly change the music in the hopes that we won’t notice.”

By then his laughter echoed like pure crystal through the otherwise deserted grounds. Her own smile broadened with elation, as her curious and searching eyes reached up to his jolting shoulders. The youngest child of great House Tully crooked her head to the left side. “Hey,” She called out for his attention, “I just had the best idea.” Her dire lips pressed up together, before she went on with a smile. “Do you want to do something fun?”

If not for Jayne’s inessive stare, and the lethargy he felt throughout, Cain might have bothered to deny her brazen, yet affitely laid-out assumption. Orbs of forged steel fought to maintain the stare of ones tempered in frost – yet still the man shifted about, landing both his muted eyes on the ventured meadowed cliffs. Defeat swarded up his chest – sieging his brain and better reason, making him almost lose his temper. The greenery before his eyes coveted a single truth; more than six moons had passed between them. From the last time he’d seen his friend.

Alone at night he often questioned whether she’d at least survived. He prayed flaringly without a fault that she’d end up safe and about – protected and abstained from harm, and from the swandering of the Kinslayer.

“But all alone his blood runs thin.” He swallowed back his lost refrain, finally answering the waiting lady. “Then doubt comes – doubt comes in.”

He’d seen her Septas teach her Prayer. He listened to their wilted teachings, to the encouragements she’d be swarmed by. It was shameful and disruptive – his need to bite his tongue so hard, that he’d draw blood inside his mouth. Laughing would be crass and vile, he’d repeat inside his head, when her weekly call to “Grace” led them to the striking Sept. Faith can be encouraging, he’d reason, Not all of us are dealt bad hands.

There was no mercy to be had once fate fell into Their harsh hands. Bastard boys knew it too well, and so did every man and child who’d go to bed without their supper. Survival had to come by first – and faith would take the back-end stroll, until the former be assured. No, Cain had never prayed before. For there was no amount of prayer to be whispered by his lips that would possibly bring forth reclusion and relief to all he’d lost. It was the Gods who took his mother. It was the Gods who made him so. It was the Gods who made him feel like the sombrest in the world. But in a twisted and deformed way, it was the Gods that gave him comfort – for it was easiest to blame them so, for all the slights which he had faced.

Cain had never prayed before, but how he prayed for his friend now.

“Place your hand upon my waist, like so.” Her tender voice led with an instruction.

“I don’t think this is…”

“Whatever are you scared of, Cain? I’ve not seen you so tense before – not even in jousts or tourneys.” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, as her brows fixed in concentration, “And you faced knights there that were twice your age.” Defeated by her lack of presidence, the boy let out a shaky sigh, and focused on his burning stare on the forming trees ahead. His gape bore long and cutting daggers to the entrance of the gardens, and with each passing momentum, his back turned all the more stiff. Such an intimate position would have ruined any lady, were she caught with a high lord – and all the more vexing it’d be if she’d strayed with a sought bastard. His ears caught with a rosy tint, as his mouth parted with a forming protest. “My Lady–” The Waters boy had tried again.

Mayhaps sensing his mistrust, or simply carrying her own joke further, his lady rose her left hand up and swatted him with a slight grin, “See? You’re already a natural at it.” The music of the Great Hall carried to their small corner of the keep. And the Tully nodded once to encourage Cain to move. “Septa Harlow says it’s important to upkeep your stare,” She muttered as she twirled with him, “When dancing with a fellow lord, it is improper for a lady to look at anything below the brows.”

He could feel his hands get clammy, and his limbs turn firm and heavy. Though her words had eased him in, the boy remained brittle and set. “Boring, right?” She questioned with a tiny laugh, “As I told you – you didn’t miss much. That’s nothing else that people do there.”

As the music caught incentive, her feet stopped into their track. She mocked a deep bow at her partner, and slowly rose her gentle eyes. She turned around without a warning, and started running up ahead. “Keep up, Cain!” She yelled before her with a zeal that filled her heart, “I have a better idea than just staying here – but we’ll have to really hurry!”

The witty Lady of the Vale shifted on the cold, wet stones. She turned to fully face the bastard, and offered him a knowing nod. “The only time a man can be brave is when he is afraid.” Her azure eyes looked at his hand, and at the bandages that covered it. “To lose two fingers at three and twenty, to be unable to move your arm, or to fight as you’ve been used to,” The older woman spoke to him, “It’s a misfortune that’s more than daunting.” Her slighter frame approached his crouching and recoiled in body, choosing to stand next to him. “You’ve managed to hang onto life when everything else seemed to be lost.” She muttered lowly, as if taken by surprise by the man’s pure strength of spirit.

“I failed her.” He whispered back in spat disgust.

“You didn’t fail anyone.” The lady interjected swiftly, “From the very beginning, you’ve been sent on a death mission.”

His loosened locks of golden hair fell upon his ample shoulders as he marginally shook his head. “Oscar was right,” Cain murmured plainly, “In between the two of us, she should have been the one to get here.” His body twisted towards the older woman, as his brows furrowed in pain, “I failed her.”

“If she knew you were alive, leading troops to save her homeland, I think she’d be ample proud.”

Despite the empathy she felt for him, the small brunette hardened her stare, “‘Tis not about what Oscar, or Grover, or Elmo think – ‘tis not about what your Lady thinks.” Her hand took hold of his good shoulder, giving it a toughened squeeze, “‘Tis about what you do now, with the resources that you were given.” The leal fire in her eyes caused the man to straighten up from the slouch that bent his back, “I expect you to be nervous. I expect you to be scared. I’m asking you to go back there, and risk your life all over again for the sake of something that we’re losing.” As her speech came to a halt, she gnawed harshly at her bottom lip, reddening her paling mouth. “If you go back there, you might die. Forget about holding your sword the right way, or about fighting with honour – you might face dragon fire, and dragon fire doesn’t spare even the most able of men.”

Though her words were scarce and prudent, Cain waited patiently for her to finish. Slithers of shame gathered in the low pits of his stomach. How could he have lost his nerve when his Lady hung onto him? With so many lives at stake, whom all readily lent to him?

“We’re counting on you, ser Waters.” Jayne continued her trail of speech, “We’re counting on you. But can we truly do that?”

If he chose to fight again, it wouldn’t be for wealth or glory. It wouldn’t be for great renown, or to prove something to others. Even if he lived it down, no applauses would be heard like at the end of a big tourney. He’d emerge a new man, changed, lacking of some of the scarce qualities that he felt he had that day. But what would happen to him – inside of him – mattered not to the young knight. Once again her kindred eyes came across his spinning view. And he knew, once and for all, that he’d throw his life away, if only to shelter her own.

His peer had mended to determined, and he swore upon his honour that he’d see his deed go through.

Allyn Swann. Lady Jayne Arryn. Four thousand men and (Y/N) Tully.

All the people that believed in him. All the souls that trusted him.

Just like on that autumn night, when he and (Y/N) ran away to see a circus in Flea Bottom, the heavy-lidded cavalier felt his words die right on his parted lips. But he came forth with a swift answer – one which he truly believed in.

Her gentle voice seeped in his ears. ‘You’re the only one who understands me, Cain.’

“I swear it, before the Old Gods and the New – upon Faithkeeper, upon my honour. I’ll return your trust tenfold.”

A true smile formed upon her lips, at the near end of his pledge. “Do come with me, Ser Cain,” She instructed with a leveled tone, “I have a gift prepared for you.”

Fuck the Gods. Fuck Alys Rivers. That lying, scheming, filthy whore.

To think she almost prayed for her, and thanked her feverishly inside her head. Her trip ensued without a hitch – and so she let herself believe in her, and nearly bumped into the Redwynes. The lousy troops that gathered up and swarmed the entrance of Hag’s Mire. Had she not spotted their banner, she might have set her foot inside. And that ostentative and golden dragon, which she despised with her whole being, served as her only decent cover against their clumpy eyes and ears. Her mule had come free of her bridle before she could hide any better, and advanced without her forth into the crowd of foul usurpers. ‘You fucking traitor…’ Her soul was screaming, as a Green soldier gripped her small saddle, ‘I give you that damned red apple, and you go to feed from them?!” Her jaw was clenched, as were her muscles. She couldn’t bolt. She couldn’t run.

“Where is that useless boy we paid for?!” The high-pitched scream of an old woman reached for her tense and prodded ears, “This is the last time I let you deal with the stupid boys of bloody Ramsford!”

Her eyes darted to the source of noise, and her mind surged with an idea. It would be risky. She could well die. If Darlon Flowers had found her out, then the haughty and sullen madame would see right through her flimsy scheme. But she had no other choice. Hurriedly and with great ardour, she dug her hands in the fresh mud, and scraped its contents on her face, smearing them wildly about. “A-Apologies for being late!” Her hoarse voice echoed through the clearing. She mildly coughed inside her hand, and tried her best to engross her timbre. “I never went further than Oldstones, ma’am–”

“I care not for your excuses, lad!” Her antsy wording cut her off, “You were to be here for a good five hours,” Her hand enclasped and tugged her wrist, “So take your mind off being paid today!” Her hazy irises bore daggers in and out the Lady’s heart, and her nose scrunched in daunting wonder at both her face and dirty garments. “Gods be good, they sent an animal. Are you clean of spreading warts?”

“I-I, uh–”

“What about catching diseases? Are you simple-minded, boy? Address me when I speak to you!”

Her wrinkled hand prodded above the laced-up waistline of her linen breeches. Were she not to open her mouth, the madame would have no shame to check and see her parts herself. “No – no, ma’am. I’ve no disorders left in sight. N-no warts, no yellow cough,” Her face contorted with abstained tension, as her hands rose into the air, “Nor any other spreading disease, I can assure you well of that.” With a loud snort and a dismissive hand, the aged madame turned to the wench, “You take this Ramsford boy inside and help clean up his grisly mug.” Her glacial tone waved with intent, “Then back to work, the both of you!” The younger girl nodded her head, shaking off her loosened braids, “Y-Yes, madam, of course! I’d be glad to help him out!”

“Well?” Her cutting question sucked all the air from the blonde girl’s arid lungs, “Don’t just stay there and look stupid – now!”

***

The lost blonde girl was called Mariah. A jumpy but dexterous cook, more used to the blazing heat provided by the kitchen fires than the cool air of the airy inn. She’d awkwardly handed the Lady the much-awaited handkerchief – and merely played with her plump fingers as the girl wiped off the mud that hadn’t yet fully dried up. And although her nose scrunched up at her resistance to a watered cloth, she failed to do anything wanting besides pushing her towards a closed door. “You-you’re going to be their attendee tonight. They don’t like women overhearing their stories or their spoils of war… so it’ll just be you in there.” Her green eyes widened to two round specs, “O-oh, of course, well – it won’t be just you in there, since you’re serving a table full of men, but – I-I meant that you’ll be the only servant there.” The words that followed her expansive ramble turned from stutters to incentive murmurs. And the Lady nodded weakly, whilst trying to decipher them. When her speech near loomed its end, the girl coughed loudly with insistence, and offered Mary a small smile. “Thank you, Mariah. I’ll handle it.”

Her burning eyes interwovened with alight uncertainty, “J-just be careful,” She confided through the notion of a fragile sniff, “They tend to scream when they get angry… A-And they got angry quite a lot.”

Ghastly and impending savages – that is what the soldiers were, as they laughed and drank and scarfed right into their mead and ale. The short remnants of her hair brushed across her cupid’s bow, falling straight over her view and narrowing it to the front. Her breathing turned to short and laboured, as she turned her back to them – and her hand enclasped the wine pouch with a faint but thrilling shudder. She’d seen men get drunk before, and she knew how they could talk. How the pints of liquid courage pulled the truth from their loose tongues, how their vision and their temper simmered them to gentle hearts.

Wine and ale made men more placid, but they also riled them up.

Her fingers brushed across the table, and she crouched close to the surface, seemingly inspecting it. Although her ears and head were pounding, she’d have to play her cards just right.

The well-known shrill of a low voice sent a shiver down her spine. “The Targaryens have all extended their lines,” Arlow Redwyne spat out bitterly, and all eyes turned back on him. Her own head jerked upwards in wonder, as she sucked in a harsh breath. “And now that summer’s over, the Blacks will have a harder time keeping their men and horses fed.”

“Summer or no, they can’t even call that an army,” A haughty voice echoed amused, “What was it – six hundred men from our dear Tullys, and a couple more from close to Sherrer?”

Now her eyes had been blown wide. Six hundred men. That was all they could afford. Were six hundred starving men all they had left of their home?

“Those searing leeches, along with the Freys, understand the woes of winter better than we ever will. The cold won’t beat them. As for the Northerners…”

Her guts hung lowly in her midriff. She’d recognised the last man speaking – the infamous “Bloody Mance” Pyke: a lesser lord under House Greyjoy, one of the few who’d known her brothers in an up, ‘personal’ manner. He’d visited their home in Riverrun, and saw the little Lady grow. How much of her he would remember was a query without answer.

“The Starks have no interest at play here.” A bitter voice shook through the room, “They haven’t been involved thus far. Cregan Stark won’t risk his forces for a war that never reached him.”

“Our spies,” Lord Pyke snapped tartly, “Report growing discontent among the northern and south-western lords. The latter wants to return home and gather the harvest before the crops turn. The former has sent word out to gather an army.” His amber eyes rose to Lord Redwyne, who merely let out a hum.

He licked his lips off the sweet ale, and whistled lowly at the Lady to refill his empty cup. She briskly moved to his direction, and poured him in a hefty cup. “And I’m sure if those same spies snuck into our own encampments, they’d report growing discontent amongst the southern lords.” His own flat tune disconcerted any worry from his sons’ long freckled faces, “This is war. No one’s content. And the northerners might take years to even gather half a regiment. The conditions make it such that any message travels slowly; before the Boltons and the Banfields, and House Mormont from the West manage to defrost their troops…” His heavy hand dismissed the girl, “The battles will be long well-ended.” A cutting silence reigned the room, as Lord Mance Pyke drowned his tall cup. He shifted lowly in his wooden seat, and signed for (Y/N) to grant him a refill.

She approached with her chin down, chewing on her bottom lip.

Gods be good, let him not notice me. Gods be good, let him not see me.

“We’ve underestimated the Tully boy for far too long.” One of the soldiers dared to mutter, “He has a good mind for warfare, his men worship him.”

'The Tully boy,’ She exhaled slowly, Would that be Oscar or our elder brother?

“As long as he keeps winning battles, they’ll keep abstaining for Rhaenyra.” His voice had come to shake with fervour, “We’ve been waiting for him to fail, he is not going to fail. Not without our help.”

“Then think, Ser Wylde, exactly what would make the lass break.” Arlow Redwyne interrupted when his fist landed on cutlery. “What is the one thing a Tully cares for more than anything?” Lord Pyke surged forward with the burning but evasive question.

The blood had run from her slim face, making her seem pale and sickly. Though the mud masked her quite well, the Lady arched her shoulders forward, trying to appear unbothered. A rattle of contented laughter turned the men’s whole disposition. “Family, honour and duty.” A black-eyed boy mocked the lords’ distinctive dictum.

“You stupid fuck,” Another wheezed right next to him, “It’s ‘Family, duty, honour’ – at least say their calling right.”

“The point still stands,” Mance ushered with ascendence, “There is nothing a Tully cares for more than family.”

It was as if a punch had been directed at her carved-out chest. The air immediately left her lungs, and her fingers gripped the pouch. She’d take a knife to all their throats before she’d let them harm her brothers. In his seat, Arlow deflated. “Of course,” He puffed through his broken nose, “And how, exactly, do you plan to reach such an impressive feat?” His callous digits jerked a march over the corners of the wooden table, “You forget mayhaps, good ser, how both Grover and that Oscar rest somewhere in Baelish Keep. The girl disappeared near Hayford–”

So Kermit was still fighting out there… and they thought that she was dead.

“‘Heard our Prince made her his wife.” The searing words befell the chamber. Ser Wylde had captured their attention, and even the men drunk out their minds rose their heads to listen better.

The unhealed flesh of her soft palm stung her over the long cut.

"If he had, he never would have left without her. And more than enough rivermen thanked the Gods when they saw Vhagar heading towards nought else but Oldtown.”

He left…?

She had lived the past three days in excruciating paranoia. And her ‘husband’ simply left her? Confusion, anger and relief all surged into her pulsing heart. He’d given up on finding her. She’d finally see both her brothers. And with any ounce of luck, their paths would never cross together. She should have felt elated. She should have felt relieved. She should have tried to mask her happiness, the smile that pulled at her fair lips – yet all she felt within her soul was a plentifully bitter feeling.

May he rot in the darkest pits of the Seven Hells, she exhaled briefly, Both him and his damned witch.

A lousy snort bounced off the walls that sealed the chamber of their council. And Lord Redwyne's youngest son shook his head with a deep frown, “Don’t you find it rather strange,” he asked, “How he left in such a hurry?”

“‘Tis not for us to safely say.”

“Yet even so!” His youthful face churned with suspicion, “He kept us wholly in the dark.”

The only thing that truly mattered was that Aemond had abandoned Harrenhal.

“And what are we to do now? Daemon lurks with that strange lassie – that’s two dragons against none!”

“Aemond won’t abandon us.”

“Open up your eyes, ser Wylde!” Bowen Redwyne rose his voice, “He might just as well have done that. He left with Daeron to hide in Oldtown, and burnt Harrenhal to the ground.”

Her breathing hitched inside her throat. Not only were they aware of the stronghold’s current state – but they thought Aemond had burnt it with the aid of trusty Vhagar. It had been three days of running – the word surely traveled fast.

“He left us with no defence–”

“Enough!” The mighty roar let out by Mance silenced the forfeiting room. “We’ve gathered here to speak of war. Not gossip like fishermen’s wives.”

Where did Aemond’s army head to? Oldtown was a place secured. So had he left because of Daemon?

《"Going out to face two dragons is a death sentence." His deep voice rumbled through the silence of the chamber, "I can't afford that risk anymore with you involved. We'll have to move from Harrenhal. You'll get to meet Daeron in Oldtown."》

The plan was to leave for Oldtown – why was she acting so surprised? Why did she care whether or not he’d made it safe? Whether or not his wounds had healed? Why was she somehow weirdly hurt by the fact that he just left her? Her trailing thoughts and inner conflict came to a halt as Mance addressed her. “Drain that pouch of any wine, boy.” He commanded with a rumble to his stern and cutting timbre, “And bring out water. We’ll be here for quite some time.” As she turned her back whilst nodding, the lanky Lord heaved out a sigh. “Can you read, Lord Edmure Rosby?”

“I-I beg your pardon?”

“Can. You. Read.”

The Lord of Cornhill met his stare with a blacked-out and confused expression. “Y-... Yes, my Lord, I can.”

Just as Edmure answered his question, the Lord of Pyke let out a chuckle. He wiped his hands off the cooked supper, and reached his breeches for some paper. “This letter,” He clarified to the slow lordling, “detailing our infantry movements was meant for Lord Quentyn of House Marbrand.” After a slight egregious pause, his droopy eyes fell on the man, “It was sent to Lord Marlin of House Qallister.” The young Lord Rosby sucked in a breath, and allowed his orbs to trail to the stones of the hedged floor, “My apologies, my Lord, I must’ve–”

“Boy?” Mance called out to the working Lady Tully. “Fetch me The History of the Greater and the Lesser Houses.” He pointed forward with his finger, “It’s the second one on the side.”

Her feet might have given up on her, were it not for his stale order. She’d never been addressed before, and that alone made her breath hitch. Her eyes shut close in concentration, and a small curse beleft her lips. She could feel the break of sweat crown her forehead in round droplets, but she calmed her rabid breathing with a small roll of her shoulders. Her hands rose to grab the book, but wavered on for just a moment – touching up the edges of another heavy leaflet, before picking up the right one, and carrying it to her chest.

“Even this cupbearer can execute commands better than you,” Mance scolded the sitting lord, as the girl laid out the tome. “To whom does House Qallister owe allegiance?” He questioned with a honeyed tone. The frail lass rose up timidly, pointing forward to the laid-out scriptures, “My Lord, I…”

“To the Tullys of Riverrun!” His enraged scream and cutting look arose the silence of the whole commandment. “And who, pray tell, do the Tullys of Riverrun owe allegiance?” His fist came into contact with the freshly laid out table, “To the Blacks, to the Usurpers, to the Whore of Dragonstone and her bunch of bastard cunts!”

The Bliss of Riverrun remained hammered in her weary spot – somehow still holding her breath, in spite of being overlooked.

“I judged you might be good for something more than brutalizing peasants.” He exhaled slowly through his flared-up nose, “I see I overestimated you–”

A timid knock at the locked door caused the girl to jolt upfront. She caught her lip into her teeth, and chewed with tremor at its bottom, as the loud gates opened wide, to reveal a pale Mariah. “M-My lords…” She began with a light pause, “M-My mistress would like to ask you… when you’ll… p-pay… the charging fee.”

Bowen Redwyne smiled politely, bowing his head in return, “We must have overstayed our welcome.” He whispered mirthly to his brother.

Lord Redwyne glanced at the girl, mirroring his son’s refrain. “You can go announce your mistress that we will be done here shortly. Tell her to bring the written tax for the food and for the shelter.” As Mariah curtsied deeply, shutting the door in her departure, the old man turned to his sons, and to the lesser lords at present. “All of you except Lord Pyke – leave. Boy, clear this table.” Runceford’s even and dispersive voice rang right through her nimble body. She offered him a brisk ‘M’lord’, and hastily got up to work. As tiny Edmure rose as well, the lord of Old Wyk grabbed his arm. “We are not done with our talk.” He hissed in his petulant ear.

***

“We cannot allow this impunity to go on.” Mance spat out in a rough tone as the door closed in on them, “No matter what has been discussed today – the Tully boy remains a problem.”

Her dirty hands wavered a moment, ‘till they resumed their hurried task.

“His clever move near Redglass Field nearly cost us all the Capitol. We will not fall for that again – we look like fools and they look like heroes. That’s how Kings fall.” Runceford agreed with a small frown.

For a while, the only sound that thus emerged in their secret and concisive council was the clank of all their plates. “I want him dead. I want every last one of them dead.”

Her small, albeit stiffened fingers clasped over a sharpened stake knife.

“Killing them isn’t the problem. It’s finding them.”

If you kill them both right now, no one will know how to alert your brothers. The word will spread that they had butchered you – and then they’ll both come for revenge.

Her focused eyes softened at once, as her steel grip loosened the blade.

“Have you gone soft, Lord Pyke? I always thought you had a talent for violence – and an eye for weaknesses, as you so put it at this dinner table.” The iris of his tired eyes clashed with his protruding amber, “Burn the villages, burn the farms. Aemond might have left the Reach, but that doesn’t mean that the smallfolk will get a break. Let them know what it means to choose the wrong side.” With one last nod and a small bow, Mance and Runceford left the room.

In less than a moment’s notice, her upstrained feet gave out before her.

***

Not a single nearby lord cared enough to look at her. Not a single drunken soldier gripped her shoulders or her arm. She had slipped by unobserved, written off as less than cattle. In her time spent in that stiff room, she found of Aemond’s long departure. She knew now the North was angry, that the Rogue Prince beckoned hither – that her brothers and her grandsire were still on the loose. Alive. No matter her conflicted feelings. No matter all the new-found worry that she had for the Kinslayer. She was still breathing and living – her shortened breaths and anxious tears felt like proof enough of that. She found herself growing with purpose – to relive her climb up North. To alert both of her brothers of the Greens’ most jarring thoughts. To find what happened to her father, since his mention had been scarce and worn.

As she turned to leave the alcove, her eyes caught her in a nearby mirror. Her silky locks, darkened by mud and chopped inaptly by that dreadful shard. The black-rimmed circles underneath her foggy globes, the lone dictator of her sleepless ventures. Darlon’s garments were made to fit loosely – but even she could may well tell that she’d lost a lot of weight. Her sodden cheeks that cracked with dirt, and the way she stood preleened… it was of no immersive wonder that she hadn’t been spotted or seen.

A gust of hope picked at her skin – at her left leg, her forming scars. She trailed her palm with a smooth digit, and felt the ridges closing in. The dragon glass had cut her smoothly, and it was feasible the war did, too. Time heals all. Time mends scars well. Perhaps she could hope again.

What if this war could still be won – by the Blacks, by her, by them? Would she cling enough to life to see such a far-out feat?

And if she managed to live…when the slight girl watched herself be so changed by it already, could she ever tell herself to go back to how she was? The laws of men made it as such that she would never dare forget – any or all that had transpired in those years of grief and anguish. Her abatement would be short and minimal. She’d never dare forget her Jace, or sweet Cain, or loyal Beesbury. The almond eyes of baby Luke, or the laughs she’d shared with friends. Friends she’d never see again. Friends who all died long ago.

Desolation and resentment were not new to the young Lady. And she swore it to herself, as she glanced into the mirror, that she’d never ache again. For the betterment of her brothers. For their mother. For either father or their grandsire – she would make it so she’s useful. Strong. Contented. And reliable. No Hightower would make her kneel. Their time was spent and since ran out.

Fuck the Gods. Fuck Alys Rivers.

She would leave that inn at dawn.

***

At dawn she said, and dawn it was.

“Enjoyed your pats from those Green scum?” She asked the mule with a raised brow, as she untied her from the stable’s pole. “I hope you rested well last night. The real journey has just begun.” 

Almost as if she understood her words, the half-bred mare shook her black mane, huffing through her tinted nose. “I don’t like how that sounds, either.” The girl sighed in a spent tone, “I never thought I’d get to say this, but the more distance I put in between me and my home…”

The road was quiet. All too quiet. The Redwyne company left way before her, as the hooves that trailed towards south indicated half as much. It was bold and quite peculiar – that those pompous Green supporters were so close to their Green Fork. For both The Twins and Castle Seagard were unwavering, leal to Daemon. To the one true heir and Queen.

It had been too long for her – since she felt the rays of sunlight. And if those treacherous and shifty lords felt so at home existing North, then both strongholds must have been emptied. The Trident’s lords were scattered somewhere, fighting in some vacant halls. Even so, it was too quiet. Not a single man in sight.

Perhaps allowing herself to glance behind was the girl’s biggest mistake. Or mayhaps it was stagnating, as she let her mule rest up.

“Haaaalt! Halt right there, lassie, don’t move!” A faraway, salacious scream deterred her to jolt straight up. The tenseness of her stiffened muscles ceased as her eyes prodded onward, setting on the crest above them – made of a bird, and of a seahorse, and two dragons. An even more attentive glance let her know of their bronze armour – of their brown hair and mousy faces.

Freys, she laughed inside her head with glee, An actual Frey company – marching South from the Twins’ gates.

“Good day to you, soldier. It seems we serve the same leal camp.” She greeted him with a bright smile, but as she tried to move up forward, the sharpened edge of six steel blades pointed at her nape and neck. She swallowed thickly, but kept her temper, and rose both hands up in surrender. “I yield,” She tried to jest with the tall men, before speaking up toward them, “I’m (Y/N) Tully. I believe I have a right to be here.”

“(Y/N) Tully’s dead,” One of the more suspicious knights ushered at her from the back, “She perished near Hayford’s lone bridge – every man, woman and child heard the story a thousand times.”

“Oh, you better be joking,” She hissed through an acrid breath, as she let out a small curse, “I know I may not look the part, but I am (Y/N) Tully.” Her wanton orbs searched for the soldier’s, who only weighed her with conceit. “‘Course you are,” He answered crassly, “And I’m the Lord of Bastion Keep.”

She offered him a blithted smile, although not one that reached her eyes. “I can’t catch a single break, now can I?” The Lady murmured to herself, “Very well,” She spoke out clearly, “I suppose you are commanded by your good lord, Forrest Frey?” Whilst her tone was domineering, a subtle smirk graced her pink lips, “Call him over, see for yourselves. He will tell you who I am.”

“Look, girl, it’s gettin’ cold and we’re quite busy. So, you know.” One of the men shrugged his broad shoulders, “Best fuck off. Either that or stop your lying.”

“Tell your lord his niece is home.” She betted onward once again, “You wish to know who it is I am, and I wish to wash my hair. So call for your lord. And be done with all this bother.”

“Lord Frey’s too busy to waste his breath on you. Just like us.” His short patience had been running thin, as for his hand – awfully cold, “So for the last time – fuck right off, and state your business.”

“Maybe we should just detain her.” One of the more lithe men suggested, “Tie ‘er up, resume our marching.”

“Should you value your good hands, you won’t touch a hair of mine.”

“Careful now,” The fourth boy muttered, “We’re enjoying you here, lassie, but don’t think you’ll make demands.”

“You would harm an innocent, because you’re too lazy and stupid to call for your own lord?” Her latter comment set him off, and he jumped off his starving horse to come to grip her by her loosened shirt. “Now listen here, you dirty fuck–”

“What appears to be the matter here?” A hardened voice commanded swiftly. Slowly and without much heart, the younger boys broke off the circle, as they readied their report. “My Lord, as you can see–” The one who seemed to be best-spoken tried to give out his account. 

But no more words ever escaped him. For the wide and gentle Frey spurted out with a burst of solid laughter. He made great haste to debark his stallion – to reach with fervour for the small girl’s shoulders and to ruffle her short matted hair. “Well, I’ll be damned,” He exhaled shortly, “I would recognise those shrew eyes everywhere.”

“Uncle,” She greeted him with forming tears, “It’s good to see a well-known face.

Aemond had been right, he thought. In spite of their pleasant small talk, Evelynn had latched onto him. Laughing at his every word, even if he wasn’t joking – gripping down onto his thighs when the odd pair had sat down. He had been courteous and kind to dance with her two tamer waltzes, but even the boldest one of the confined Targaryens couldn’t possibly stomach another. When his deep stare started avoiding her, boring holes throughout the hall, the man noticed his escape, and thanked the Gods before his fall. Seated not one yard away, in a dress that matched her hair, rested Elmo Tully’s only daughter – a quiet child, not five and ten, which appeared fully engrossed as she talked with her tall friend.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” Daeron’s voice shook the whole room. As he turned his head around, his incessant stare bore daggers right into his brother’s throat, “What this decision makes of our political agreements?” His body was steadied and tense, taut and rigid, at attention – the implications brought on over by Aemond’s ill and thought-out match made his pulse readily quicken, and his whole soul seethe in anger. When he glanced over at him, not a single trail of shame registered on his sharp face. “We gain nothing from an alliance with the Riverlords,” Daeron desperately tried to tell him. “She's a comely girl, I'll give you that, but we’re at war, and she’s ill-favoured!” Finally, his dire words seemed to spark up a response – for Aemond took in a sharp inhale, and readily rose from his chair. “You will speak no more of her.” He deterred out in a deep growl, “Whom I marry is my business. I will not have you rebuke me.”

“I should not have questioned you,” The lone boy had swallowed thickly, as he met his brother’s eye, “Evelynn is… nice, ‘tis true. However…” His comforting and handsome face shifted with bitter intent, “I don’t know how to discourage her.”

Aemond smirked in deep amusement, drumming his fingers on the pine wood table. “Have you lost her in the crowd?”

“Momentarily,” Daeron surged forward, “But there are only so many men with short white hair inside this room.”

“I will question your decisions if they put us all at risk.” The youth spat out in a quick warning, “And your wrong choice to marry her will ruin every deal we had with Borros.” Daeron had fought to keep his voice down to a levelled plane of field, but even he cracked underneath Aemond’s lack of mournful interest. “I heard from mother of your obsession,” He breathed in a staggered breath, “But I never thought you foolish enough to marry a lowborn riverlander–”

The circumstances were not ideal, and he’d acted like a little boy – but he managed to desert the Frey and acquaint himself with the Riverrun girl. “I’m afraid I’ve two left feet, my Prince,” She granted him a small apology, as she ducked his offered hand, “There hasn’t been any time for me to practice my dancing whilst confined to the Red Keep.”

“Truly?” The corners of his hawk-like eyes glimmered with jocund distraction, and the young man tried once more, though his hand had then been lowered. “But the Red Keep swarms with banquets. Have none of my elder brothers taken you to dance before?” The Tully girl let out a laugh, and a faint pink caught her plump cheeks – and whether that was from frustration, of being irked by Daeron’s presence, or flattered by his light attention, the boy would find out soon enough. “As I said,” She smiled at him, “I’m afraid I’m a poor dancer.” Her almond eyes swirled with deep mischief, and she bit her lower lip to stifle down a roaring laugh. “If you wanted to escape my cousin, you should have checked in on the further right.” If his face hadn't been red, then it surely caught in pigment when she uttered her last words. “I assure you, my dear Lady, I had no such ill intent.” He clarified with a bent smile, but shook his head in grave embarrassment when she quirked up her shapely brow. “I shadn’t pressure you to dance with me.” He bit over his lip, defeated, “But I beg you to give me a chance.”

Her eyes softened at his request, and she gave her knight a nod. She mouthed him something intangible, and turned to face Daeron’s advances. “I will step on your feet, you know.” A loud laugh rattled his insides, “You may not believe it, my lady, but Tessarion once placed her entire weight on them.” She tutted lightly in reply, and merely entwined their hands, “My Prince…” She let out a tiny snort, as she gingerly laughed by herself. “You don’t believe me,” He feigned offence, as he spun her twice around. “You should know then, Lady Tully, that I scarcely ever lie.”

“Oh, I would never even dream of styling your good Grace a liar.” Her voice softened to a murmur, lowering in false sobriety. Almost as if they’d been conspiring, her youthful face leaned near his shoulder. “But you can’t be cross with me when I say I don’t believe you.”

Before either one of them could register Daeron’s last words, the lithe Targaryen grabbed his green collar and pushed him up against the wall. “You and I are family.” He rumbled out in a low tone, “Speak one more word of the one I have with her, and you’ll regret not dying sooner, during that raid of the Three Towers.” Daeron’s head shook with uncertainty, pounding in his ears from pain, and the young lass pressured him onward, as the blood tickled his tongue. “Did you go through with it, then?” He asked him through a gasping wheeze, “Did you bed her?”

The quietness that washed them both forced the boy to curse again.

“I take it that your charms have failed you.” Aemond hummed inside his goblet, as he looked at the small girl. “She’s talking with her brute again.”

“If only Evelynn wasn’t her cousin.” The boy laughed in miscontempt, “The Lady may have two left feet, but even then it was exaggerated how many times she stepped on me.” Their purple eyes set back on her – and Aemond was the first to stop. “I wouldn’t be distraught, dear brother.” His upturned mouth broke to a smirk, when Jace’s laughter seeped with hers – drawing long stares from the room and pulling whispers from lax mouths, “She seems to have an affinity towards bastards.” His good eye focused in on him, “The odds were truly set against you.”

Daeron’s face mirrored his brother’s, though the former tried to hide it. “Careful, Aemond. The Blacks are listening.” He pointed forward with a simper, to where their half-sister was sitting with her pompous and elusive smile. “I don’t think there’ll be a problem,” The One-Eyed Prince addressed his sibling, “She is quite taken with our father.”

His smaller hand scratched up at Aemond’s, endeavouring to put an end to his strong, unyielding grasp. “Brother…” He tried to word out in a plea. His tightened hold loosened a moment, and Aemond let his brother breathe. “I have lain with her before.” He asserted with a levelled timber, “The marriage was consummated.”

“Gods be good.” Daeron exhaled, as his hand ran through his hair, “What did you do?” He asked once more, as he pressed his back again right onto the jagged wall. “This doesn’t just put us in danger. Your wife’s a target – now more than ever.” He concluded after a while. “Lord Borros is too involved to annul our misalliance. But if word reaches the Blacks –”

“Which is why I must go find her.” Aemond gritted through his teeth. “So take me to that damned witch, and send word to the dragon keepers to fetch some bulls to cater Vhagar.” Daeron’s brows twisted in bafflement, creasing his face and his ravishing features. “You cannot mean this. She could be anywhere. Your shoulder hasn’t even healed.”

“I will tear down every castle, and every town, and every home that she could ever hide within.” Aemond’s eye was blazed with anger. The noble lines of his fair countenance bore the marks of his pursuit – disentangled to his face, his hands, found in every forming scar and in every galling crease. A bitter longing and a hopelessness interwoven in the need to find her – to hold her to his chest again, to feel her breathing hitch against him, to feel the pulse of her warm heat. The raw intensity of her brazen and uncaring kisses, the delicious and erotic sting of the one slap she had given him.

“Whether she wants that or not, I will have her by my side.”

All of this to feel her near. To own her essence. To drink her screams. To wake up and see her body lying consciously with his, to feel her eyes follow his movements and her warm, plump lips on his.

She must have hoped for this arrangement when she was betrothed to Jace – a life of comfort and of safety; a life where she would be The Queen. And for her, Aemond would do it. He’d subside his sister’s children and he’d sit the Iron Throne. He would place his crown atop her and bend to her every whim. “And she can try to break her chains a thousand times – over and over. There is not a single corner of this world that she can run to. I will always find a way to reclaim that which is mine.”

“Well then,”

In spite of the relief she felt to be parted from the Redwynes, Lady Tully’s restless mind seemed to be somewhat estranged.

"Which one of these fat ugly cunts tried to lay their hand on you?" Forrest’s voice plummeted through the small camp they had laid out. Strenuous licks of fair amusements pulled the corners of her lips, and the woman smiled contently, as she shook her head in earnest, “Please, uncle, there should be no need for that.”

“There should and there will!” His silk smooth baritone came out definitive, “No man will hurt a niece of mine and get to live to tell the tale.” Although his words were rough and final, the gentle furrow of his brow revealed the lord’s attempt to bluff. She laughed once more, in lifted spirits, and took a stance alongside his. Her eyes glossed over with incertitude, and the girl hummed, lost in her thoughts. “It would be quite a shame, you know,” She muttered lowly to her uncle, “For this fine army to be slain before they even set off to war.” Though he laughed at her poor joke, the Lord of Green Fork sighed in exhaustion, “Sometimes I think it’d be a kindness.” A bitter pause cut his lungs’ air, until he deterred out a breath, “None of these boys are ready for war.”

“I don’t think anyone is.” She muttered slowly by his side, “We think we are… we train for it – with jousts and tourneys and in combat yards.” Her latter thoughts had turned to Aemond, and how he’d train each daunting morning whilst she lived in the Red Keep. It was a somehow sacred ritual – a clash of swords, of wit, of power. It was a way for men to ease their stress, and wash away their stale frustrations with breakages of blood and sweat. It was a way to prove themselves, an easy way to become envied by the gossiping and gathered masses. Throughout their short acquaintanceship, she’d never once figured it out; whether or not Aemond was training for other people to admire him.

His mornings were moments of solitude – for scarcely anyone would gather hither. The nights and eves were for the lordlings – who slithered forward as he sparred Ser Criston. As proud as he ever was, she thought, everyone yearns for approval. And who else would need it more than the crippled second son.

Her cheeks reddened with slight colour, as her lips jolted a tremor – she could no longer think of him and remain listless and passive. With each and every chance she’d get, her trailing thoughts would reach for him – to the bump of his big nose, to the sharpness of his eye.

Had he reached his brother yet? Did he take Alys with him? Was his shoulder blade still healing?

Stop it.

Morbid curiosity is what killed the restless cat. What she now felt towards her captor was nought else but forced attachment.

But was he safe? And did he miss her–

She knead her hands in one another; both hidden by a pair of gloves. Realising that she’d been too quiet, she blurted out the next of her words. “... But no one is truly ready for the horrors that it brings.” Her chest felt hot. Her breathing ragged. Had she grown to care for him?

“Has your father ever told you how you sound just like your mother?” He breathed out through a soft exhale, “She hated war. Thought it was dumb.”

“‘Tis good, then, that she’s not here to witness it.” Though both of them had started walking, neither one let out their thoughts. Her clothes were clean, her hair was dried – she told him with a staggered breath what she’d gathered of the Redwynes, of the Targaryens and of the Greens. In return, Forrest confided her with her grandsire’s location – telling her Oscar was fine, that Kermit oft’ communicated by sending them concisive letters. “Thank the Gods,” She breathed out, with a hand upon her chest, "So my father is alive."

… But what of Cain? And what of Jace? What of Lord Beesbury and her dear cousins?

Suddenly she felt ashamed that she ever thought of Aemond.

“Where will you be heading now?” She asked her uncle with a shaky but consistent voice. “To meet your brother at Lakehore, of course.” Forrest responded with a growing smirk, “We won’t allow those mudded fuckers any further Crownland passage.”

“He’s near the God’s Eye?!” She stopped abruptly, whilst widening her tired eyes. A passing shadow of a smile lit the girl’s quivering lips, and she fixed the nearby stones as she tottered out a laugh. “To think that if I hadn’t ran, I might’ve met up with my brother.”

To think if Aemond hadn’t left, he would have met his in-law brother.

“But Harrenhal has been cleared out,” She turned abruptly to her uncle, “There’ll be no battle to be fought. The Pykes and Wyldes and Redwynes think that the stronghold is a waste – my fire has made sure of that.”

“Kitchen fires can’t melt stone.”

“... But the Greens would know that, too.” She gnawed at her bottom lip. Her eyes closed in concentration, trying to recall Hag’s Mire. She had been too scared to listen – truly listen to their tales. But a slight echo surged forward, as she rummaged through her brains.

《“He left with Daeron to wait in Oldtown, and burnt Harrenhal to the ground!”》

“They were arguing that Aemond had left them defenceless. That he took off to Oldtown and burnt Harrenhal to nothing.”

“But that was you.” Forrest Frey regarded her with an awfully twisted look.

“Not necessarily.” She mauled it slowly, “With age, dragon fire grows stronger. I’ve seen both Vermax and Vhagar burn open fields to ash and smoke.” Her orbs came into clash with his, and the man swallowed intently, gesturing her to go on, “There is a vast difference between those acres. The aftermath of Vermax was… closer to searings caused by people, than the inferno of a dragon.” As she pressed her lips together, she exhaled a deeper sigh, “But Vhagar…”

“I’ve seen that fatted lizard go to work.” Forrest agreed with a light hum, “Over at Mummer’s Ford; Gods, if I hadn’t grown up in the region, I wouldn’t have known there was a town at all.”

“So what if Aemond did burn Harrenhal?”

“He definitely had the time.”

“It doesn’t take long to yell out ‘Dracarys’.”

Their simmered dialogue had turned to whispers – and their small council reached an agreement. “Lakehore remains a strong location,” Forrest offered up his hand to her, as they passed the flowing river, “Even if Harrenhal should be no more. We’ll meet up there and ride towards East.”

“Will you meet up with the Arryns, then?” Her last refrain dumbfounded him, and the man stopped on the small path. “The plan is to take you there. Reunite you with your family.” His searching stare mended with hers, and the girl’s uncle quirked a brow. His mouth pressed to a thin line – a hereditary trait, it seemed –, and he shook his head again. “... You seem conflicted and obscured.” He muttered, whilst awaiting her reply.

“I am closer to the North than East.”

“No. I cannot let you go alone. Your father would strangle me for it.”

“So don’t,” The self-assured and poised young Lady now agreed with him wholeheartedly, “I’ll give you my mule if you give me a horse.” Her eyebrows rose in confirmation, “That way I won’t go alone.”

Although his face rattled conflicted, the older Frey gave her a nod. He paused to look at her thick gloves, and faltered on his mouthed reply. “You’ll need warmer clothes to survive their ever-winter.”

“And ink and paper before I go, so I may send out some letters.”

As he laid his preparations, Forrest Frey turned to his niece. The wide corners of his lips had twisted to an outline of a subtle grin. “I suppose you’d need an envoy for your grandsire and brothers.” He agreed before she could, as he rummaged through his vest and breeches for his House’s patterned seal.

***

“I cannot possibly accept this.”

“Given that it’s yours, ser Cain, I must urge you to reconsider.”

And so it was – sturdy Faithkeeper. His oldest and most trusted sword, and the one gift he got from Allyn as he departed all those years ago – to the grounds of the Red Keep, to the new home of his fair Lady. The blade remained as he had known it – with its intricate design of leaves and tender words carved on red iron. Though his mentor told him nothing when he handed him the gift, there was no avid denying of the nature of the shiv; A family heirloom with unmeasured value, and a kindness he could never repay.

“I cannot take it.” The boy had uttered, looking at the greying white-cloak.

“You can and you will.” The older man pointed a finger at his vest and heavy armour, “I am not having a conversation, boy, I am stating an order.” Though his eyes were rough and rigid, a coil of softness interwovened in the creases of his face. His wrinkled hand reached for his back, to give it a small squeeze of farewell. “You do good now.” The man instructed, furrowing his bushy brows, “I want no report to come through from any raven of King’s Landing telling me you’ve gotten lazy.”

“I swear to you that I’ll protect her.”

“Of that, I have no doubt, my boy.”

Upon throwing it a better look, the man remained engraved with shock. Both the handle and the hilt of it had been replaced to suit his needs. Sculpted by acquitted silver with a slight hole for his hand, and a velvety but silk-like ribbon to enwrap around his arm. “We thought the minor adjustments would prove useful when in battle.”

Almost too preoccupied to inspect its sharpened edges, Cain’s eyes snapped away from it at the inkling of Jayne’s voice. “We?” He repeated her words slowly, whilst raising his brows in stupor. His bewilderment would not live long, as the Lady of the Vale keenly offered him an answer. “The sketch for its newer hilt does come from the youngest Tully.” Upon his silence, she continued, as she spared a patent look, “I have reason to believe it’s his way of saying sorry.”

“Lord Oscar has no reason to apologise to me.” Though his words pondered definitive, a content arch pulled at his lips. His stare soon turned back to serious and his back awfully stiff. “I… wouldn’t know how to thank him.” Seemingly losing his face, the Tully’s sworn shield bowed to Jayne deeply, “Or you, my lady.”

“There is hardly any need for you to thank me, Ser Cain. It is us who should bow to you for your willingness to keep us safe.”

When her hand beckoned him onward to return to his wide stance, the woman faltered for a moment as she looked at his grey eyes. A look of startled but conclusive shock spread across her older face.

“Have you no shame, you stupid boy?” Tyland’s low hiss was followed suit by his stinging and petulant words, “You have a lot of nerve to show up here.”

“Ironborn?” She asked her question, as her features smoothed over.

“I wouldn’t be able to say, my lady. My mother died after my birth.” By all accounts, he’d been quite truthful – he knew who his father was, as it had been awfully clear when he glanced at his twin brother. He’d find lost remnants of himself as such, and questions of his build or hair had been answered with a single look. His mother was a simple woman – a merchant’s daughter, as he was told, once very beautiful and fair and honest. He didn’t know the way she looked, though he assumed that his eye colour came from her, and not the Lannisters.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m sure you are, you foolish bastard.” The words that tumbled from his lips reddened the tips of Cain’s big ears.

The sheer aversion in the man’s slim face sent a shiver down his back. Confusion laced with grave recoil, as a small curse beleft his lips – Gods, let this not be how he finally got to meet his dad.

When the boy stayed lost in silence, the younger Lannister pushed him again. “Doesn’t loyalty mean anything to you?”

He did desperately hope that he looked like his good mother; and sometimes, during the night, he would pray that she would guide him – prayed, but prayed not to a faceless God, but to the memory of her lost image. He would pray that she should guide him through his avid quests for glory; through his cluttered and entangled life path, through his hardest and most straining choices. There was something rather comforting in imagining his eyes were hers – that they looked like hers so much, that she’d still somehow live through him. He hoped that the Gods left an homage to the sole fact she existed. A silent proof that she’d not gone without leaving her own mark behind. That she had made him in her image, that he somehow held her inside. That men would glance right at Cain Waters and know that he was Wynne’s son.

“Loyalty means everything to me.” He spat out in a lowly tone, despite his evident confusion.

“Yet you show up here, threatening to ruin everything we’ve set in place.”

“You?” Cain’s face contorted to a deepened scowl. He shook his head in half-regret, and merely swatted Tyland’s hands away. “I haven’t shown up here for you.” His light-grey eyes shone forth with grief, “Don’t worry. I’ve no desire to be recognised.” The colour from the old man’s cheeks drained itself from his stiff face, “Not that anyone would believe you.” He muttered fast and quietly, “You cannot threaten us with this.”

“Of course not,” Cain interjected with a rattled and bemused expression, “I am just another bastard. I’d sooner die than see myself legitimized as one of you.”

“I am truly sorry to hear that.”

He leaned his head in a swift bow, as he spared her a small grin, “It is quite possible she was from Orkmont.”

Her expression shifted upward to a placid but elusive smile. Nodding once at his picked words, the lady shifted in her place, quirking up a thin blonde brow. “If you ought to be in search of Oscar, he should be near Longbow Hall.”

***

Angry, reckless, non-deserving; with an unquenchable desire just to prove himself as worthy – Oscar had been a wild child, and remained so as an adult. Always quick to take offence, always ready for a brawl and always willing to show off; despite the fact that he’d never won a joust or tourney in his life, and most lordlings of the Riverlands failed to give him credit’s due.

Restless, loyal and headstrong. Those were words that well-described him. Even in the crack of dawn, he was spotted in the training yard, walking miles in aching circles, practising with his great sword.

Family. Duty. Honour.

For the better part of his young life, Oscar had lived pledged to oath, to upkeep his House's words.

He’d go to war with his brother, he’d avenge his sister’s honour and take every man who ever helped tarnish his homeland through the judgement of his bitter steel.

Oscar Tully loved his family. Even when it was much smaller – when it was just him, and Kermit, and their loving and ambitious Mother. He swore to himself to always enact as a pillar to them – to turn responsible, reliable and trustworthy. And when his mother died, leaving behind his only sister, he promised himself to always protect her. When they were but small, lithe children, very rarely did they not bicker and argue like a bunch of wildings – yet when push came to shove, and either one of them stole one too many jam tarts to not go unseen, it was always one or the other who jumped to the rescue of their misbegotten sibling.

Oscar Tully was certain that he’d always fulfil his promise. He was the fair image of a future lord of the Trident – honour drove him to oblige his duty, and his one duty was to take care of his family. He was a second son, and as such, he served as a spare to his brother. Taught in the same way that he was, although with less vigour and effort by the thousand swarming maesters that took rest in Riverrun. He was only four and ten when he watched his whole world crumble; and his closest blood relations scatter through the lands of Westeros. He helplessly obeyed his grandsire, when he was sent away to squire under the greying Lord Tyrell – perhaps in the hopes that the Reach would temper him, or that he’d fall madly in love with his slight and sickly daughter. He watched as his sister was taken, away from the comforts of home – sent to the Capitol as a ward to elderly Lord Beesbury. All alone in shitty King’s Landing, to learn the mannerisms of a proper Lady, and to find a husband that would be competent enough to keep her and her offspring safe.

Dreadful, he thought it then, and awfully unfair deal now. For years he’d been unable to see his siblings, his father, and his grandfather – and when the war finally started, and alliances were formed, he lost his sister to the wrath of that sick freak.

The One-Eyed Kinslayer. The One-Eyed Prince.

《The boy scoffed at the knight’s attempt to pardon and explain himself. He nodded affirmatively, and scrutinized Cain with his piercing gaze. "You returned with an empty hand, Ser Cain. You failed: miserably." His back straightened in an attempt to appear bigger, and the hot-headed lass rose from his chair in a hurling daze. "Because of you, my sister is in the hands of that cycloptic freak. Because of you, we don't know anything about her whereabouts. She could be tortured, enslaved, sullied – worse!"》

He’d lost his temper. In his attempts to ground himself, he himself had failed his grandsire – who not only had to worry for his own son and House’s future, but for his two grandkids, as well. His blue eyes closed in concentration, as his lips parted in an exhale. He wondered if he had done right, to alter Faithkeeper like that.

Cain Waters was akin more to a beast than to a man. Seemingly fearless and focused, big as a mountain and wide as a bear. His pride had stung him when his grandsire chose him to rescue his sister, but even he had to agree that Cain had been their only choice. He just made sense, the lass agreed, as he watched him lead and point over Jayne’s numerous troops. Still, his mind remained unchanged – if only he had been allowed to, he would have seen his sister home. But he was the second son. The son whom nobody had wanted, the one who wasn’t even needed. Elmo and Kermit were thousands of miles away to fight; and he had begged them both to join them, but to no righteous avail. He just wasn’t skilled enough. His duty bound him to the Arryns. To taking care of his grandfather.

“Do you not feel forced to fight?”

“Forced?” Grover Tully’s husky voice echoed through the marbled walls.

“Pushed by your free will to do it.” Oscar sucked in a big breath, “I’m one and twenty. It is expected that I go out there.”

“It is expected that we do… all it should take to survive.” The older man hummed in admission. His piercing gaze cut through the boy, before his head turned to the sky, “Your lousy father and reckless brother are away to fight for a cause we don’t believe in. In the best case for your sister, she’s been taken forth as prisoner.”

“Which is why I should fight, instead of hiding like a coward behind these stupid walls.”

“Which is why it is imperative that you should stay here to remain alive.”

His face contorted to a painful scowl, as his legs carried him to the edge of his viewpoint.

“I’m afraid I do not follow.”

“I will not let those damned Targaryens put an end to my own House.”

“So you would let your own son perish? You’d let his heir go down with him?” By then their voices rose to screaming. “People die at war, my boy – good people, bad people, people who only did their part. Should I not word the possibility that your own brother might be killed?”

“You should not say it with such ease – you should not see your only family as some fucked pieces on a board!”

“I am trying to protect our family! Preserve our House, our heritage! By keeping one male heir alive – even if it brings the scorn of others!”

Oscar was the second son. The spare. The one who had to sit behind and watch how his remaining siblings struggled on their own to make it.

“My lord,” The gruff echo of Cain’s voice deterred him to turn his head. Tempered eyes were met with grey, and the young man nodded deeply in a stiff but poignant greeting.

“... Ser Cain.”

A small nod was shared between them, followed by an ushered silence.

"I believe we need to talk."

╒══════╕

Translations:

“Sīkudi nopāzmi, skori ao umbagon va bē hen issa…” = “Seven Hells, when you stay on top of me…”;

“Qrimbrōzagon, jorrāelagon, nyke jāhor tepagon ao nykeā gār trēsi.” = “Fuck, my love, I would give you a hundred sons.”;

“Se nyke jāhor jorrāelagon hen se tolvie mēn hen zirȳ.” = “And I would love each and every one of them.”;

╘══════╛

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #the harshest winters #aemond imagine #aemond fanfiction #jacaerys x reader #house of the dragon #jacaerys strong #jacaerys valaryon #deceased jacaerys #dark aemond x reader #dark aemond targaryen #bookcanon aemond targaryen #bookcanon aemond x reader #fire and blood fanfiction #f&b spoilers #house of the dragon smut #aemond smut #aemond angst #aemond targaryen ff #hotd aemond #prince aemond #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys fic #jace strong

[sisterofsomeone]

Till Death Do Us Part

Chapter 1/?

Summary: On a wedding day in Baldur’s Gate, a marriage is sealed with a sanctified bond. A powerful magic that allows your minds to meld and cannot ever be undone. It is also required to share your darkest secret for the bond to be bestowed. There is a common myth passed around that once, a very long time ago, a woman was tricked into marriage by a demon of sorts and only found out when they wed. Every wedding at that moment the room falls silent, waiting for another scream, another myth making secret to be revealed. You just never thought you would be witness to it.

Series Warnings: Wonwoo x fem!reader, slight Seokmin x fem!reader (because I can't help myself), established relationship/situationship, angst, fluff, swearing, drinking, smoking, there are references to end game BG3 and spoilers for the whole game so please proceed with caution! smut MDNI 18+, unprotected sex, pet names (baby girl, pretty girl, princess), oral sex (male and female receiving), breeding kink, slight daddy kink, size kink, reader has a vagina that gets described as a pussy/cunt, slight dub-con for a second then clear consent, (more will be added as the series goes on!)

Word count: 3.5K

Author's note: Hello again! I was originally going to write this as a oneshot, but I just kept writing and writing and felt that I really wanted to try and flesh this world out. So, it's becoming a series! I cannot promise regular updates as I am in my final year of university, and start back up at my graduate job in september, but I am really enjoying writing this so I'm aiming for at least once a month, but maybe more. I do also have another series in the works which I want to post soon as well, so keep on the lookout for that one! I’ve never written anything like this before so bear with me if it’s not very good! Please enjoy, I really do hope this is entertaining for you, and have a wonderful day/afternoon/evening! Lots of love, Caitlin <3

This is a work of fiction and in no way is meant to represent the actions, ideals, or attitude of the idol Jeon Wonwoo.

Baldur’s Gate. The jewel of the Sword Coast. Granted, you never knew there was supposedly a dragon sleeping under the city before the invasion, but still. A wonderful place to live. Life here was easier for someone like you, the eldest daughter of the Apothecary Merchant. Father had spent most of the money he made to dress you in the finest of clothes, hire chefs to teach you to make the finest of meals, and ensure you were surrounded by the best trained ladies in waiting possible. Status meant everything to him, and you knew you had to marry up to please him. Being the eldest of three girls, you were schooled in house making, cooking, mathematics, business, politics- anything and everything that would endear you to one of the knowledgeable and wealthy bachelors your father was hoping to wed you to. Your younger sisters however were afforded the luxury to follow their throws of passion and learn dance, music, or geography to teach and travel. You didn’t much care for home making, your fascination with the foul words in other languages usually left your tutor giggling after you begged her to teach you them. You were smart, quick with numbers and well versed in politics and business. It was something your father loved about you. The daughter that would lift them even higher in status. You were his political pawn.

You were with your mathematics tutor when she burst through the door. Your mother, her face flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly with her heavy breaths.

“The- The King wants you to attend the ball.” She spoke. “The ball for the princes to choose their brides. He has called for you specifically.”

“Oh?” You didn’t so much as look away from your work, still toying away with the problems in front of you.

“Yes! Oh Gods girl, what are we to do with you?” Your tutor excused himself as your mother swanned towards the large windows. She was as dramatic a woman as you had ever met, and you loved her for it. Turning to face you, her dress billowed, and it struck you yet again how beautiful she was. You knew she used to be the catch; the young daughter of a cattle farmer swept into the Sword Coast by her wild fancies and taking Baldur’s Gate by storm. She married your father in a rather quickly arranged match, both being only 21 and your bump already starting to show through her clothes. She had always held a special place in your life, and the closeness in age only solidified your bond.

“You’re to help me avoid it. You know I want nothing to do with the royal family.” You raised an eyebrow, smirk playing on your lips as you turned another page in your book.

“It’s such a shame. You should go, if not for yourself but for me. It says and family and you know how much your sisters and I would love it!” Her fingers danced across the edge of the paper, twirling the red silk ribbon that used to hold the envelope closed as she read and reread the words.

“You know, there must be a specific reason they invited you. I heard only four girls and their families were invited specifically by name.” He voiced wavered, tone light, eyes meeting yours with that twinkle you knew meant trouble. Sometimes it felt like you were the parent in this.

“Will I need a new dress?” With that she squealed and swept you into her arms.

“Oh darling! You are going to love this!” Untangling her arms from around you she ran from the room and to the staircase.

“Girls! Darling! Come downstairs, your sister has an announcement!”

It was dark outside when you were finally allowed to rest. Your mother had dragged you and your sisters around every tailor in the city, eventually settling on a beautiful, glittered gown from the Facemaker’s that made it look like you were dripping in starlight. Your sisters marvelled at you, them seemingly more excited for your prospects than you were. As you stood before the full-length mirror, watching the way light danced across the dress you caught your own breath. You stood tall, the shimmering fabric laying against your body as if made solely for you. Your face now seemingly had the allure you always attributed to your mother, the colour of your eyes mirroring her own beautiful hue. It was the first time you felt a fraction as beautiful as her. That’s why you let your mother buy the dress, but you’d never tell her that.

The evening was warm as you took a book from the library and made your way to the balcony. Lighting the lamp on the table you slipped yourself onto the velvet covered seat and pulled the small blanket around your legs, hiking them up to your chest. It was here you sat, absorbed in the words of scholars until a small cough caught your attention. This was routine at this point, so you put your book down and pulled yourself from the seat, dangling a hand over the railing in front of you before leaning your head over. The man clasped your hand and smiled up at you.

It had all been an accident, you meeting Seokmin and Wonwoo. You weren’t supposed to be walking unescorted to Sorcerers’ Sundries, well technically you weren’t supposed to be walking there at all, but what Father didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. You had stopped but for a moment to watch the magic show at the front entrance when you felt a hand dip into your pockets. You grasped their wrist and turned, only to be met with a small child.

“I’m-I’m so sorry miss, please let me go.” The tiny tiefling looked terrified, eyes wide and lower lip trembling. Immediately you dropped your guard, gaze softening and grip on their arm loosening.

“Child, no need to be scared I won’t call the Fists. But let’s not go picking anymore pockets hm?” They nodded, thanking you as they scurried away. Thats when you heard the laughter. Two tall men, eyes dark and trained directly on you and the scurrying child.

“What are you two laughing at huh?” The slightly broader one cocked an eyebrow at you, and the other pointed behind you. There you saw the scared tiefling, not so scared anymore as them and their friend – who you hadn’t noticed until now – were poking their tongues out at you as they waved a purse above their heads.

“That’s mine!” You shouted as they hurried off, tails wagging and giggles filling the dark streets.

“You fell for that hook line and sinker.” One of the hooded men let a plume of smoke escape his lips and curled them into a smile. “Are you new here or something?”

“No, no. Look at her, she’s a sheltered little princess I bet.” The other said, closing the distance between you and him. You finally got a good look at him. Dark eyes, golden tanned skin, a smile spread across his face that lit a fire in your stomach. He leaned down, face now only inches from yours. “Such a sheltered little princess, aren’t you?” There was an earthiness to him, a woody smell that danced under a zesty citrus. This was no commoner’s perfume.

“Who are you?”

Wonwoo’s eyes shone from below you on the balcony, that same smile lighting that spark deep in your soul. He was intelligent, worldly, but most of all, he was kind. He climbed up the balcony as usual, pulling you into his embrace and kissing you. It was hot, fiery and passionate. It always felt like he was swallowing you whole, devouring every part of you. He pushed you backwards, lowering you into the plush of the loveseat as his body covered your own. His mouth never left yours, tongue playing against your bottom lip as you gave him entrance. He moaned, fingers running through your hair and pulling, revealing the length of your neck to him. He kissed down it, careful not to leave any marks as he did so.

“My beautiful girl, my pretty girl.” His lips left a searing trail down to your chest, his hands trailing down your sides, bunching up your dress to reach your core.

“Wonwoo, baby, we can’t. Not tonight.” It was almost useless, his lips never stopped working against your neck, teeth nipping at your pulse point. “Wonwoo, baby.” A whine left him that had a throb course through your body and set that flame burning.

“Don’t tell me to stop baby please.” He kissed you again, hands never stopping their assault on you. “Please don’t tell me I can’t play with my pretty girl’s pretty pussy.” His eyes darkened, teeth bit down harder, and you could almost feel the punctures from his canines.

“This pretty pussy has been invited to the King’s ball. This pretty pussy might have just been sold off by her ever-scheming father.” He stalled at this, hands stopping their assault and mouth leaving your skin.

“What?” His eyes were trained on yours as you swallowed thickly.

“We got the invitation today. Gods know how he did it. But he did.” Wonwoo moved off you, settling into the space beside you.

“Are you happy? With the idea I mean?” You let out a short laugh, cold and harsh.

“Happy? Why would I be happy? No one has ever seen them, been allowed near them, and what? I’m supposed to marry one of them. Be used as breeding stock. Finally put all this stupid training to use.” He laughed softly from beside you.

“You think this is funny? My life being sold off to the highest bidder and you laugh?”

“No! No, it’s not like that I promise.” His arms were around you again, pulling you into his chest. “I think there’s more to this than you know. Go to the party. You might be pleasantly surprised that’s all.” His lips were on yours again. “And no matter what happens, I’ll never let anyone else touch you the way I do.”

The morning broke through your curtains and the man beside you stirred. His chest was warm beneath your cheek as you kissed the arm draped around you.

“Darling, you must go before we get caught. Again.” He groaned, rolling the pair of you over, trapping you beneath him. That smile was back, softly lit by the warm glow of the sun pouring in through the windows. “Wonwoo, baby please.” His lips were soft against yours, pouring love into you like there was no tomorrow. His fingertips danced across your skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. He rolled his hips into you, want evident at the broken gasp that left his lips. “Wonwoo baby.” You moaned out, fingers moving to his shoulder blades. He rolled his hips again, the slickness of your cunt allowing for him to rock smoothly and bump his cockhead into your clit. “Wonwoo, we can’t.” But your body gives you away, the roll of your hips as you shake beneath him has him lining up instantly.

“Princess, say no right now and I won’t do it. But say yes and I’ll give you a baby. I’ll fuck you so full it has no option but to stick. You’ll be mine.” Your lips chased his as you nodded frantically against him.

“Yes Wonwoo, yes yes yes.” He pushed in, cock stretching you as you raked your nails down his back. His thrusts were deep, angling his hips to hit that spot inside of you.

“My princess wants a baby yeah? Wants me to fuck her full?” He growled into your ear, hips smashing into yours.

“Please, wanna make you a daddy.” You purred back. His hand snaked between your bodies, fingers rubbing circle after circle into your swollen clit as you arched up into him. He never stopped kissing you, never stopped whispering praise into your mouth as you came around him.

“Please Wonwoo, want you to fill me up. Please.” You dug your nails into his skin, drawing a hiss from him. He’s panting, sweat lining his forehead as he thrust into you again and again, bringing you to orgasm over and over until you couldn't take it anymore. He pushes you over the edge again and again, having you crying his name into his mouth over and over as you beg for him to finish in you, mark you as his.

But he doesn’t. He pulls out as he always does and finishes onto your thigh. It’s over then, the light shifting to a cold blue as the sun shifts behind a cloud. He moves away from you, gathering his clothes and dressing.

“When will I see you again?” He pauses, eyes meeting your own.

“You won’t see me like this for a while. At least, not this version of me.” You don’t know what that means, but he doesn’t give you any time to ask as he kisses you again so softly. His hand caresses your face, thumb rubbing your cheek as a tear falls from his face and onto yours. “But you will see me again, I promise.” As he pulls away, he places a final kiss on your forehead before stepping back towards your balcony. You let him go like you always do, but not without that horrible hole ripping through your chest.

The night of the ball drew closer, and there was no sign of Wonwoo or his brother. You were alone. The lessons ramped up, your father wanting there to be no chance of failure. You were his pawn, and he was so ready to make that final check. Your mother tried to get through the walls you put up, your sisters gushed every day about how lucky you were, how you were going to have the life of your dreams. But you weren’t. You wouldn’t be with Wonwoo. Wouldn’t be able to kiss him again, wouldn’t be able to hold him. You’d never be able to make him a dad.

“Your invitation madam?” Your mother was positively glowing with excitement, your sisters each hanging off one of your arms, you suspect to stop you from running. Your mother presents the invitation, and the guard cocks an eyebrow. “Please, this way for special guests.” You were escorted towards a separate entrance, a large pair of white wooden doors beset by giant boars on each side. The doors were parted for you, and the entrance was the most beautiful you’d ever seen. You were ushered inside, your sisters gasping and pointing at the artwork lining the walls. But your eyes were drawn to the three other girls.

“They’re your competition child.” Your father pulled you aside from your sisters and scanned you from head to toe. “But you’ve got a brain to best all of them. Be smart, be strong. Be the girl I raised you to be.” You glanced back over to them. Each one you knew to be a member of one of the aristocracies, as you were. You vaguely remember having a run in with the half-elf, but if she remembered you, she gave nothing away in the cold gaze she returned.

“If everyone is now here?” A voice sounded from the stairs above you. Your eyes followed where it was coming from, and the woman you saw standing there was the most beautiful you had ever seen. Dark eyes, with even darker hair cascading down her back that held soft curls that bounced as she began to walk towards you all. You had never seen this woman before, but something pulled at you from your stomach as if you recognised her.

“You are all chosen specifically by the princes themselves. My sister's sons wouldn’t allow for our intervention, so feel very lucky. Some of you would never have made it this far.” Her eyes fell on you at this, and your father bristled beside you. “Now, if you’ll follow me.” She sauntered towards the large doors across the marbled floors. You moved to follow the queen's sister, silently cursing yourself for not recognising her as your legs pulled you along before your brain could think of a reason to turn and run. She demanded that the girls line up, manhandling you all into a line with you left on the end. Your families were to follow along behind, and not say a word.

There was a commotion behind the doors, music filled whatever room you were about to be ushered into and laughter and conversations could barely be heard through these giant doors. You tried to smooth out the non-existent wrinkles of your dress, hands moving on their own as you chewed on your bottom lip.

There was a moment of silence before the doors swung open, and an even longer moment of silence when all the eyes in the ballroom fell upon you. Your gaze flitted from person to person, not a single face you couldn’t put a name to. Families with daughters much better suited for this match burned holes into your skull from jealousy. You were standing there, with the whole world at your fingertips and their daughter wasn’t.

You were ushered down the steps before you, the sea of people parting as the four of you made your ways forward. Your eyes were on the floor as you had been instructed to do so, never for a second daring to look upon the men sitting at the other end of the ballroom.

“This is the half-elf Carmae of the Boat Merchant.” You were right about recognising her then.

“This is the high elf Dauphine of the Gold Merchant.” You heard her light steps, the small “Hello sirs.” that sounded so beautiful falling from her lips as she greeted the men.

“This is the wood elf Avalynne of the Cloth Merchant.” You were next.

“This is the human Y/n of the Apothecary Merchant.” You stepped forward, curtseying as you were taught, eyes moving up to acknowledge the men before you.

“Hello sirs-“ Those eyes. That smile. Wonwoo sat before you, hand rested on his chin as he surveyed you. You felt a churning in your stomach as you let your eyes fall upon Seokmin beside him. His soft curls sat upon his head as he smiled ever so softly at you.

“We can now begin.” The music started up again as the crowd of people swallowed you up. Your sisters beamed at you as people swarmed you. They wanted to know where you got your dress “The Facemaker.” You politely replied. Who did your hair? “My mother wanted to.” You smiled at them. You were pulled from conversation to conversation. Every family wanted a piece of you. But your mind was back on Wonwoo. Your heart calling out to him across the floor.

His eyes followed you, dark and cold like you’d never seen them before.

“Wonwoo, calm down. She’s yours I’m not going to take her.” Seokmin leant over to his older brother, giggling slightly at the older man’s demeanour.

“I know you’re not. But they might.” He followed his brother’s gaze to the men being introduced to you by their fathers. “It seems like being the prince’s chosen gives a girl a certain…” His eyes scanned the crowd of men now surrounding you. Your father ever so keen to get you introduced to as many of them as possible. You were trying to be amicable, that soft smile on your face hiding the discomfort you felt. The burn of jealousy coursed through his veins as he watched you laugh and smile at these fools. If only they knew what he’d done to you, the noises he could pull from you with just his tongue or fingers. The way you beg him to cum in you, the tears in your eyes as he fucks you through another orgasm. You’d be too much for those idiots, they couldn’t make you feel how he did. Couldn’t make your body react the way he did.

“The princes will now have their first dance with each of the chosen.” Wonwoo and Seokmin stood, and the floor was cleared again. You finally found yourself walking back towards the man who held your heart in his hands and smiled. Wonwoo noticed that it finally reached your eyes.

“It is lovely to meet you Y/n.” He placed a soft kiss against the back of your hand.

“It is my honour sir.” You smiled even wider this time as he drew you closer as the music began.

“I hope you’re a good dancer.” He flashed you that dazzling smile once more as the music began up again.

“I hope you are too sir.” You felt the flush creep up your cheeks as the two of you started to dance. Your eyes glued to his as he led you across the floor, his never once leaving yours. You finally got what he meant that morning. While this was a surprise, you’d help him play the part for as long as it took to get your Wonwoo back.

#seventeen #svt #seventeen wonwoo #svt wonwoo #seventeen wonu #svt wonu #wonwoo #wonu #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonu #wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt fluff #seventeen fic #seventeen x reader #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x you #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x you #wonwoo x y/n #seventeen royalty au #svt royalty au

[littlemissfiore]

Cigarettes out the Window. | Vinsmoke Sanji x fem! Reader

summary: sanji falls in love with a woman he truly loves, but faith does not grant him such luck. obligated by his family to go through an arranged marriage he does not want to partake in. sanji has to decide which path in life he wants to take.

tags: modern au!, doctor!reader, friends-to-lovers, sanji's pov, horrible family dynamics, mentions of sex, spoilers to WCI arc, no use of [y/n], angst

note: if you can read this, it means this fanfic made it out of the draft hell. it's kinda long too, was going full novel mode, chopper also doesn't exist in this au (sorry), i wanted to put my own spin on the WCI arc but if it were set in modern au, hopefully it goes well, you can also imagine this as a la!op Sanji

The Baratie was full compared to other nights. Like, god awfully full, was there some sort of special event going on? Sanji didn't know nor did he have the time to ponder something so trivial. He had tables to serve and Zeff was already losing his mind in the kitchen in desperate need of Sanji.

He took a long inhale from his cigarette before heading back inside the restaurant. Throwing it and stomping it on the ground, first clearing his throat before letting out a cough.

Shit. When was the last time he had visited a doctor? All that smoking was not good for him, Sanji knew that. Although, he could care less, fixing his posture and tie before heading back inside the Baratie.

"Where the hell is Sanji!?" yelled Zeff, smacking the kitchen counters. Sanji's footsteps were heard amongst the sizzling and loud noises in the kitchen. "Well I'll be damned, look who decided to make an appearance."

Sanji scoffs. "Decided to take a small break," he responds, picking up his blazer from the rack and putting it on. "Y'know, since I'm not allowed in the kitchen."

"You most definitely won't after this," Zeff states, even though this was not the first time Sanji heard this. "Now, get out there and serve some customers! You're holding us back!"

Usually, Sanji and Zeff would argue and go back and forth. It was tedious, but no matter how many times he tried standing up for himself. That old man would refuse to have him help out in the kitchen. Tonight, Sanji begrudgingly chooses to keep his mouth shut and head out to serve customers.

The Baratie was full, more so than other nights. It was going to be one hellish night for Sanji and the rest of the cooking crew, he was sure of it. Foolish of him to think he would be able to get out early and spend the rest of his night with his friends. Sanji made his rounds around the restaurant, making sure the guests felt comfortable and satisfied.

Everything seemed to be going okay-wait-did his eyes betray him? No. A beautiful lady sitting all by herself? Impossible!

Leaving a beautiful lady all on her own in a big restaurant like the Baratie should be a crime. Sanji watched as she looked everywhere in the restaurant, probably waiting for her date to arrive. She didn't look nervous, but one would be foolish enough to not see the obvious disappointment plastered all over her face.

Make all the guests feel welcomed and comfortable at the Baratie, thought Sanji as he made his way to the lady.

"M'lady," started Sanji. You did a little jump on your seat, surprised by the sudden appearance of the waiter. You turned around to look at him with big wide eyes, expecting him to say something. Cute, was all Sanji could think at the moment. "I'm sorry for startling you, have you decided what you would like to have for the night?"

You shook your head weakly, "No," you responded, looking down at the menu. "I'm waiting for my date but he hasn't arrived yet. Looks like I'll have to eat alone..."

Sanji was baffled. That's the only way he could describe what he was feeling right now. What kind of man left a woman alone in a restaurant, especially on a date.

"A gorgeous woman such as yourself shouldn't be eating alone," stated Sanji, a sly smirk lingering on his lips. Your date might have passed off his chance with you, but he certainly wasn't going to.

Your stare lingered before realizing he was complimenting you. You felt your face grow hot, your eyes immediately glued on the menu to avoid his stare. "Oh..! Um... Thank you!" you responded, shyly. You closed the menu and set it down on the table in front of you, turning to look at the waiter. "But I'll just have a glass of water. I don't think I'll be eating anything tonight."

Nonsense, thought Sanji. "A beautiful lady like yourself should enjoy our very best!" Sanji stated, proudly. How funny, Sanji would always complain about Baratie. Now, here he is, trying to give the best impression he can of the restaurant. You didn't seem entirely convinced, just absentmindedly staring at him. "On the house."

You smiled. "You're doing a lot more for me than my date," you gesture towards the other seat that was empty.

"And let a lovely lady like yourself be all alone tonight? Never," flirted Sanji, making you flustered. You chuckled shyly, he could tell his compliments made you feel giddy.

Before you could continue the conversation, out of the corner of his eye, Sanji could see Zeff glaring at him from a distance. While his chivalry was not a problem, the amount of time he wasted swooning over women cost the restaurant time and money.

Are we paying you to tend to customers or flirt with women?! Sanji could already hear that old man yelling at him. Before you could continue with your conversation, he fixed his blazer.

"I'm sorry, madam," started Sanji. "I have to tend to the other customers but I promise you I will be right back."

All you could do was giggle and nod your head. "Alright!" you gave him a smile before he walked off. Sanji walked past Zeff, expecting him to berate him but he just felt his gaze follow him all the way to the kitchen.

Tch! That old man was always on his ass. How could Zeff not see he was tending to a beautiful lady who's date didn't bother to show up last minute. Of course, how would he know? He's never had a wife. Sanji just needed to take these plates out to their respective tables, then, he could talk to the beautiful lady sitting by herself.

Yet, when he stepped out of the kitchen, you were no longer there. Maybe you were in the bathroom, fixing your makeup. Could you have possibly been crying? No, Sanji shakes his head. The sooner he can serve the plates, the sooner he can check up on you. You still needed your glass of water!

After he finished making his rounds, Sanji made his way to your table. He had a glass of water on his hand, setting it down on the table. You were nowhere to be found, the only thing left on the table was the menu and a folded twenty dollar bill.

Oh, you were gone.

Sanji frowned. It broke his heart to think a beautiful lady like yourself would leave out of embarrassment. It did not help that you were surrounded by people around you who had dates or friends accompanying them. What a shame, he truly wished he would have made your night.

Sanji's cough was getting worse by the day. He tried holding on for as long as he could but, alas, he succumbed to his sickness.

"Good, don't come back 'til that nasty cold of yours is gone," Zeff stated simply. Of course, he of all people would say that. Sanji felt like he could hear the man thanking the heavens from the other side of the phone. "Check with a doctor, is probably all that smoking you do."

"I'm fine," Sanji said through gritted teeth before letting out a horrible cough.

"Check yourself, boy!" yelled Zeff through the phone. "I will not allow you back into Baratie if you do not get better. So get off your lazy ass and go see a bloody doctor."

"Even outside of work, you love to order me around," spat Sanji, glaring down at his phone. "Fine! I'll get it checked out, you can stop complaining."

"Fine!" was the last thing Zeff said before hanging up.

That old man, always thinking he could intrude not only at work but in his personal life as well. Sanji coughed, holding his chest to try and ease the pain. He hadn't been to the doctor in a while, maybe he did need to check himself out.

Bzzt!

Sanji stared at his screen, reading off the text message.

Reiju Father wants to talk to you read 2:30

Sanji chose to ignore the message sent by his sister, there was no way she could convince him to talk to his father. After all these years, he wants to talk to him? After he kicked him out of his house and disowned him.

Sanji shook his head, a desperate attempt to shake off all the bad thoughts that started to crawl in his head. There was no use thinking about his old life, he was happier now. With friends who cared about him, even old man Zeff cared about Sanji in his own way.

Sanji lets out another horrible cough, man, was he feeling shitty. There was no use beating around the bush, he needed someone to take care of him. What better person to do that than the woman he trusts the most, Nami.

Sanji Nami~ I'm sick. Your presence would help me feel better ! ❤️

"Nami!" exclaimed Sanji, swinging his door wide open. He was excited to have alone time with a beautiful woman such as Nami. What else could he ask for? "And, Usopp."

Sanji frowns. "Don't get too excited to see me now," stated Usopp, holding his arms up in the air. "She told me to accompany her."

"I figured you needed more than just my company, Sanji," smirked Nami, making her way to his fridge and rummaging through it. She grabbed the first beer she could find, popping the cap off with the handle of the fridge. Oh, Nami! The woman that you are. "Ah! This tastes great! Good thing you're driving Usopp."

"What!" cried Usopp, glaring at the red-head. "Is this why you brought me all along!?"

Nami pressed her lips together. "Hmm... maybe!" she responded back, shamelessly. "You look like you went through hell, Sanji."

Sanji cleared his throat, forcing a smile for Nami even if his body felt like it was giving out on him. "You look as beautiful as ever, Nami."

"Have you ever visited a doctor yet?" asked Usopp, folding his arms. Sanji faces his friend, his blank expression giving Usopp a clear answer. "Now, that's why, you have not gotten better."

"How long has it been since you've seen a doctor?" asked Nami, sitting on Sanji's couch.

"It's... been a while," Sanji said, through gritted teeth.

"You're definitely gonna be the first one to go out of all of us," joked Usopp, earning a nasty glare from his blonde friend.

"Men..." sighed Nami, pulling out her phone. "Lucky for me, I have my own doctor. Free of charge!"

"Who?" asked Usopp, now sitting next to Nami.

It was almost as if Usopp was the one who needed to go to the doctor's office.

"I'm not saying!" Nami stuck out her tongue before chuckling. She turned to Sanji, acknowledging his presence. "She's cool, she can probably fix you up! She owes me a favor, anyway."

Sanji chuckled, heading to the kitchen to fix up a small snack for his friends. "You don't have to do all that for me, darling," he said, smiling. "I can manage."

Following right after was a string of long horrible coughs coming from Sanji. What a pain, it was unbearable he had to use the kitchen counter for support. Nami and Usopp look over at him from the couch before heading up to Sanji and leading him to bed.

"Yeah, I'm definitely calling her," grunts Nami. "This will cost you! You better feed me well once your health improves!"

Nami left Usopp alone to carry Sanji to bed while she searched through her phone. Finally finding the number and putting the call on speaker, Nami greeted, "Hello~, Love! Say.. are you free right now? I have a big favor to ask of you."

What a small world it was.

Who would've thought the girl from the restaurant was Nami's friend and a doctor. It was hilariously convenient, not that Sanji was complaining though. He was able to see your pretty face again. Just the flustered look you gave him as he laid in his bed was enough to know you recognized him.

"You two know each other already?" asked Usopp.

"From where?" Nami questioned, looking at you. From the look on your face, you were a little embarrassed that your love life would soon be on display while you're tending to someone.

"That one restaurant you told me to go to-" "Baratie, love," Sanji interrupted you. "Sorry, darling. I just work there, got to give that place some free promotion."

You chuckled.

"Stop flirting with my doctor, I don't need her running away because of your antics," huffed Nami. She turned to look at you baffled while you took Sanji's hand and checked his pulse. "Did the guy even show up?"

You shook your head, intently focused on Sanji before asking him any questions. "Something about an emergency, never texted me again," you mumbled.

Wow! That guy must've been a loser, thought Sanji. Not only had he ghosted a lady and left her alone at a restaurant, she was also a doctor. A cute doctor at that. No, gorgeous, no-wait-, a stunning woman. Ugh, thought Sanji. There were so many words to describe your beauty, it felt like he could write a novel.

"Well that guy is a loser, doesn't know what he's missing out on," cried Nami, putting her arms around you. "Don't worry, I'll marry you!"

"Yes, some guys can be dumb," stated Usopp, nodding his head.

Sanji let out a horrible cough, his body feeling disoriented as he held his chest. You searched through your bag, taking out your stethoscope and putting it around your neck.

"If you guys don't mind, can you leave us alone?" You asked, bluntly. "I shouldn't take too long, don't worry."

Even in his worst state, Sanji could feel a smile creep onto his lips. Nami did not miss his expression, giving him slight glares knowing he was secretly excited about having one-on-one interaction with a woman.

"Don't try anything weird, I can't afford to lose my doctor, they aren't cheap," said Nami, grabbing Usopp by the arms and dragging him out the room. Before closing the door, Nami points at you, "If he tries anything weird, tell me."

"Don't be jealous my dear Nami," joked Sanji, earning a giggle from you.

"As if!" with that Nami slams the door shut, leaving you and Sanji alone.

You let out a nervous chuckle. "I'm sorry, I was getting a little overwhelmed," You said. "What seems to be the problem here? You have a pretty bad cold from what I see."

"There is no problem here, darling," Sanji sits in an upright position on his bed. "It seems faith had plans for us to meet again."

"Seems so," you respond, curtly before putting on the ear tips from the stethoscope. "Do you smoke?"

"Yes."

"Hm." Was the only thing you responded with as you placed the bell on Sanji's chest. Sanji felt his heart drop, why did you respond like that? Did you find smokers unattractive? Sure he knew he had a nasty habit of smoking but he never figured it was too bad, right?

Why was Sanji doubting himself so hard? Why did his chest feel like it was all tied up in knots? He'd seen plenty of beautiful women, but now that you were in his presence he felt like he was struck by lightning. This was the first time Sanji had ever reacted like this. He usually had a collected demeanor, even when flirting with attractive ladies. Now, he didn't even know what to say, how to feel.

"Wow! Your heart is beating fast!" you exclaimed, worriedly. "Do you feel okay? I'm going to check and see if you have a fever, alright?"

You leaned in towards Sanji, the back of your hand softly landing on his cheeks. He felt his face turn red at the close proximity the two of you had. Get it together! You've been around women! Sanji scolded himself.

"You're burning up," you mentioned, sliding your hand to his forehead. "I think you might've contracted the flu, you should rest and drink plenty of water."

W-what?, thought Sanji. "That's all...?" his whisper coming out raspy. He was upset you were now leaving.

"Unfortunately for you, I am not allowed to give you any prescription medicine," you started, as you put away your things. "But if you go to a pharmacy store, you should get some medicine specifically for the flu. It'll fix you up faster, plus, you should quit smoking. At least for the time being while you recover."

There was a small silence between the both of you, listening to the rustling of your bad.

"Y'know you were beautiful that night, ma chérie?" started Sanji, staring at you starstruck. By the look of your face, you were caught off guard. He was taking a big risk flirting with you like this. "That jackass doesn't know how to appreciate a beauty like you."

Sanji watched your breathing stop for a second, taking in what was happening to you. He hadn't known you but by your reaction it seemed like you weren't used to these types of comments. What a shame, thought Sanji. He would shower you with praise every day if you would let him.

"T-thank you," you mustered the courage to say while facing down at the floor. "If you need anything, Nami has my number!"

You quickly gather your things and head towards the door, opening it. Usopp and Nami pretend to make small talk, acting as if they weren't trying to eavesdrop through the door. "I hope you get better soon!" you yelled out, leaving Sanji's room in a hurry and leaving the apartment.

Sanji's heart ached a little. He hoped he hadn't made you uncomfortable with his excessive flirting. He just couldn't resist you though. A woman of such high caliber as yourself should be showered with nothing but praise.

"You better not have said anything weird, or you're dead," frowned Nami, crossing her arms.

Even if he did, Sanji is sure he will make it up to you.

In the following weeks, no woman occupied his mind other than you. Sanji made sure to keep in touch with you, first pretending he needed another check-up to make sure he rid himself of his sickness. Then it turned from sending each other a few messages a day, to full blown conversations. Nobody had seen him like this, hell, nobody actually thought a day like this would come.

The day Sanji had confessed to his friends he had his eyes set on you, he was met with mixed reactions. Usopp and Luffy cheered him on, immediately telling Sanji to confess his feelings for you and sweep you off your feet. All Zoro could do was scoff, muttering to Nami 'let's see how long this lasts' before plopping on the couch. Sanji could see Nami's face becoming red, indicating how displeased she was.

"You womanizer!" Nami clenched her fist. "You better be serious about this! That poor girl cannot handle another heartbreak, you hear me!?"

Sanji felt a little hurt by Nami's comment but knew she was only saying it out of care for her friend. They've been friends for years, she has witnessed him flirt with almost every girl in the country by now.

"Relax, Nami, this is Sanji we're talking about," said Luffy.

"Exactly," huffed Nami, crossing her arms.

"When will we get to meet the lucky lady?" asked Luffy with a wide grin. A small smile was plastered on Sanji's face as Luffy kept asking him the same question.

Huh... Sanji hadn't thought about it. Now his mind was imagining what it would be like for you to meet his friends. His found family, how well you would get along with them. Sanji felt like a schoolboy with all that daydreaming he was doing in his head.

Vinsmoke Sanji, finally finding the woman of his dreams after spending years flirting with so many women. It started becoming more noticeable as the days passed. Before, he spent his time at the Baratie flirting with women and swooning them with free meals. Now, Zeff would catch him being on his phone, usually smiling down at whatever text message you had sent him.

Both his friends and the crew at the Baratie did not chastise Sanji whenever they saw him glued to his phone. No, instead, they would stand in front of him in disbelief. It was baffling, almost as if Sanji wasn't... Sanji.

The old man, Zeff, probably caught on before any of Sanji's friends could. He came into work more of an airhead than usual. His incessant flirting with women was now dialed back. Sanji still gave them pet names, but now he wasn't asking them for their phone numbers or to wait for him at the end of his shift.

Actually, there was one time a woman waited for Sanji at the end of his shift. Zeff was rather annoyed he had to tend to this customer when it was already closing time.

"Do you need anything?" asked Zeff, trying his best not to sound annoyed. He could tell you were nervous, stumbling on your words.

"I'm here to see Sanji, if he's here!" you said, hoping you weren't bothering them. Zeff stared at you, trying to connect the pieces together. Were you the girl Sanji was constantly messaging throughout his shift? "He told me to wait here since it's raining outside, if that's okay..."

Yes, you were the girl Sanji was so busy swooning over. "I'll bring him out for you, take a seat," Zeff walked away from you and into the kitchen.

"Hey, Sanji!" Zeff shouted loud enough for the crew to hear. Sanji appears with a dish already prepared on his hand, wondering why the old man called out for him. "Your girl is here..."

Zeff did not miss the way Sanji's eyes lit up, there was no malintent, just pure happiness. Sanji starts making his way towards you but is stopped by Zeff. "Where are you going with that plate, boy?"

Sanji didn't bother trying to argue with the old man, simply rolling his eyes before answering. "She just got off work and she's hungry," was the only thing Sanji responded with before heading out.

The crew watched in silence, surprised both men did not instantly start a screaming match with each other.

"Yep," started Zeff. "That boy is in love, Patty. Who would've thought the day would come." The Baratie crew can only snicker.

Sanji was excited for you to try out his new dish. Sure, you have already tasted his cooking since he would prepare food for you whenever he could; but this dish was special. It was something new, and Sanji could not wait for you to try it. He saw you already sitting at a table, nervously looking around at the empty space around you.

"My lovely lady!" exclaimed Sanji, making his presence known. He saw the way your eyes lit up, immediately getting shy.

"Sanji! How are you?" You asked, watching him place the dish right in front of you.

He sat next to you, he couldn't contain his excitement. "Oh, I feel much better now that you are here," flirted Sanji, making you turn shy. "I tried a new recipe, you're the first one to try it so let me know if it tastes good."

You giggle. "Whatever you cook for me, I know will be good," you complimented him, grabbing a fork and eating away.

Sanji was nervous. He had confidence in his cooking skill, he knew he was a great cook. Hell, his friends and strangers alike would always rave about his cooking. Sanji had yet to come across someone who did not enjoy his cooking. He had food critics from around the country come and visit the Baratie just to get a taste of his cooking. To Sanji, though, he could care less about the opinions of those snobby rich critics. Your opinion meant more to him than some five star review.

You seemed to be enjoying the dish Sanji made for you, seeing as you were only focused on eating. Over the past few weeks, Sanji was able to pick up on your habits. Whenever you had a rough day at work, you would enjoy eating the dish Sanji made you in silence. Even though he loved nothing more than talking to you, he'd prefer you eat first. The first week he met you, you would skip meals even though you were a doctor. From then on, Sanji made it his mission to make you a dish whenever he had the chance.

"Hm~, this is amazing, I should make you my husband," you teased. You had no clue just how much love Sanji poured into this dish he made you. You overtook his thoughts in every department, this dish was made out of genuine care for you. He would be honored if you made him your husband.

"I have some good news!" You exclaimed, wiping your mouth with a napkin.

"Tell me all about it, love," smiled Sanji, seeing your grin widen and getting all giddy. He loved how you got excited whenever you wanted to tell him something that interested you.

"There's a new aquarium that just opened downtown," you started, moving your seat closer to him. "It has all kinds of exotic fish and beautiful marine mammals!"

"Hm, maybe I should check it out, give me ideas for what I might prepare next," joked Sanji as you gasped. You slapped his arm playfully, calling him mean.

"Well... You see," you started as you twiddled with your thumbs. Sanji noticed how you refused to look him in the face. He saw your flustered expression as you tried to figure out what to say next. "A-a co-worker of mine, he gave me free tickets to the aquarium."

Sanji's heart dropped. He? As in... Male? Has somebody else asked you out on a date already? Sanji could hear his heart slowly break but he tried keeping a calm demeanor. Right now all he wanted to do was curl up on his bed and cry.

"Him and his girlfriend broke up and he didn't want the tickets to go to waste," you scratched your head, your eyes roaming around everywhere but Sanji. He felt his heart break a little more. "Anyways, he gave me two tickets... a-and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me?"

You finally look up at Sanji, your flustered expression showing all over your face. What? It had hit him like a train all of the sudden. You were asking him to go out with you to the aquarium. Sanji had prepared many scenarios in his head, but this one he did not expect. It was almost as if you were asking him out on a date.

"You don't have to go if you don't want to..." you try to hide the sadness in your voice. Sanji hadn't realized he had been blanking out for a bit, explaining why you were so hesitant.

"N-no! It's not like that!" Sanji exclaimed, desperately trying to salvage the situation. "If anything, I'm honored you would like to go with me."

Was this his chance? Sanji had dreamed of this moment since he was young. A beautiful prince finally meeting his beautiful princess, it felt like something out of a fairytale.

This was his chance. Sanji had to seal the deal.

"Love," Sanji gently held your chin with his fingers, as you tried to keep your eyes on him trying hard not to show your flustered expression. "How about we make it an official date?"

Sanji felt your body tense, you always had this reaction whenever he complimented you. He wasn't sure if it was because you valued your personal space, or because you were caught up in the moment. Regardless, Sanji loved seeing your expression when he treated you sweetly.

You nodded your head. "Yes," you whispered. "It's a date."

You were so cute showing how excited you were. It was hard for Sanji not to swoop in and plant his lips on top of yours. If only he could just lean a little closer-

"Hey, you two!" a thunderous voice erupted, making you jump from your seat. Both you and Sanji turned to look at Zeff who was holding the kitchen door open. "We're about to leave, if you guys want to stay in here, be my guest!"

With that, the old man walked away. Sanji chuckled and turned to face you, "You wanna get out of here?" he asked. You nodded your head, as both of you stood up from your seats. "First, let me introduce you to this old geezer, Zeff. I promise you, he's not as intimidating as he seems."

"He's pretty scary to me," you joked. While both of you made your way to the kitchen, your hand magically interlocked with Sanji's.

How could words explain just how absolutely stunning you looked. Sanji caught a glimpse one night of how beautiful you looked all dressed up. Usually, he would see you in your work clothes, which he didn't mind, he got to see you in that white lab coat. Although, now, Sanji was able to bask in your beauty. Seeing how you put so much effort to look presentable for your date, you look so cute!

"Darling, you look absolutely stunning," complimented Sanji, taking your hand and placing a kiss on top. He gifted you a bouquet of flowers with a letter attached to it. "Read it when you get home, love."

You shyly nodded, putting the letter on your table to read for later.

Sanji held your hand, leading you to his car and finally making your way to the aquarium. You couldn't contain your excitement on the way there, explaining to him what animal you were most excited to see. It was cute, really. Nami had told him how excited you were for this date and just how head over heels you were for Sanji.

Nami I don't know how you did it, but I better hear good things from you after tonight. read 6:27pm

Sanji couldn't help but crack a smile, seeing how overprotective Nami was of you. He had no doubt in his mind that Nami would put him in his place if he crossed the line. Although, Sanji had no plans of leaving you anytime soon.

He watched you, starstruck by your beauty as you stared at the fishes in the tank. The way you stared at the fishes with such focus, pointing to Sanji every fish you found intriguing. Your skin was glowing beautifully all thanks to the water's reflection shining onto you.

"What do you think?" you asked, turning your attention to Sanji.

"I think..." He smiled, tucking your hair over your ear, before pointing at a big fish. "I think I've actually cooked that fish at Baratie before."

You gasp before stifling out a laugh. "You're cruel," you said, your eyes locking onto him.

No, you're cruel. The way you cemented yourself into Sanji's heart. The way you made him feel like he was finally allowed to be selfish. How, no matter how many women hit on him or flirt with him, you're the only one taking over his mind.

"Look at this one!" you pointed at a Green sunfish. "He reminds me of your friend!"

"Ha! That is mosshead!" laughed Sanji, pointing at the fish alongside you. He took out his phone from his pocket to take a picture of the fish. "I have to send this to the Strawhats group chat!"

As Sanji zoomed in on the Green sunfish and took a quick picture, he felt your gaze on him. He could've sworn he saw you give him a warm smile, watching him have his own fun. Sanji puts his phone away, giving you his full undivided attention.

"Sanji..." you started. He felt a shiver run down his spine as his name rolled off your tongue. Your hands were a little shaky as you went to grab his black tie.

"L-love-!" started Sanji but before he could speak, you pulled him towards you and planted a kiss on his lips.

Sanji's body felt like it was on fire. As a young boy, he always thought he would be the first one to initiate a kiss. Now here he was, getting a kiss from you first, not that he minded. If anything, it proved to him that you were just as crazy for him as he was for you.

You pulled away, refusing to look him in the eyes and planted your head on his chest out of embarrassment. Sanji couldn't help but laugh at how cute you were, you had pulled the first move and now you were acting all shy. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head and held you closely.

Two lovers enjoying their moment, blissfully unaware of the world around them.

"What are you doing here?" growled Sanji, staring at the woman sitting on his couch. It was his sister, Reiju.

"You've been ignoring my calls," she answered, unamused.

"Yeah? Well, maybe I've been ignoring them for a reason," scoffed Sanji, taking off his coat.

"Father wants to talk to you," Reiju went straight to the point. "He's been wanting to get a hold of you."

"Tell him to piss off!" yelled Sanji, heated. "That man has done nothing good for me, I don't want anything to do with him. In fact, he was the one who didn't want anything to do with me first."

Sanji swore he saw his sister's face drop, remembering the mistreatment of her younger brother.

"I know that..." spat Reiju. "But I'm here to try and spare you the trouble. If you continue to ignore his request, he will make you talk to him."

"Like I said, he has no right trying to come back into my life like nothing happened," said Sanji. "Now, if you would kindly leave me be, I would appreciate it very much."

Reiju's eyes don't leave Sanji's intense stare, sighing, before getting up from the chair and making her way out. She gives her younger brother one last look, one of shame.

"I hope things go well for you..." muttered Reiju, already out the door.

Sanji frowned. "Goodbye, Reiju."

And with that, he slammed the door.

Sanji felt like the happiest man in the entire world.

He is the happiest man in the world.

Being with you the past few weeks, Sanji had never felt more alive. You surround everything around him, whether it be from the dishes he cooks you or the music you play for him on a daily basis. Sanji could never get enough of you, you occupied every single one of his thoughts.

I got lucky, thought Sanji as he watched you dance with his friends. The bonfire was brightly lit, reflecting an orange tint on not only you but all of his friends. This was beautiful, almost like a scene taken straight out of a movie.

Sanji felt relieved that you got along well with his group of friends. He knew they were a bit much to handle, their personalities could be all over the place. He had remembered when he met Luffy at the Baratie, he was accompanied by Nami, Zoro and Usopp. It was a relatively small friend group before it expanded.

A few years ago, Sanji would've never imagined he'd have a big group of friends; ones who he considered his found family. Not that he didn't consider Zeff and the cooking crew at the Baratie his family. Zeff was his father-figure, the one who pushed him to befriend Luffy, to pursue his dreams and aspirations.

Now, here Sanji was, with his friends and lover, enjoying the beautiful night by drinking and dancing. He was content, so much so, he was sitting next to Zoro enjoying his beer. They were always at each other's throats; but tonight, they enjoyed each other's presence as they watched the others have fun.

"You sure are happier than ever before..." muttered Zoro, taking a drink from his beer. "For a second, I thought you were joking but you actually surprised me this time."

Sanji knew Zoro was referring to you.

"What can I say..." started Sanji, grabbing his lighter to light up a cigarette. "When you meet the right woman, it changes you."

Zoro chuckled. "I like her," said Zoro, watching his friends getting more and more drunk. You were struggling to hold Luffy and Nami as they leaned on you for support. The others laugh at their two friends' antics. "She doesn't take herself too seriously, plus, she's a doctor."

That being said, Luffy grabbed onto Usopp, trying to give him a hug. Both of them were drunk, and instead of hugging each other, their heads collided. You gasped and went to check on both of them to see if they were alright.

"Plus, looks like we need one," Zoro gestured to Usopp and Luffy.

Sanji laughed.

As the night progressed, most of Sanji's friends left one by one, leaving only the two of you. Both of you were sitting on the couch, exhausted from the fun night you two had.

"I think I should start heading home..." you sighed. Sanji could tell you didn't want to leave him.

He held you closer to him. "Why not just stay here for the night then, darling?" Sanji cooed in your ear, making you giggle.

You sighed, shaking your head hesitantly. "Can't, I have to do a lot of paperwork tomorrow. You know they will go crazy without me there."

Sanji felt a twinge of disappointment, but he did not let it ruin his mood. He understood how important your job was to you, he didn't want to get in the way of things. Although, by the way you acted, it didn't seem like you wanted to leave either.

You sat on top of your legs, looking at Sanji with a flustered look. You didn't really want to go, you had to make it clear to him. You leaned in towards Sanji, giving him a rather passionate kiss.

Sanji reciprocated the kiss, putting his hands on your cheeks to deepen it. His hands landed on your cheek, neck and then on your waist, putting you two in an intimate position. This felt heavenly, you roaming your hands on his chest made Sanji's whole world go up in flames.

This felt like a natural transition to something more; to sex. But who was Sanji if he didn't make sure his lady was absolutely sure about this? Sure about taking your relationship to the next level. Sanji broke the kiss, seeing as you were straddling on his lap. You gave him a cute pout, one which he found adorable.

"Ma chérie," started Sanji, placing his hand on your cheek. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

He could see your eyes full of nothing but lust and love for the man in front of you. You nodded shyly, but in a desperate manner, showing him just how much you wanted this without words.

"Sanji... I have never been more sure about something," you confirmed it for Sanji. "I'm ready."

And that's all Sanji needed to ravage you for the night. He made you feel so many emotions that night; love, passion and pleasure. He made it his mission to make this night only about you. Sanji wanted to show you how much you meant to him. Just how much your presence had changed his life. You made him feel special and loved, something Sanji had gone without for far too long in his life.

You looked absolutely beautiful in your afterglow. "I love you," you said in between moans.

Sanji felt his whole world being turned upside down. Hearing those three words were so foreign to him. His family never said that to him, in fact, emotions were not allowed in his house growing up. Now, the woman that he loved, who was sprawled out on his bed, was confessing her love to him.

Sanji felt overwhelmed by the sudden emotions that had hit him, he couldn't take it. How did you know? The words he needed to hear the most. Sanji felt tears well up, but he was too ashamed to let you see him cry. He buried his head on your neck, embracing you tightly and letting his tears run.

"I love you more, ma chérie."

"Finally, I am able to sit you down and have a proper talk with you..." the large man muttered. He had long blonde hair that reached his waist, a stupidly funny upwards mustache and thick blonde curly eyebrows.

Shit, Sanji really was his father's son. Out of all his siblings, he resembled his father the most. Sure, he had his mom's features passed down to him but there was no denying that the man in front of him was most definitely his father.

He chose not to meet his father's gaze, instead staring down on the floor. He could hear his older siblings cackling, Sanji knew his siblings saw him as pathetic.

"We want to expand Germa 66, establish ourselves as a powerful business," explained Judge, keeping his eyes on his son.

"Typical..." spat Sanji, clenching his fists. "So? What's that got to do with me?"

"I've met someone that could help me expand who can help us expand. But, she will only do it if someone marries her daughter."

Sanji was growing impatient listening to his father talk. If he was going to ask him to marry somebody else, the Judge was wrong. Sanji already had built his own life, one his father didn't help create. He had Zeff, his friend and most importantly, you.

"I didn't want to bother my sons about it, so I thought, what about Sanji?"

This man knew how to get under Sanji's skin.

"I always thought you were a failure, but it turns out, you'll actually be useful this time around," laughed Judge. "So, you're gonna go through with the wedding."

Sanji felt nothing but pure rage inside of him. Not only was the Judge embarrassing him in front of his siblings, but making a decision for him; one he did not decide.

"How dare you!" yelled Sanji, clenching his fists. "I will never go through with that marriage."

"Oh, is that so?" said Judge, mildly impressed by his son's outrage. It was almost as if he wasn't anticipating this sort of reaction from him, what a joke!

"I'm not asking you, I'm ordering you," spat Judge, crossing his arms. "If you don't, it'd be a shame if the restaurant you work in just so happened to get shut down."

No way, Judge was actually threatening to close down Zeff's restaurant. After he worked his ass off to build that place from the ground up, a place Sanji had spent most of his years in.

"You wouldn't dare...!" challenged Sanji. Even though he was putting on a tough exterior, he was feeling scared and helpless. The man who was so cruel to Sanji as a kid, the man who kicked his own son out to fend for himself. Now, he was ordering him to accept this marriage like it was nothing?

No, Sanji had vowed to get married to you, the person he truly loved. His mind, body and soul belonged to you, not this random person he never even saw.

"How about that girl you're seeing," said Judge. It was almost as if he was reading Sanji's mind. "She seems like a nice lady and I hear she's a doctor too. Would be a shame if all her hard work was crushed by a simple call I could make."

This was going too far, even for them. Sanji could hear his siblings snicker, all of them enjoying the scene that was unfolding before their very eyes. Of course they would find this amusing, Sanji's brothers never held any sympathy towards him. His eyes landed on Reiju, the only one who was not laughing. She avoided Sanji's stare, looking defeated as she watched her father strip away her brother's life right in front of his eyes.

"Just accept the inevitable, failure!" laughed Yonji, Sanji's youngest brother.

This was crossing the line, threatening Zeff and threatening you? The love of his life, the person he stayed up all night talking to about his dreams. No, Sanji couldn't risk being selfish. Not when Zeff's business was on the line alongside your career. You had busted your ass day and night, you would avoid sleeping and eating just to get where you were.

There was no other choice, Sanji was backed into a corner. All he wanted to do was cry but held the tears in, knowing his father and brothers would use that to berate him even further.

With a defeated look, Sanji could only stare into the abyss as he said, "I... will go through with it. Just don't bring them into this mess."

Sanji knew how horrible his family could be and their threats were no joke. They were willing to use their positions of power just to get what they wanted. He wasn't gonna let you fall victim to his family, even if it meant hurting you in the process.

Sanji could see your whole world crashing down before his very eyes. It took you a minute to process what he had told his friend, what he had told you.

"I'm getting married, I'm cutting ties with all of you," spat Sanji.

This wasn't like him. Sanji never spoke to his friends in such a condescending way. Sure, he got annoyed by their antics from time to time but it was never enough to justify lashing out at them. He felt his heart rip in two as he watched your eyes well up with tears.

Luffy and Nami stood in shock, outraged by Sanji's behavior. Luffy shook his head, refusing to accept what his friend was saying.

"How dare you say that!" yelled Luffy. "You're supposed to get married to her!"

Sanji was grateful that you had Luffy to defend you. You looked so broken, he couldn't bear to see you any longer. He knew he wouldn't be able to go through with it if he continued seeing you in pain. You didn't say anything, but your body language said enough. You were hoping this was a dream-a nightmare-you could get out of.

"Sanji!" Nami yelled out, Sanji looking at her. He felt the palm of her hand collide with his cheek. The stinging sensation was brutal, but it was nothing compared to the sight of an angry Nami. Sanji knows he failed her, she doesn't need to say it.

"You promised me, Sanji," cried Nami. He had promised to not hurt you, now here you were, crying.

Luffy was comforting you, making sure you were alright. You hadn't spoken a word, screamed or cried, you just stood there lifeless. Sanji knew he had broken your heart, but it was for the best. That's what he wanted to believe, that you were better off without him. You wouldn't have to suffer because of him.

Nami made her way to you, and together with Luffy, guided you away from Sanji. He couldn't help but let the tears overflow as he watched the love of his life leave him. Just when he thought he had a chance at happiness, it was just as quickly diminished.

I'm sorry, was the only thing Sanji kept repeating to himself inside his head.

A few weeks have gone by and Sanji felt like his soul was already sucked dry. Sanji wanted nothing more than to escape this cursed wedding, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't avoid it. Every waking day, Sanji was reminded how much of his life was taken away. He missed his friends, but most importantly, he missed you.

Sanji missed going to visit you at the hospital you worked at. He missed the surprise visits you do when he worked at Baratie. How much he loved cooking for you, every meal made out of nothing but his love.

Now, he was making a meal for his fiancée, Pudding, the woman Sanji was forced to marry. She was a nice girl, but she was nothing like you. You had a certain charm about you that Sanji found adorable. He just couldn't help but compare Pudding to you at every corner.

Like the meal he had made for Pudding for the picnic was nothing like what he would cook for you. You had your own special meal that Sanji was accustomed to, now he had to memorize a new one that wasn't even for you.

Sanji watched Pudding as she giggled, telling him a story that he wasn't listening to. He didn't mean to be rude, he was just so busy in his thoughts he blocked the whole world around him. He knew that the date was going fine, Pudding was enjoying herself.

For a short moment, Sanji enjoyed the scenery around him. There was a beautiful lake and the sun was out. Sanji saw from the corner of his eyes a familiar figure walking up towards the bench in front of the lake.

It was you.

For the first time in weeks, Sanji felt happiness fill all over him. He hadn't seen you in a long time, he was finally able to say hi to you and how much he missed you. It's almost as if he had forgotten what he put you through. Sanji was forced to come back down to reality, watching as two familiar friends sat down beside you on the bench; it was Nami and Luffy.

Sanji wasn't able to see your face, but he could tell by the way Nami was hugging you and the way Luffy put his arm around you; you were still hurt by the events that happened weeks prior. Sanji's heart ached as he heard from afar you sniffle and Pudding calling out for him. Good thing he was too far away to draw attention to himself, but there was a dark looming feeling that floated over his head.

One of guilt, regret and sadness all combined together. Guilt for the way he made you feel, promising not only to you but to his friend Nami, that he would never hurt you. Regret that he had to leave his father figure, his friends and you behind all in favor for this sham of a marriage.

Sanji was so sure about his decision. He didn't want anyone coming after you just to get back at him. He promised you he was doing you a favor by making you stay away from him and his cursed family.

But seeing as you cried your heart out to Nami and Luffy, Sanji couldn't help but think that he had made a crucial mistake. One that he was afraid he could never undo.

if this gets enough love, i might do a part two (─‿‿─) tag list: @hellotamatoe and @somiawn, thank you for your guys support ♡5

#vinsmoke sanji #one piece sanji #one piece live action sanji #sanji x reader #sanji imagine #sanji fanfic #sanji fanfiction #vinsmoke sanji x reader #one piece sanji imagine #one piece sanji x reader #one piece live action sanji x reader #op!lasanji x reader #opla #opla x reader #one piece #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #opla sanji #angst

[lyomeii]

jujutsu kaisen ladies (pt.1)

➺ characters: shoko ieri, nobara kugisaki and mei mei.

➺ warnings/notices: lightly yandere themes, manipulation, obsession, isolation, mentioned kidnapping, arranged marriage, mentioned violence, shoko smoking, codependency in mei mei, lightly spoiler from manga (you if you notice of course).

➺ a/n: i love women and there is almost zero content about them around tumblr in the x reader, so I’m making my part.

shoko ieiri

-> her unhealthy behavior is easily hide with her cool and nonchalant attitude. yet, there is a small hint in her eyes whatever you approach her after working to either offer a coffee to help her stay awake after a long shit or just to talk. it’s a sweet view to see shoko smiling at you as her hands slowly holds your at any chance, her slender figures caress your skin and always make you blush like crazy.

-> being close to shoko means that you got used to her smoke habits, specially when is just her around and despite loving it, she will never ever offer you one and you better not ask it. aside from her habit being almost daily, she is often surprised by how much you are willingly to spend time with her. you sometimes cough or wears masks just be closer to her, how adorable.

-> during her days off (which isn’t common), she just loves spend at her place with you. sleeping till late at bed with the two of you cuddling as the sun hits your face through the window. her soft brown eyes staring at your sleeping form while her soft hand caress your lips, wanting to steal a kiss when you wake up soon.

nobara kugisaki

-> it’s hard to nobara to admit that she fell in love with you at first sigh when you step in the tokyo high as a transfer from kyoto. she claimed you as a rival and the right hand of mai, making it a funny experience for you as she often tried to ‘defeat’ you during trainings as well showcase her abilities when possible. making it a lovely scene to everyone present, the spitfire and the calm together.

-> as the two of you get closer, nobara gets more embarrassed to be around you. her cheeks going red whatever you speak directly at her or when you cleaned the dirty of her face after a mission, making your face so closer to hers…she almost kissed you there, but she didn’t as everyone was watching the two of you. one day, as everyone was gone for a mission, leaving the two of you at the dorms alone, nobara decided to take things further with a kiss. holding your face as the two of you were watching a movie, she pressed her lips against yours and ran out of the room, leaving you completely alone after such act. she hides herself inside of the many classroom of the school as you began searching for her.

-> despite the many times you yelled for her name, nobara stood quietly as she hides herself inside a locker. hearing that you accept her feelings and you return it made her almost open the closet, yet a feeling of shame was inside her heart…will it change the friendship with her? after minutes of hiding, nobara step out and the two of you accept dating her, now she wishes to spend the rest of her life with you regardless of the time you have together with her.

mei mei

-> money. that’s how she got you in the very first place, she hired you as some type of personal assistant to take care of her finances and others things, making it easy to interact with you in daily bases without any problems or suspicious. now as you work as her assistant, you’ve to know everyone about mei mei, including her favorite foods (which you cook almost everyday), outfit for the day (you make sure to make her look perfectly) and of course, to take care of her place (like a stay-at-house spouse!). aren’t you so sweetie for her?

-> as much having a great salary from mei mei, you can’t feel weird about it, but you quickly choose to ignore it once she gave you a rise. now, with a bubbly smile you work hard everyday to make sure your boss is granted by your efforts in order to make you gains extra points and maybe extra credits for once you go shopping later. probably buying something to her too!

-> there are times that you wonder why people left you. mom and father don’t call anymore nor your friends, could it be that working for mei mei got your whole schedule? probably so, but it’s so pretty seeing her smiling whatever you finish doing her tasks or you are done with food and she kisses your lips as a thank you…are you even her assistant or something more? her hands on your waist as you clean the dishes and the sweet whispers of love before sleeping ok the same bed with mei mei, could it that you two are dating now?

@lyomeii stuff || don’t repost

#yandere headcanon #yandere imagine #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere female #yandere headcanons #jujustsu kaisen x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jjk #jjk x reader #jjk headcanons #shoko ieiri #shoko x reader #nobara x reader #nobara #mei mei #jjk mei mei #mei mei x reader #yandere nobara #yandere shoko #yandere mei mei #yandere female x reader #yandere x gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

[moris-auri]

Diamonds on the water

Summary: As one of Queen Alicent's ladies, she went undetected, a shadow at the back of the Green Queen. Most of the time. That is until she caught the eye of the Queen’s One-Eyed son. 

What happened after, well no one would ever truly know, would they? 

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x unnamed 

Word count: 4k

Warnings: NSFW 18+, oral (m receiving), smut, slight age difference, sub!Aemond, minor spit kink, praise kink, overstim, teasing, fingering, use of she/her, angst, spoilers for Fire and Blood (A Song of Ice and Fire)

A/N; just a little something i came up with at 4 am, and i hope whoever reads it likes it :) ty ty ty to @valeskafics for putting up with me ILY

The sun began to lower, dragging a slow trail down the sky as it was obscured behind the clouds, but not before it cast a glow onto the stones, rising just far up enough to catch on the Queen’s rich auburn hair, igniting the curls into a halo that framed her face.

Alicent let out a sigh of relief, the tension plaguing her fading bit by bit. “You have a healer’s hands," she said gratefully, the furrowed lines of her face smoothing as her eyes closed, a deeper sigh leaving her mouth.

She had quickly risen to the coveted position of being the Queen’s confidant and main handmaid after Talya had vanished in the dead of night. Her past was of little consequence in this place, and despite the curiosity of the other servants, she intended to keep it that way.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured, placing the bottle of scented oil back down after rubbing it into her temples and stepping away. Alicent smiled at her, brief and half-distracted, as she was more often than not, ruling the kingdom in her ailing husband’s stead. "Is that all, my Queen?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, thank you, my dear. You may go." Rising from the chair, Alicent Hightower nodded, that same distant smile on her mouth.  

“Of course, Your Grace.” She bowed her head, snuffing all but one candle on her way out. She had barely taken a step or two past the door when the faint taps of the heel of a boot sounded behind her. 

"Wait," a voice rang out behind her. Her skin prickled as she froze, skirts twisting around her legs as she spun around, eyes alighting on the tall figure of the Queen’s second son. 

“Prince Aemond,” she acknowledged, brow furrowing, curious as to what he was doing out here at this hour, more often than not breaking his fast with his mother, before or after he trained with Ser Criston.

Anxiousness slithered up her throat, knowing full well what happened if someone were to stumble across them. The knowledge that despite her status as the Queen’s lady, her word was nothing compared to his. The scores of other serving women who had left, all after having an unfortunate encounter with the Queen's eldest son proof of this.

His good eye focused on her, unsettling enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck rise. 

“You are attending my mother late,” his voice reverberated off the stone walls as he spoke quietly. “Is she well?” She nodded, glancing backwards.

"She is," she said, carefully keeping her voice low. He hummed in response, casting his eye over her head as he scanned the corridor behind her. 

She stiffened as his eye locked on her once more, the previously impassive expression he seemed to wear day in and day out changing to something a hairsbreadth more smug. 

Her uneasiness returned the longer he stayed silent, searching her face for something. She blinked in surprise as instead of speaking, he slid past her, the smell of smoke clinging to his clothes, wafting under her nose as his arm brushed hers, letting out a sigh of relief as she watched him slink into his mother’s chambers. 

A day passed. Then two, her days a loop of the same over and over, their encounter slipping from her mind as she attended to the Queen. 

The ratty, worn book slithered from her grasp, falling to the side as her head jolted, a pain forming in her neck, gaze fixed on the door, another rap sounding, a low muffled voice slipping under the bottom. She was thankful for the lateness, the darkness obscuring the color in her cheeks as the guard led her through the empty corridors, the directions he took as familiar to her as the back of her hand. 

Dread began to coil in her, settling like a stone low in her stomach. She didn’t look twice at the nameless guard in Targaryen heraldry as she stepped past him into the bedchamber, the lock of the door as loud as thunder as it closed behind her. 

"You summoned me," she said flatly. 

His head turned towards her as he let out a hum in the back of his throat but made no move to stand, turning his eye back on the flames dancing in the hearth, “I did.” 

“At the Hour of the Bat,” she retorted, the tension in her back loosening slightly as the fear of discovery lessened. "Could it not wait?'

"No," he said, letting out another low noise. An amused twist formed on his lips, fingers spread wide on the pages of the book balanced on his leg. 

Her ire grew, his silence only making her more agitated. She clasped her hands behind her, eyes moving around his chamber curiously. It was richly decorated, the walls covered by tapestry after tapestry, all of them having a dragon somewhere. Bookshelves sat along one wall, filled with the spines of books in a multitude of darker colors. Her eyes flicked lastly to his desk, situated halfway under one of the wide windows, the full moon illuminating the items scattered across the surface. 

“What do you want, my Prince?” she gritted out, subtly shifting on the balls of her feet.

“I have a request,” he finally spoke, his tone short and clipped. "If you would hear it," he set his book to the side, unfolding himself as he stood.

She watched as he moved closer, a gleam in her eyes, feeling like a cat did after trapping a mouse underfoot. Her eyes slid over him, taking in the painstakingly carved dragons pinned to the high collar of his tunic, going lower and lower till they fell on his boots, just as richly made as the rest of his clothing. 

“Oh?”

He swallowed, drumming his fingers against his legs, a flicker of something igniting in his eye. Self-doubt, most like. 

"I know of the acts," he started, drawing her attention back to his face. “Between a man and woman, but-” 

"But not the act itself,” she finished, wariness returning. “You want to learn," she said calmly, keeping her expression blank, “And you want me to teach you.” 

A small part of her, one that she had pushed and buried in the deepest recesses rose again, her shame clashing with her pride and her disgust battling with her curiosity. 

“Yes.”  

Her face betrayed nothing of the thoughts whirling inside her head, knowing full well the consequences, “My position-” 

“Will not be affected,” he assured solemnly. 

Her eyes darted over his face, not believing him for a second. 

“Of course,” she swallowed, moving the few quick steps needed to reach the jug of wine that sat on the table situated in the corner, pouring the dark liquid into two separate cups, "Tell me,” she said as she handed one to him, her fingers brushing his, “What do you know of a woman's pleasure?" her gaze centered on his face, studying him. 

“Very little,” he admitted stiffly, biting his cheek. He clenched the cup tighter, knuckles going white around the base of it. 

He didn't lift his head, eye focused on the contents swirling in his cup.

"It is an art, the pleasure a woman can bring to a man. And a man to a woman," she murmured, letting out a low hum as she reached out to run her fingers over his hair, the firelight outlining him in bright tones of yellow and orange and red. 

“You only have to know where to look. What books to leaf through,” she dragged her hand down the length of his arm, the leather of his tunic soft and well worn and supple under her palm. The warm tones only added to his almost otherworldly beauty in a way she was wholly unaccustomed to. His bright silver hair draped over his shoulders, pale as snow against the black of his overcoat and a sole violet eye that tracked her movements with an unnerving, almost predatory precision.

His eye widened, a flush rising along the ridge of his cheekbones, disappearing underneath his collar. 

"I've no taste for depravity-" his sharp protest faded when she nipped at the shell of his ear, slowly unwinding his belt from around his slim hips.

"Is that what you think it is? Depravity and sin and lust?" She burst into laughter, unable to help herself. 

He clearly was not amused, face twisted in fury as he stared at her, taking her laughter as nothing more than a mockery of him.

"On the Street of Silk, yes, but here…." she batted his hands away when he tried to redo the belt loop, the back of her hand brushing against the front of his breeches; she let his belt fall to his feet, "There is more to it than that. Much more." 

She left him at that, seeing the first flickerings of dawn beginning to push past the dark, not wanting to get caught in the rush of servants who would be rising soon, sending a wicked smile his way as she glanced at him from over her shoulder, his eye boring into her skin as she slipped out the door.

Like a spider that had ensnared some hapless insect in its web, the Prince seemed drawn to her by a nearly invisible string. As if the gods themselves smiled down at them, his nightly summons went unnoticed, always at the time when the castle was pitch dark, those who resided behind the red stones laying asleep and oblivious in their beds. 

Alone in his chambers, the tension that seemed to radiate throughout him during the times he stood with his mother and his siblings all but disappeared, snuffed out like a blown out flame as he let her have control over him, their roles reversed in the quiet darkness of his rooms. 

"Do you trust me?" Prince Aemond nodded, jerking his head up and down, "Good," she praised, moving with a languid, easy grace, she reached behind her and curled the laces of her gown around her finger, pulling them till the garment pooled around her ankles. 

Her chemise followed, leaving her bare to his gaze. He let out a low noise in the back of his throat, the color that had been in his cheeks spreading to the tips of his ears. He swallowed thickly, shifting on his feet, his discomfort plain at the praise, not knowing what to make of it.  

“Pretty, pretty boy,” she crooned, making his breath catch and his eye widen. 

She stepped closer to him, hearing the halt and catch of his breath. Color flooded his cheeks, rich and dark against the paleness of his skin. She pressed her mouth to his softly, tangling her fingers in his hair, her grip gentle yet firm. 

He groaned against her mouth, his hands rising to dig into her sides. 

"Ah, ah-" she chided, pressing her fingers against his mouth, "I did not say you could touch me yet, did I?" 

His eye narrowed as he bit his lip, chest rising and falling rapidly, his eye nearly black with lust, eye as wild as she’d ever seen it. 

Barely a minute later his lips sought hers again, his other hand sliding up to tangle in her hair. 

His cock lay against his thigh, already half-hard and weeping, drops of pre-cum beading at the tip of it, "Will you listen to me now?" 

His breath grew heavier as he gasped, eye squeezing shut, "Yes," he gasped out, pupil blown wide. 

He cursed, some half rasped phrase that she knew without a doubt would leave his mother horrified.

"Good boy," she released him, trailing her fingers up his body; curling a hand around his jaw, she tilted his head up, "Open," he obeyed almost instantly, throat bobbing as he swallowed, unraveling further under her. She tilted her head, teasing him more as she dragged her cunt over his cock. “Do you pray?” she rasped, dragging her hips up and back down against him, the sharp lines of the bones flush under his skin digging into her flesh. 

“Kessa-” he gasped, slipping into Old Valyrian effortlessly as he bucked his hips upwards. 

She had never heard the language before. It tumbled from his mouth, low and rasping and breathless, pretty, even, when he spoke it. 

“What do you pray for?” she grinned down at him. She could feel everything, from the sweat that dripped down the back of her neck to the ache between her thighs. “Her Grace, the Queen? Or your sister?” she rolled her hips, pleased at his reaction. 

The noises he made were just as lovely as any music a bard made, if not prettier, a plethora of keens, moans and unrestrained whines coming from the back of his throat. 

"Tell me." 

She began to draw random shapes into his skin, watching as the muscles of his stomach jumped under the featherlight touches of her fingers. 

"Louder," she crooned, pulling her fingers away. "I want to hear you." 

He whimpered at her words, but obeyed her nonetheless, drawing a sharp inhale in through his nose as he twitched, his eye nearly rolling back into his head as he watched her, “Kessa, kessa, please-”  

His mumbles suddenly stopped as he fell from Old Valyrian back to the Common Tongue, desperation on his face, “Shh,” she hushed, pulling away from him far enough to slide one hand over the curving line of his jaw. 

She brushed the hair that wasn’t sticking to his skin back, the pale strands curling slightly. She’d tended to Alicent Hightower’s hair enough to see the only evidence in him and his siblings of her Hightower blood. 

He moaned, back arching off the bed as his fingers scrabbled uselessly for purchase, chasing a relief that hovered just slightly out of reach. 

It was intoxicating, this game of cat and mouse she played with the rider of the largest dragon in the realm, watching him turn to putty beneath her attention as the days passed into weeks and months. 

“What are you doing in here?” 

She whirled, the book in her hand falling to the floor at her feet, her eyes widening at the sight of Alicent hovering in the doorway, a bewildered look on her face, “Your Grace, I’m-” 

Dread pooled in her stomach, stronger than anything she’d felt before. Clothed in nothing but her shift, she felt exposed and vulnerable. 

“I set half the Keep searching for you when you weren’t in my chambers at dawn.” 

Displeasure coated her voice, her nerves stretched and drawn thin. The entire keep had been on its toes the past few days, the arrival of the Princess Rhaenyra and her husband looming over everyone’s heads. 

Whatever she had meant to say next died on her lips, her eyes following her son as he came around the corner. She could feel the warmth of his lean frame flush against her back as he looked at his mother over her head, one hand settling on her hip. 

“Mother.”

“Have you-” her voice got shriller and shriller as her composure shattered, eyes staying on her son and her handmaiden, “I ought to have you dismissed for this-” she snapped.

“Mother. That is enough,” Aemond said back, his gaze sharp as he stared down at her, said sharpness bleeding into his voice, softening slightly when his mother flinched, “You will do no such thing.” 

"And yet she is in your chambers," Alicent's gaze raked over her, eyes full of anger. "Half clothed too. Are you bedding her?"

"I am." 

He refused to say more, the long line of him at her back as stiff as a board. The Queen pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, fighting back a sob. 

“I expected this from Aegon, but from you?” Alicent began to wring her hands, picking at the skin of her fingers anxiously, “The shame of it-” she muttered under her breath, beginning to pace, skirts near silent on the stones, “This does not leave this room,” she hissed, raising a slightly trembling finger to be level with her son’s face, “I will overlook this,” she said, frowning, “But if I hear so much as a whisper, I will not hesitate to send her away.” 

“You won’t. I am not Aegon.” 

It was the only promise he was willing to give. Alicent looked at her a final time, the anger that had been on her face before now gone, the only tell of her displeasure was the subtle tightening of her mouth before she swept out past the door. 

A new stilted stiffness arose between her and the Queen after that day. Where conversation had once flowed freely, silence reigned. Silence and the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that something was coming. What that was, she knew not. 

She supposed she should’ve been grateful that her arrangement with the Prince had not changed. She, if she was being truthful, had grown quite fond of having him a writhing, moaning mess beneath her as he pleaded and begged and demanded for more, more, more. 

She would know half a moon later when the King dies. 

She didn't so much as flinch when the familiar telltale creak and groan of the door opened, dim light from the torches spilling into the dark as Aemond stepped further into his chamber. She glanced at him, taking note of the incensed expression on his face, and the labored rise and fall of his chest as he breathed and the vein ticking in his clenched jaw. 

"What is it?" 

“My brother,” he said mulishly, his mood sullen. 

She waited for him to say more, turning back to dragging a comb through her hair when he didn’t. She could practically sense the annoyance and the irritation in his voice, only speaking again when he didn’t.

“What of him?”

“He is King now, the wretch,” bitterness dripped from his every word, so potent she could almost taste the rage and the fury that coated his insides like honey, “King of the Seven Kingdoms,” he continued tersely, shucking off his tunic and tossing it over the back of a chair, "And he would rather squander valuable coin on whores and wine instead of rule,” he grit his teeth, fury bright in his eye. 

"Ah." 

She knew of Prince Aegon's proclivities, of course, for who didn’t? The prince, King now, had three children by his sister-wife, and yet he still ventured into the city to sate his urges. 

The sound of him coming closer got louder, stilling inches behind her, “I need you,” his hand settled like an anchor against the back of her neck, heavy and unpleasant. 

“No,” she kept still, sitting frozen on the chair, feeling his hand slide away. 

She mustered up enough courage to turn around. She tilted her head back, meeting his eye, unyielding in the face of his anger. 

“No?” he blinked, taken aback. 

She doubted anyone had ever denied him, going by the look on his face, his disbelief slowly giving way to anger. And not the loud kind, either. No. It was the quiet kind, the kind that thrived in the dark. In harsh inhales and even harsher exhalations of air. 

“You heard me,” she could see it, the rage slowly beginning to simmer beneath his skin, “Do I need to repeat myself?” 

If she were anyone else, her head would have decorated the city gates by now, daring to speak to him like that, but she wasn’t.

"You dare-" he snarled, glaring at her. 

Every inch a dragon, his fury should have frightened her, but it didn’t. She kept her eyes on his, tempted to raise an eyebrow at him, unimpressed as she was, filled with bravery or stupidity as she spoke. 

"I do dare," she breathed against his ear, lowering her hand between their bodies to wrap her fingers around his cock, making his angry hiss turn into a low moan, "Out there," she made a gesture towards the door with her hand to signify her point, "You may be Prince Regent, but here, you are mine," she grinned slyly. 

His breath hitched at her boldness, the anger in his eye shifting to lust he kept his gaze on her. 

"The question that remains," she murmured, touching his arm lightly. He leaned into it, a ragged breath leaving him as his eye closed, "Is if you meant to kill him?" 

He had not been back from Storm’ End for more than a day at most, his return met not with pleased faces, but horror and a herald of what was to come. The shadow of the Stranger loomed over all of them, slipping closer and closer before striking at the heart of them. 

The murder of Aegon II’s heir. Jaehaerys had been quiet, the little six fingered boy speaking as little as his twin, if not less, the grief of it sending his mother spiraling into madness, withering away.  

He bit his lip as a flash of horrified realization danced across his face. He hesitated, mouth opening as if he meant to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. 

"I don't know," he stared down at his hands blankly, as if there was blood on them that only he could see, "I taunted him," he croaked out, "Told him to cut his eye out as payment for the one he took from me. That I'd make a gift of it to my mother." 

He swallowed, curling his hands into fists. 

She chose her next words carefully, standing next to him warily, "What did he do, Aemond?" 

Too locked within his mind to care, he didn't notice her slip up, "He refused," his face twisted, agonized, "He refused, and I named him a craven and a traitor. Chased him through the skies," she rounded on him, her breath faltering in her chest as she dreaded his next words, “I fought to control Vhagar, but-” she grasped his shoulders, briefly meeting his eye before drawing him to her. 

No matter what they did, war and death and blood would always be an outcome, attempts and hopes for peace scattering like flower petals on the wind. 

Aemond was dead. The words rang in her ears as hollow as a drum. 

Disbelief, as potent as a sword buried hilt deep in her belly, edged its way through her, the pain of it dragging and scraping at her insides. She heard the talk of the smallfolk that had drifted from mouth to mouth until it reached the city of his death at the hands of his uncle. He’d wanted her to come with him, the manner of how he tried to convince her failing as she refused over and over to leave the Queen, just as bound by duty as he was. 

And now he was dead. He and the dragon he had lost an eye for, doomed to a watery grave unbefitting for a son of House Targaryen. In the eyes of some, it was a more than fair exchange, a son of Alicent’s blood for the one Rhaenyra had lost. 

“Stay. Please.” 

“You loved him, as I did-” Alicent lunged forward, clutching at her hands tightly, her rich brown eyes glittering with tears, “I know it in my bones. Tell me you did. Please.” Grief and bereavement clung to her like a shroud, the loss of three of her four children having all but broken her, leaving her a withered wraith of the woman she’d been, "I remember the sickness that took my husband and my child from me." 

There was an ache inside of her, one that had never truly gone away. It rose up again, bringing with it the half-faded memories of a child’s laughter and the smell of flowers and newly tilled earth. 

“That is the grief of motherhood, to love our children as best we can,” she turned around to face Alicent head on, carrying the same grief that lingered in the Dowager’s eyes.

“I did not love him,” she admitted, stilling feet from the entry, “But I did care for him in my own way,” her vision blurred, hands trembling as she remembered the night before he’d left, choking as she remembered the words he had said. 

And the ones he hadn’t.  

She had reveled in the control she’d held over him at the beginning, the way it had morphed and changed and shifted into something different as he came to her again and again. Something deeper that she couldn’t name. 

There had been a desperation to him as he’d touched her, a fervent near feral wildness in his eye as he’d kissed her, dragging his hands from her thighs to her hips to her breasts, squeezing her flesh hard enough to leave marks in some places. 

She had returned it in kind, scratching her nails down his back, watching with glassy eyes as his back arched. The pained moan he let out when she bit his shoulder. His grunt as she dug her heels into his back, holding him as he lay in the cradle of her thighs, ears full of nothing but the loud, lewd sounds of his skin against hers, panting as she fell apart under him. 

Later still, after the dust had settled in the ashes of the war, she reflected. Day and night she had sat at the bedside of the dying Queen, feeling the beginnings of winter fever crawl into her bones and settle into her lungs, the room silent except for the hoarse whispers of Alicent Hightower as she whispered the names of the four children she had birthed and loved and lost over and over and over.

She hoped she would see him again, If it were possible, raised as she was to believe in the Seven, her experiences as she grew proving nothing to her but the knowledge that they were known more for their apathy than they were for kindness.

#aemond fic #my fics #aemond x original character #aemond smut #house of the dragon #hotd fics #asoiaf