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incandescentlysomething · 29 days

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Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 1

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 7390

She was his everything... For her...he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

A/N: Canon compliant but things change around. Currently cross-posting on A03. Will be approximately 12 chapters aligning with season 1.

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

115 AC

On the second day of August, in the year 115 AC, the worst storm in a hundred years swept through King’s Landing. Ships smashed against each other in the harbor, livelihoods and people being whisked away by the tossing waves. The maesters — or the bolder ones anyway — whispered that the gods were unhappy with the Westeros, or specifically, with the ruling family. But those whispers were silenced almost immediately, for this was King’s Landing after all, the very seat of Targaryen power.

Rhaenyra Targaryen watched the storm from her window, one hand braced against each wall, her face being bathed by the pounding rain. Her maids had begged to close the shutters to conserve some of the warmth in her room, but she would not have. Her labors had been ongoing for nearly a full day, and only the sound of the wind and the cool spray of the rain could calm her as she breathed through the pain. From her spot high above the city, she could see clay tiles being ripped from their roofs, and in some places entire buildings were collapsing. It shouldn’t have been calming, but it was a welcome distraction and a stark reminder of her place in this world.

“Please, Princess,” her midwife pleased with her. “You must keep warm.”

“I am plenty warm!” Rhaenyra snapped, “and I will stay where I damn please.” As if summoned by her anger, another painful contraction rippled through her abdomen.

She could hear the midwife turn to one of her maids, beseeching the woman to find her husband. Rhaenyra let out a scoff. Since they had returned from their yearlong sojourn to Dragonstone, during which time she had entertained her uncle Daemon and his wife, Laenor had taken to spending time with one of the knights of the house. He was no uncaring nor unfeeling, but she doubted he felt any guilt about sheltering elsewhere in the city while his wife labored.

A door opened behind her. “The Queen wishes for news of the Princess.”

Rhaenyra groaned loudly, feeling the child move lower. She could hear her maid speaking in hushed tones to the intruder, assuring her of the steady progress of the birth. It didn’t feel steady. In fact, it felt rather like being torn in two.

A heavy gust of wind pelted her face, and she found she could breathe easier under the onslaught. It was a necessary distraction from the conversation happening behind her, which was in itself an echo of the same conversation that had been happening every hour on the hour for the past day. She should have expected it. Alicent had been even more of a presence when Rhaenyra had labored with Jace, insisting that her own maids be present to ‘assist the Princess’. It had been for that very reason that, following the birth of her son, Rhaenyra had withdrawn her family to Dragonstone. But there would be no escaping Alicent this time.

Something smashed against the stone walls, and Rhaenyra screamed as another contraction hit her. She was not made for this. What did it say about her, that she was bringing her child into the world on such a day?

Queen Alicent Hightower paced in her chambers, bundled in a fur as the fire roared to keep the chill of the wind out of her room. The windows in her rooms had been boarded up immediately after the King’s, and she had ordered her children be brought to her. They played on the floor now, Aegon with a small collection of wooden knights, and Aemond and Helaena looking over a book of insects.

The Hand of the King, Lord Otto Hightower, sat at her desk, putting pen to a stack of letters that had amassed in the past week. They both turned when the doors opened and Alicent’s maid, Talya, stepped inside.

“The Princess’ labors are nearly finished,” Talya announced. “The midwife expects the babe within the hour.”

Alicent picked at her fingernail. “Have it brought to me and the King as soon as possible,” she ordered, “so that we might offer our congratulations.”

Talya curtsied and left the room.

Congratulations were far from Alicent’s mind, thought she knew her husband, who was sequestered in his own rooms to work on his model, would be anxious to see his grandchild. Alicent, too, was not without sympathy for the Princess, who had returned from her months away heavily pregnant and now labored alone in her chambers. But the birth of Rhaenyra’s first son had all but confirmed rumors of adultery, and Alicent was anxious to see if the second would lend further proof to the theory.

“I wish she had summoned a maester,” she said, half to herself. “So we might trust she is in good hands.”

“Her first son arrived without issue,” Otto said, seeming bored with his daughter’s worry. “Put it from your mind.”

But how could she? Rhaenyra’s child it might be, and Jacaerys too, but Alicent could not, by the light of the Seven or her own love for her own children, see a bastard seated on the throne. But that did not mean she wished for Rhaenyra to suffer in childbirth.

“Will the dragons be alright in the storm, mother?” It took her a moment to realize who had spoken. Aemond, her third child, looked up from his book, eyes shining in concern for the creatures he loved more than anything. Aemond was…a soft child, though she knew it delighted her husband to see him so enamored with the dragons and his Targaryen heritage. Alicent struggled to imagine a place for Aemond if Rhaenyra’s children were to succeed the throne, soft and sensitive as he was.

“They have survived far more difficult storms than this,” she assured him. “They will be fine.”

Aemond gave her a relieved smile, flipping the page for Helaena.

“What do you care?” Aegon sneered. “You don’t even have one.”

“I have an egg!” Aemond protested.

“It’ll never hatch,” Aegon laughed.

Aemind stood and ran from the room, tears already brimming in his eyes. Alicent sighed, moving to go after him. Some version of this argument was a near weekly occurrence between her two sons, and she struggled to decide if it was childish rivalry or if it represented something deeper.

“Let him be, Daughter,” Otto cautioned. “Boys must work through these things on their own.”

The urge to comfort her son already fading, Alicent resumed her pacing. She needed to be ready when news of the birth came. Through the cracks in her boarded up window, she could see rolling gray clouds in the distance.

Prince Aemond had managed to stop crying by the time he emerged from the tunnels and into the Princess’ Tower. He knew there were many passageways in the castle, but he was only aware of the ones that led from his room, as they afforded him the opportunity to seek out his freedom, and to hide his tears. He was embarrassed to admit, event at the tender age of five, how often he wept behind these cold stone walls.

It wasn’t fair how Aegon treated him, and it wasn’t fair that he had a dragon. Aegon might love Sunfyre, but he didn’t love dragons the way that Aemond did. He didn’t pour over stories of Old Valyria, trying to learn things that seemed impossible for a boy of his age. He deserved a dragon. He was ready for it.

Even Helaena, who did not have a dragon, had her love of science and bugs and all crawling things. It wasn’t proper, or terribly interesting to Aemond, but at least she had something. The only thing he had ever really loved or wanted, continued to be out of his reach.

He hadn’t meant to come to the Princess’ Tower, but it seemed to be the one place in the Red Keep with any type of activity. His mother usually forbade the children from playing here, wanting to keep them far away from his elder half-sister for some reason he didn’t quite understand. And if he wasn’t going to be allowed to go outside and see the dragons, which his mother had strictly forbidden, then he must find entertainment elsewhere.

Two maids scurried past his hiding place. “The babe is here, but the Princess has asked us to delay so that she might compose herself.”

This interested Aemond. He knew that his mother had ordered the babe to be brought to her immediately, though he didn’t understand why. Surely a babe was still a babe an hour after its birth as much as a few minutes? But the babe was here, and he was here, which meant he might get a chance to see his new niece or nephew before his mother and Aegon did.

His mind made up, he ducked out from behind the tapestry and marched up the stairs to his half-sister’s chambers, knocking sharply on the door. The chatter inside fell to silence, and he listened as a pair of footsteps moved toward the door.

A maid answered. “Prince Aemond?” She curtsied through her confusion. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“I wish to see the babe,” he declared, trying not to look like a little boy who had been crying not too long ago.

“My Prince, this is a birthing chamber, and it is not—”

“He may enter,” his half-sister’s voice carried, and it was all the invitation he needed to push around the maid (rather rudely, as his septa would tell him) and into the room.

Rhaenyra’s chambers were confusing to him. The window was wide open, and the sounds of the storm and a wicket chill swept into the room. Someone had stacked blankets at the base of the window to soak up all the rain coming through. Despite this, the fire was roaring in its hearth, nearly suffocating in its heat. Two women he had never seen before were rolling blankets stained with crimson into a bundle, while another was dumping red-tinged water from a metal tub out of the window. He blinked in confusion. That was more blood than he had ever seen in his life, even more than when Aegon had broken his nose with a practice sword.

His half-sister was reclined on her bed, propped up by pillows, a bundle of blankets in her arms.

“Are you injured, sister?” He asked, creeping forward and trying not to think of the blood. He might not be overly close with his half-sister, as she was much older and not liked by his mother, but he did not like to see anyone hurt.

“No more than is expected, Aemond,” she said, not exactly warmly, but with a fresh dose of kindness that made his press a bit closer. He thought she looked exhausted, and her hair hung in sweaty mats about his face. Perhaps it was very difficult to have a baby, if it made such a mess. “Would you like to meet your niece?”

“A niece?” he moved forward, drawn by his curiosity. “It’s not a boy then.” A shame, for he would rather have liked a new playmate.

“No,” Rhaenyra laughed. “But rather a beautiful little girl. And you may be the first to meet her.”

Aemond wrinkled his nose. “Is she like Helaena? I like her well enough, but she talks often of bugs.”

She laughed again, a bit more brightly. “She is too little to have interests yet, Aemond. She does not even have a name.”

A person with no name? Somehow, that was utterly fascinating to Aemond, and he boldly leaned over the bed, trying to peek at the bundle in Rhaenyra’s arms. He could not imagine a world in which he was not Aemond, and this little baby did not even have a name of her own.

“Here she is,” Rhaenyra smiled down at the bundle, before lifting it to where Aemond could see.

His mouth dropped open as he beheld the tiny babe. He had expected an ugly, messy thing, and while she might be a bit wrinkly, and slightly blue, she was absolutely perfect. Small enough that he could have easily lifted her, with slick silver hair plastered to her head, and a tiny white hand curled into a little fist. He was reminded of depictions of the Mother in the Sept, who was often shown cradling a small, impossibly beautiful baby.

“She’s pretty,” he said finally, though even he knew the word did not nearly suffice. “She doesn’t look like Jace.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Rhaenyra sounded a bit sad. “But I love her nonetheless.”

The baby cooed, and her tiny eyes blinked open, revealing a stunning shade of lavender more beautiful than anything Aemond had ever seen. She shuddered and stretched, her tiny, bird-like limbs shaking with the effort. Instantly, Aemond was flooded with worry for this little creature. How frightening it must be, to come into the world and meet so many strangers, all while a dreadful storm wailed outside. He wanted to keep her far from the world, to demand that his half-sister bar the windows and keep her locked away, warm and safe.

But that wouldn’t be fair to the babe. Aemond knew all too well what it felt like to be suffocated within stone walls, and this little one deserved to see everything. When she was bigger, he could take her to the dragon pit, where she might watch the dragons train with him. Perhaps she would enjoy hearing stories of Old Valyria, and he worried that he may not know them well enough to do them justice. But those thoughts were overcrowded by fear. They were plans for tomorrow, when this little bird did not, to him, look strong enough to last the day.

“She’s too little,” he protested. “Will she be alright?”

“She’ll be alright,” Rhaenyra promised. “But she might need to be protected and helped while she is still small. Could you…help me do that, Aemond?”

Aemond studied the babe for a long moment. “Mother said it is a bad omen for her to be born during a storm.”

Rhaenyra frowned. The babe kicked her legs, and Aemond boldly reached forward to tuck the blanket back around her.

“But I don’t think she’s right,” he admitted. “She’s like a little sunbeam on a cloudy day.”

Perhaps the little boy did not mean to be so poetic, but his words filled Rhaenyra’s heart with a little bit of hope. It was true that the babe did not look like Jace, for they did not share a father, but she was the picture of a Targaryen beauty. No one could deny that she was Rhaenyra’s, or that she was perfect. She was a worthy reward for such a difficult labor. Not even Aemond, it seemed.

“You know Aemond,” she began cautiously. “She does not yet have a name. Might you have a suggestion?”

“Me?” He was shocked. “What about Ser Laenor?”

“He isn’t here,” Rhaenyra’s voice was harsh. “Come, we mustn’t let this little one linger without a name of her own for much longer.”

That did seem to be a terrible injustice, in Aemond’s opinion. He struggled to think of a name as perfect as the little creature in front of him. It would have to be a Valyrian name, he decided, for she deserved one, and it would have to be beautiful and unique, only to her. He was struck by the realization that this was the most important thing he had ever done.

“What about Aelinor?” He suggested shyly.

Rhaenyra smiled, looking down on her baby. “I think that is perfect. Will you help my little Aelinor, Aemond? When the world is harsh and cruel, might she have you to lean on?”

Aemond could not imagine the world ever being cruel to little Aelinor — his Aelinor, he decided — but he made the promise anyway.

“I swear,” he said earnestly, vowing not only to himself, not to his half-sister, but to the precious thing in her arms. He lifted his hand and gently stroked one finger along her tiny arm, the skin impossibly soft and delicate beneath his touch. “I’ll become the strongest dragon rider in the world, so that I can protect you. I swear it.”

And for those few minutes, before news reached the Queen, Rhaenyra felt that the world might not have been as harsh as she knew it to be. Her daughter was healthy and beautiful, and already she was winning hearts. Little Aelinor was exactly what Aemond had said, a spot of sun on a dark day, and she was loved.

No one could ever have imagined that in the years and wars to come, it was tiny Aelinor, and her sworn protector, who would shape the future of House Targaryen.

119 AC

At the age of four, Princess Aelinor Velaryon ruled over the Red Keep like a little queen. Though not one for barking orders — she was both too meek and too shy for that — she found the castle filled with those resolved to fulfill her every whim. Never in her short life had she known a moment’s hardship, for such inconveniences were kept fiercely away by those who loved her.

Her mother, the Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, doted on her only daughter, even as she brought a second son into the world. Her daughter was the perfect image of her mother, in looks if not in temperament, and Rhaenyra was determined to keep her under her wing for as long as possible. The motives could not be entirely unselfish, for Aelinor alone of Rhaenyra’s children bore the look of a true Targaryen, and contributed heavily to the preservation of Rhaenyra’s reputation.

The Lord Laenor Velaryen, the girl’s father, found himself rather at odds with what to do with the girl. Though she did not resemble him in the slightest, he found her sweet, and reminded him of a calmer, meeker Laena. The reminder of his sister was enough to generate some fondness in his heart for the child, if it could not be called a true fatherly love. He did not spend much time with the girl (or indeed any of his children), but he made sure to always bring the child a bauble from his travels, and offer her a story should she ask.

King Viserys, her grandfather, doted on the child, whom he found to be the perfect image of his late wife, Aemma, and even Her Majesty the Queen could not find it in herself to hate the child. Not when little Aelinor so often looked up to Queen Alicent and declared her ‘beautiful like a faerie’.

The only true hardship in Princess Aelinor’s life came from her brothers, the Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon. Luc was young, and so it was most often Jace who took to bullying the young girl. It was difficult to say why, and perhaps that was why their mother did so little to stop it. It might simply have been the way of things with siblings, for Rhaenyra had none of her own. But many in the curt whispered that the boys had far darker motivations for taunting and teasing the little girl, even if the children themselves were unaware.

When Jacaerys pushed Aelinor from her chair so that he might sit next to the King, the court whispered ‘it is because she has the look of a Targaryen, and the boy does not’. And when Luc pulled her hair, they suggested that his jealously moved him to hurt the girl.

Aelinor loved her brothers though, and were she a little stronger or a little bigger, she would have teased them right back. She knew her brothers would never hurt her, not truly, and so she did not let herself be too bothered by their harassment.

Aelinor remained a happy child, through and through, in large part due to her best friend, for there was no one in the court, nor in her family, as devoted to her happiness as her beloved Aemond. On any given day, one could expect to see the young prince following behind the little princess like an ever-faithful shadow, quick to pick her up should she fall, to wipe away her tears, and fight her battles for her. For all the rumors of rifts between the factions of House Targaryen, their loyalty to each other seemed to bridge the gap of familial animosity.

“Aemond,” Aelinor said eagerly. “Can you tell me what you see?”

They were hiding in the rafters, in a space normally reserved for servants lighting chandeliers, spying on the feast and dancing taking place in the great hall below. It was Prince Aegon’s eleventh name day, and the dancing was expected to last right into the night. Aemond had been forced to attend for the first few hours, but had managed to sneak away and find Aelinor, who had been too young to be invited. Now they were hidden behind a wall on the upper level, Aemond tall enough to peer over and Aelinor trying to stand on her toes.

Aemond considered his answer. “What would you like to hear about? The dancing or the food?”

“The dancing!” She exclaimed. “Is it like in the stories?”

He knew which stories she was referring to. Aemond spent much of his time regaling Aelinor with the stories of Old Valyria, and while she loved tales of dragons and spells as much as he did (though he did tend to leave out some of the gorier details of blood magic), it was the great romances that really captured her young mind.

“The ladies are all spinning around, and their dresses are very fine,” he said. “And I can see that all of the lords are very much in love with them.”

Truthfully, he could only really see his mother, who danced with her uncle in the middle of the nearly-empty dancefloor. The hired musicians now played over the sound of drunken revelries, most of the guests draped over taples with tankards of ale in their hands. All of the other children had left by now, including Aegon, who had arrogantly boasted that he would stay up all night for his party. He also couldn’t see Princess Rhaenyra But Aelinor didn’t need to know any of that.

“I wish I could be down there,” the girl sighed, spinning around so that the edges of her bedrobe twirled outward. “I could meet a handsome prince.”

Aemond turned from watching the party, smiling down at her as she spun about. “Am I not handsome enough for you, Lina?”

Aelinor stopped then, looking very serious. “You’re the most handsome, even more handsome than your brothers or mine, or any of the princes in the stories.”

Aemond grinned. That was what he loved best about Aelinor. Even at the age of four, he knew without a doubt that she meant everything she said with every fibre of her being. As far as he knew, she had never even told a lie to anyone. She just loved and loved with her entire heart, and he felt grateful that she shared even a small piece of it with him.

“Come then, if you wish it, we shall dance,” he held out a hand, leading her through a clumsy imitation of one of the dances he had seen earlier. Aelinor held her skirt up with one hand and he whirled her around, careful not to let her trip over her dress.

“What’s your favorite part of the stories, Aemond?” She asked him, swaying from side to side.

He answered honestly. “I like the dragons. I like hearing about the bond between dragons and their riders, and how they became heroes and legends.” He was filled with a great sadness then, for her did not have a dragon of his own. Aelinor did, her little egg had hatched shortly after her birth, though she was too young to have done more than pet the hatchling.

“You’ll be the best dragon rider ever,” Aelinor promised. “I just know it.”

He didn’t doubt that she believed it.

“Do you want to know my favorite part, Aemond?” She asked, giggling as he swayed her from side to side.

“Of course, Lina.”

She sighed dramatically. “I like the happy endings, when the heroes bring their princesses a troven.”

“It’s a token, Lina,” he smiled. “And yes, I know you love the happy endings.” He was prone to adding happy endings to all his stories, knowing how much she loved them.

“Come now, it is time to get you to bed.” It was well past her bedtime, and Aelinor did not protest as he took her hand and returned her to her family.

Early the next morning, Alicent walked into her sitting room to find Aemond digging through one of her jewelry boxes.

“Aemond, whatever are you doing?” She glanced briefly at the breakfast table, where Aegon was slathering a fruit spread on a piece of bread, but chose to take nothing for herself.

Aemond didn’t reply, setting a gold chain to the side and continuing to dig. “Just looking for something.”

“Hm,” Alicent hummed. “Did you have fun with Aelinor last night?”

“Yes, we watched some of the dancing.”

His brother laughed, but Aemond chose to ignore it. He now had a selection of jewels set next to him on the table, and was continuing his hunt.

“Why are you laughing, Aegon?” Alicent asked.

Aegon snorted. “I just think it’s funny that Aemond hangs out with babies rather than acting like a man.”

This was rather funny, especially coming from a boy as flippant and juvenile as Aegon, but Alicent couldn’t deny that the thought had occured to her as well. Aemond was nearly nine, and his closest companion was a little girl of four. Aemond was already an odd child, and it didn’t bode well for him to be so distanced from his peers.

“Aelinor isn’t a baby, she’s special,” Aemond declared, spinning to face his mother, holding his palm outstretched. “Mother, may I have this.”

Balanced on his palm was a large sapphire, too large for him to close his fist around. It was roughly cut, and had been given to the Queen for her to choose its cut and setting herself, but she had never gotten around to it, preferring emerald tones over sapphire.

“For what?” She asked.

A red flush stained Aemond’s cheeks, and Alicent did not even need to hear his reply. “Are you sure, Aemond? That is a very large gem, and she’s very little.”

Aemond held it tightly in his fingers. “Please. She loves treasure.”

That was a gross underestimation of Aemond’s motivations. Yes, Aelinor did love treasure as much as any little princess, but the truth was, her sleepy mumblings about heroes and tokens had rattled around his brain all night. She had called him a handsome prince, and he felt he needed to do something to earn it.

“Please?” He repeated.

Alicent considered her next words carefully. On one hand, she did not want the court to hear of her passing a gift of such value to the Princess Rhaenyra’s family. Or rather, she did not want her father to hear of it. But she had no real attachment to the stone, having already forgotten which visiting lord or lady had gifted it to her, and it might serve to address what she saw as the larger concern.

“Very well,” Aemond’s face erupted in glee, “but you must make me a promise.”

“Anything!” He exclaimed.

“From now on, you will join Aegon for his morning lessons. That means with the maesters some days, and in the training yard on others.”

“What?”

“Why?” Aegon demanded.

Alicent held up a hand to silence both of her sons. “You’re not as little as you were, Aemond. This is important.”

“But Aelinor —”

“Aelinor must also study with her Septas,” Alicent said. “Do I have your agreement?”

Aemond looked a bit dejected, but nodded slowly. “I promise.”

“Well, I don’t even want him to train with me!”

The next day Aelinor had to hunt for Aemond throughout the castle. He wasn’t waiting outside her door when she awoke, nor was he in the library, picking out a new story for her. It took her nearly an hour to find him in the most unlikely of places.

He was testing out the different practice swords, trying to see which felt the least foreign in his hand, when Aelinor emerged on the walkway above the training yard. Ser Harwin Strong lifted her easily, carrying her down the steps and setting her down on a flat stone. His efforts were futile, for she immediately leapt off and splashed through the mud to reach Aemond.

“Are you going to learn to fight, Aemond?” She asked, excited. “Can I learn too?

The thought was ridiculous, but Aemond didn’t laugh. “When you are bigger, Lina, I promise.” He couldn’t bear the thought of her being injured, so this was one of the few instances in which he had no choice but to refuse her.

“Alright,” she sighed. “Can I stay and watch?”

Aemond was suddenly embarrassed at the thought of her watching him train. He would not be very good, and he couldn’t bear for Aelinor to think any less of him. The sapphire hung heavy in his pocket, and he was thankful for the distraction.

“Not today, Lina. But I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?” She bounced on her toes. The hem of her lilac dress was already stained with mud, but her silver hair was tied back neatly back with a ribbon. Her whole frame shook as she bounced in anticipation. “What is it?”

Aemond pulled the sapphire out of his pocket, unwrapping the silk handkerchief he had used to cover it. “This is for you. Just like from the stories.”

Aelinor’s gasp was almost comical as she took in the stone. “For me?”

“Yes,” Aemond said, letting her take it in her small hands. She had to grip it with both hands to hold it, the gem ridiculously large for her. “But you must be very careful with it, alright?”

Aelinor stared at it for a moment longer. In the morning light the gem reflected a ripple of cerulean blue across her palms, and she felt she could have wasted away the day studying it. Suddenly she leapt forward to wrap Aemond in a hug. “Thank you, thank you!” She cried. “It is the best thing in the world.”

Aemond squeezed her back. “I am glad you like it. “Now go, we both have lessons.”

Aelinor gave him one last squeeze, before turning to stomp back to her waiting Kingsguard. Aemond just smiled, pleased with himself.

That evening, Aelinor sat in front of the hearth in her mother’s chambers, half-listening as her brothers recounted their day, but mostly studying the sapphire in her hands. Her mother had been astonished to see the magnitude of the gift she had received, but she had not taken it away.

“Boys, stay here with Aelinor. I have something to discuss with your father.” Rhaenyra disappeared into the next room.

Jace squatted down next to his sister, pointing at the stone. “What’s that?”

“It’s my token!” Aelinor exclaimed.

“It’s pretty,” Luc was on her other side.

“I know!” Aelinor beamed. “Aemond gave it to me. It’s just like the treasures from the stories and I—”

Jace interrupted her. “Aemond? You let him give you a gift?” Unlike his younger siblings, Jace wasn’t entirely unaware of the whispers that followed him at court. And he was more than aware that while he dealt with sideways glances and whispers, he knew that Aelinor was largely immune to those comments. That spark of jealousy colored his relationship with his sister, sometimes overclouding his love for her with envy.

Aelinor was confused by his question. Why shouldn’t Aemond give her a gift? He was her Aemond after all. But Jace’s question made her worry. Perhaps she needed to give him a gift in return. But what did she have that was as wonderful as this?

“Aemond isn’t our friend, Aelinor,” Jace cautioned. “You can’t trust him.”

“Aemond is my friend,” Aelinor countered, her faith in him steadfast. “He just doesn’t like you.”

All of a sudden, Luc snatched the gem out of her hand, holding it away from her reach. “It’s so blue!”

“Let me see it, Luc,” Jace took it, holding it near the fire to see it better.

“Give it back!” Aelinor sprung to her feet. “It isn’t yours! It’s mine!”

“Why should you get a gift like this, and from Aemond of all people?” Jace, who thought himself much older and wiser, tried to reason with his sister. “You cannot keep it.”

“I can! He gave it to me!” Aelinor jumped to reach it, nearly tripping over her skirts.

“I’m sorry, sister. But this is for the best. “And Jace, with the type of carelessness that only a boy can muster, tossed the sapphire into the fire.

Aelinor wailed. “You stupid, stupid boy! Aemond gave that to me!” She beat at his side with her little fists.

Jace pushed her off, sending her stumbling to the floor. “It’s just a trinket, Aelinor. We can find you another one. A better one.”

But Aelinor already knew in her heart that there would never be a better gift than the one Aemond had given her. She pushed onto her knees and crawled closer to the fire, sniffling as she watched the flames lick at the blue gem. Already black was creeping up the edges, marring its beautiful surface. Aemond had given her that gift because he loved, she knew it. And she wasn’t going to let her brother’s jealousy take it away.

New determination flowing through her veins, Aelinor reached forward into the fire, and grasped the gem firmly in her hand.

Her screams echoed through the hall of the keep.

Aemond was reading by candlelight, just beginning to nod off when a pounding began at his door. A thousand things occurred to him as he scrambled from his bed. It could be his mother, angry that he was still awake, or it could be something more serious, such as a fire or an attack of some kind.

He had scarcely set his feet on the floor when the door burst open, and he was surprised to see not only his mother there, looking very perturbed in her nightgown and robe, but also Ser Harwin Strong, the Kingsguard to the Princess Rhaenyra.

“Aemond,” his mother sighed. “I’m sorry, but there was no helping it.”

“No helping what, mother?” Aemond was concerned. Was that sweat on Ser Harwin’s brow? “Is there a fire?”

“No, child. There has been an…unfortunate accident.”

“What do you—”

Ser Harwin interrupted. “The Princess Aelinor has been grievously injured, and she calls for you. Her mother hoped you might calm her, so that she might let the maesters—”

Aemond was already pushing past them, running down the stairs as fast as his bare feet could carry him. Aelinor, injured? He could not imagine what might have happened, his thoughts already filled with the most horrible images. He should have been there, should have protected her. And where were her parents, her brothers, her guards? What were they doing that allowed her to be hurt?

He could hear Ser Harwin rushing behind him, but he did not stop to look. He just ran down the familiar corridors and began climbing the steps to the chambers the Princess Rhaenyra occupied with her family. No sooner had his foot landed on the bottom step of the tower that the most horrible wailing reached his ears.

“Aelinor!” She shouted, rushing up the steps and bursting into the room. He shoved past a crowd of maesters and Aelinor’s own parents and brothers, ignoring the rudeness of his arrival. Rhaenyra looked close to tears, her sons just as distraught, but Aemond only had eyes for Aelinor.

She sat on a divan, wilted against one side, her hand cradled in her lap. She was still wearing her beautiful, mud-covered dress from that morning, though the dirt had now dried into dust that flaked onto the velvet furniture. She was sobbing: great, heaving sobs that shook her entire body with the effort, letting out alternatively loud wails or soft moans of pain.

“Lina!” he exclaimed, dropping to his knees next to her. “What’s happened?”

She wailed louder, and he saw that she was gripping something in her little hand. The skin that he could see, mainly the sides and back of her hand, was a frightening shade of bright red, as though she’d left it out in the sun for too long.

“She wasn’t supposed to go after it,” Jace said. “She just reached right in!”

“What did she reach for, Jace?” Rhaenyra demanded. “You were supposed to watch her!”

Aemond ignored them, carefully lifting a hand to brush away the flood of tears. A maester knelt on her other side. “Young Prince, we need to let us see her hand. We fear she had been grievously burned.”

Burned? His Aelinor?

He spun his gaze around, zeroing on Jace. Little Luc clung to his brother’s shirt, tears running down his face. The nerve of him to cry, when his sister was suffering so.

“What have you done?” He demanded. “Why did you hurt her?”

“She was the one stupid enough to reach into a fireplace for a dumb jewel!” Jace spat back.

“Jewel? What jewel?” Ser Laenor asked, and his wife began to explain.

Aemond felt a feeling of dread come over him as he realized what Aelinor was holding so tightly in her hand. What she had hurt herself for. He leaned close, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Lina. Does it hurt terribly?”

She gave a pathetic nod, and he resisted the urge to cry. This was his fault, after all. He had given her the sapphire, and she had scarred herself just to save it from the fire.

“Lina,” he whispered. “Please, you must let them help.”

Her lip quivered. “Make it stop hurting, Aemond.”

He hated himself for being unable to grant her wish. It made him want to turn around and punch Jace, and even little Luc, for putting her through this. It was their teasing and tormenting of her that had led to this, he was sure of it.

“Open your hand, Lina,” he coaxed. “And once they’ve taken care of you, I’ll tell you a new story, alright?”

That seemed motivation enough, and he moved to sit beside her, taking her uninjured hand in his as the maesters worked quickly to uncurl her burned fingers. Aelinor whimpered as the sapphire dropped to the floor, and Aemond felt like vomiting when he saw the mess left behind. A melted mass of burned skin and liquid flesh, her fingers curling in as if to protect the wound from the air. As soon as it was exposed, Aelinor began to cry anew, and Aemond drew her face into his shoulders.

“It will be alright, Lina,” he promised, even though he didn’t think it would be. “I’ll take care of you.”

Aelinor didn’t respond. She just clung to Aemond’s side and sobbed as they applied a salve and a bandage to her ruined hand. Both her mother and father came forward to try and comfort her, but any attempt to pry her away from Aemond only led to more tears.

Aelinor whispered something, and Aemond leaned down to hear it.

“Am I going to be ugly now, Aemond?” She said quietly.

“Never,” he swore. “You are as beautiful as ever, and no one could ever do anything to change that.” That, at least, he was sure of.

She seemed to take a little comfort in that, and Aemond worked with the maesters to convince her to drink some milk of the poppy. She fell asleep, slumped against Aemond’s side, her hand an unidentifiable mass of bandages.

“Thank you, Prince Aemond,” Ser Laenor said, gently placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I will take her to bed now.”

Aemond wanted to protest, but while he might be strong enough to carry Aelinor playful around the castle, he could not move her without jostling her. Instead, he carefully passed her to her father, and stood from the sofa as she was carried away. He wanted to insist that someone stay with her through the night, but movement at the side of the room drew his attention away.

Rhaenyra had collapsed into a chair at the table, Jace and Luc sitting beside her. In Luc’s hand was the blackened sapphire they had pried from Aelinor’s grasp.

“You…you bastards!” Aemond shouted, walking up and snatching the jewel from him. “I gave this to Aelinor, not to you!”

“Boys, there is no need for—” Rhaenyra started.

“Who are you to give our sister gifts? You’re just trying to…trying to..” Jace struggled for words. “To turn her against us!”

“I’m not! I—” Aemond caught himself before he said I love her. “It doesn’t matter. You stole from her, and you hurt her, and I won’t ever forgive you for it.”

“Enough!” Rhaenyra stood. “Jace, take Luc and go to your room. I’ll be in to speak with you in a minute.”

Aemond watched as they walked away, scowling all the while. Only once the door had closed behind them did Rhaenyra turn to him.

“Thank you, Aemond,” she said sincerely. “I did not say it earlier, but you were a great comfort to Aelinor, and a great help to us all tonight.”

He did not think that his mother would enjoy hearing that he had been a ‘great help’ to his half-sister, nor was he particularly endeared to her at the moment. It was on her watch that Lina had been injured, after all. “I did it for Lina.” And not for you.

“I know you did, but I am grateful all the same.” Rhaenyra sighed. “She will be very unwell in the coming days. Can I trust that you will be there to help?”

It was a silly question. When, in all the days since Aelinor had been born, had Aemond not been there? Short of prying him from her side and locking him up, there would be nothing anyone could do to keep him away from his little princess.

Aemond looked down at the jewel in his palm, rubbing some of the soot away with his finger. “Can she have her jewel back? I picked it just for her. I didn’t mean for her to be hurt.” It wasn’t quite an admission of guilt, and indeed, no one could accuse him of being at fault save himself, but Rhaenyra could see that it already weighed heavy on the boy.

Rhaenyra held out her hand, and he obediently placed the sapphire in her palm. “Not only may she keep it, but I shall have it placed in a setting, so that she might carry it easier.”

That sounded perfectly agreeable to Aemond, and he nodded. “Very well. Then I shall look after Aelinor.” He did not say because you cannot, but the thought was in his mind. He had trusted Aelinor to the care of her mother and brothers, and now she was hurt. It would never have happened on his watch. He wouldn’t have allowed it.

“May I ask one more favor of you, Ameond?”

He gave a slight nod.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, as if debating whether or not to speak. “Please don’t call my boys bastards. It cuts deeper than you know.”

Aemond did not agree, or disagree, he simply cast one last longing glance at Aelinor’s door,and then left the room, determined to return in the morning with an armful of sweets for his princess.

Years later, Rhaenyra would wonder if that was the first day the lines were drawn between their families. When she inadvertently handed Aemond Targaryen the words with which to wound her own children. But at the time, she knew only that he cared deeply for her daughter, and she hoped and prayed that it would be enough to preserve this tender peace.

#house of the dragon #hotd #houseofthedragon #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond x oc #game of thrones #fanfiction #multi-chapter #fanfic

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greenandsorrow · 2 months

Text

My Alastor in the rut fic was originally written as a oneshot, but some of you have asked for a second part/ the aftermath/ how the relationship between our two deer demons will progress.

You won. Your choice!

For clarification. If I do write the second part, maybe it'll be slightly shorter, but not less detailed!

Also, there's a chance it won't have smut, as Alastor will go back to being "an ace in the hole" after the rutting season ends. That doesn't mean that he can't form relationships though, so... 🫣 (expect fluff)

If you have anything specific you'd like to see in the second part, throw it in my asks or leave it as a comment!

You can ask to be tagged if you're not already in part 1.

tips!! / requests guide/ masterlist

❤️thank you for interacting❤️

with love, Ophelia❣️

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helaelaemond · 7 months

Note

Billy Washington idea: Soft-ish Billy being upset after getting himself into trouble again. Like, he just can't stop being a flop even when he tries to. Reader comforts him in the best and smuttiest way she can. Maybe he shows up unexpectedly at her place because he needs someone, even though he won't admit it? Idk, delinquent flop men get me going sometimes.

Title: Only worth living if somebody is loving you - part of the It's All For You series but can be read as standalone

Pairing: Billy Washington x female reader

Summary: Billy has been fired and feels worthless. But you love him; he's everything to you. So you show him how much worth he has. Established relationship, handjob, fingering, pet names, mild daddy kink, mild dirty talk.

Word count: 3.1k

Rating: E

Notes: thank you so much for the prompt! This was a lot of fun to write when I am supposed to be working!

You're not meant to have your phone on at work, but you get away with it where you can. You're in the basement kitchen today, anyway, so no customers will see. Behind the shoddy table set up as a makeshift barista bar, you fill tray after tray of tea and coffee - Blue Lady, Darjeeling, Sumatran, Colombian, jasmine, they all roll into one in the end. So feeling your phone vibrate in your apron pocket is a delightful distraction.

You ignore the tickets coming through behind you, and get one of the dish boys to cover you. "What? I need a fag," you reply over your shoulder when he protests. You smile giddily at your phone and swipe to answer. "Hey, Billy."

He doesn't sound happy on the other end. "Hey."

You slink into the alley and crouch close to the floor, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "What's up?"

"You got a sec?"

There's something in his voice that worries you. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. Tell me."

He sighs. You hear him blare his horn as he drives, followed by a string of profanities. "Fucking wanker! Twat!"

You take a long drag. "You on a run?" He's been a delivery driver for a delivery service for a few months now. It's shitty money and shitty conditions, but it's all he could get after being fired from his last job. Hitting a customer. The customer swung for him first, but it was Billy who landed the first successful punch.

"No. Driving home."

"Oh?"

"Don't fucking start."

You force yourself to smile against your phone. Your voice is soft. "Hey. I'm not starting anything. You called me."

He sighs again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't... I can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?"

"They sacked me."

"Why?" you ask, closing your eyes and wincing.

Billy's voice is clipped. "Didn't meet their targets."

"Those targets are bullshit," you snap defensively. Everything he's told you about his job has you seeing red - they take advantage and bleed him dry. "You don't need that place."

"I need the pay check."

"We'll figure it out. Where you going now?"

He pauses. You hear his indicator, and the rev of his ancient car engine as he moves between gears. "Your parent still away?"

You watch as the smoke you blow out rises up the alley and into the sky. "Yeah. Key's in the plant pot. I finish in an hour. Make yourself at home."

Billy's car is parked lazily on your street, and you feel butterflies in your stomach. It's been a few years since you got together, but adrenaline still runs through you at the mere thought of being near him. He's got you addicted, flaws and all. It made you want to run all the way home after your shift ended, but you don't think you quite have the stamina for a three-mile sprint.

"Hey, Billy," you call as you let yourself into the home you still share with your parents. London prices are impossible - you'll probably live with them until they die

He grunts in response, and you follow the noise into the living room. He's sat on the sofa facing away from you, head bent, and you go to him. You drop your bag and kick off your shoes and wrap your arms around him from behind. "Hey, daddy."

He winces. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" you whisper against his ear. "You usually like it."

Billy pulls out of your arms and shifts on the sofa. "Yeah, well, I don't right now."

"Sorry." You go to the kitchen and make two cups of tea - milk and sugar for you, no sugar for him. None of the loose-leaf shit you serve at work, just proper Yorkshire bags. He follows you quietly, and thanks you when you hand him his. "How are you feeling?"

He shrugs, still avoiding your gaze.

"Billy." Your voice is soft. The hard pain in his face hurts to see.

He licks his lips and takes a sip. It's scalding, and he hisses quietly. You put your cup down to cool, and go to him. Your hands find their place on his narrow hips, and you look up at him. He's so tall; it makes you feel so safe. His hair is getting long, and it falls over his eyes.

After a long moment, he finally meets your gaze. "I really tried with this one."

You nod. "I know."

"I promise."

"I know."

"Why are you with me?" he asks softly. When he tries to pull away, you hold him close. "I'm not... God, you deserve better than this."

"No, Billy, no." One hand runs to the small of his back and the other finds his cheek to guide his gaze back to you. "You're worth so much more than a shitty job."

"I'm a failure."

"No, you're not," you soothe. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Don't let some stupid job define you."

"You deserve so much more than me."

You reach up on your toes and kiss his lips firmly. He meets your kiss with a quiet sigh. "You're all I've ever wanted and needed. Don't worry about the job."

"I'm not worthy of you."

Taking his hand, you lead him back to the living room. You both bring your cups with you and set them on the coffee table. You push him to sit on the sofa, and when you straddle him, it's satisfying how naturally his grasp finds your backside. But still, he drops his head to your shoulder in defeat. You stroke his hair and gently massage his scalp, just as he likes.

"You want me to tell you how much I love you?" you murmur.

He swallows thickly. He shakes his head.

"You want me to show you? You want me to help you forget everything else?"

He doesn't react, except to pull you tighter. You smile slightly, and kiss his hair. Sex is something that brings you closer than anything else. It's the place where Billy feels most in control, where he can take care of you and call the shots and do everything to make you feel good. You accidentally called him daddy once when he was fucking you, and that was the day your dynamic changed. He leaned into the nickname proudly, and he wears it like a secret badge of honour. He does everything to earn it, too. He takes care of you, dominates you like you need. It's the only time when he feels like a real man. He loves you so much, he forgets what hating himself feels like.

The world is cruel to him, but you never are. You're just obsessed with him.

"You want me to take care of you?" you whisper against his ear. Billy buries his face against your chest, and gently bites through your shirt. It smells of coffee and tea and kitchen grease. He nods again.

"Alright. I can do that." You tilt up his chin and kiss him. This time, it's deeper. When you part your lips, he mirrors you and welcomes your tongue into his mouth. Pulling back for a moment, you look into his piercing blue eyes. "Can you do something for me?"

He nods.

You smile softly. "Can you undo my shirt for me, please?"

Billy's eyes are wide, and he nods again. Long fingers complete the task, and your white work shirt falls open. Underneath is a practical bra, white and cotton and far from sexy. Still, just the sensation of him opening your shirt makes your nipples hard, and that's enough for him. "Thank you," you say, affection in your voice. "Can you touch me?"

He's putty in your hands for once. This is new territory for you, being so in control. Usually, he's the one gently telling you what to do, his voice sugar and honey as his requests and commands turn from this kind of sweetness into depravity. You're trying to emulate him now, to give him what he might need.

He runs his knuckles over your breasts through the fabric, up and down he goes, catching your hard nipples each time. Half the time you're with him, it feels like the first time. Not in a bad way, just the excitement and anticipation, and how much you fucking need him. Just this touch has you feeling your heartbeat in your cunt.

"Lean back, baby," you tell him. You haven't called him that before. It's the pet name he calls you when he's fucking you to the point of tears, and so you're unsure. He shakes his head slightly. "Lean back, Billy." That, he obeys, and that makes you smile. "Good. Can you take off your shirt for me, too?"

Keeping his eyes on you, he takes off his black tshirt and tosses it aside. You grab it, though, and press it against your nose to catch his scent. "Mmph. I love your smell."

"Yeah?" His expression is softening slowly over time. The tension in his eyebrows is smoothing out.

"Yeah, I do." You shrug out of your open shirt. As you unclasp your bra, you shift to straddle one of his thighs instead of both, and grind slightly. The friction feels so good. When you're good for him, daddy sometimes lets you ride his leg until you come. The thought makes you shiver. "I love everything about you."

"I..." As you throw aside your bra, Billy runs his hands up your sides and back down to your hips. His eyes dart between your face and your breasts. "I don't deserve you."

In his grey joggers, you see his familiar swell. It's impossible to resist reaching for it and pressing the flat of your hand to him. "You deserve me every single day, Billy. You make me feel... oh, God. You make me feel divine."

His hands go back to your breasts, and elegant fingers gently tease your nipples in perfect tandem. Under your hand, you feel his cock twitch. He loves your breasts. Then, he mirrors your action, except his hand tugs down your zipper and he presses his fingers against you over your underwear. A slight lift of your hips, and his hand is trapped between you and his thigh.

"No," you murmur with a smile. "I want to focus on taking care of you."

"You are," he replies. "It makes me feel good to take care of you, too."

He's rewarded with a kiss to his pretty lips, and this time his tongue finds yours first. The pressure of it makes you shiver again. You grind harder against his hand, whilst your own hand palms him through the soft material.

"God." He drops against the back of the sofa again and looks up at you. "Promise you love me."

You take the hand between your legs to your mouth. As you suck his fingers, you look into his eyes. You swirl your tongue between them, over them, and your other hand reaches into his trousers. You fumble with the band of his boxers, and trap his cock under it. You touch the red tip and moan around his digits.

"I fucking love your cock," you moan as you pull his fingers from your mouth.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I can't get enough of it, not ever."

"What do you do when we're apart?" he asks, encouraging you. Suddenly, he grabs you and pulls you to sit next to him on the sofa. His confidence is returning.

"I... I watch that video you made for me a few months ago."

Billy watches your face and bites his lip. "Take off your clothes," he murmurs softly. You obey. "What video?"

With his gentle dominance coming back, your heart is racing. He lifts his hips to help you push down his trousers and underwear, and you begin a steady rhythm with your hand on his cock. "The one where you're alone on your bed."

"Spread your legs for me, baby."

Your breath catches in your throat. Again, you obey. He runs his palm up and down the inside of your thigh, and he pulls it over his leg. The intimacy of feeling your legs rest together makes your chest flush. Billy's hand slides up the soft skin of your inner thigh, and he watches your face. He has more control over his expression as you stroke him than you do when his fingers run up and down the outside of your pussy.

"What was I doing in the video?" he asks softly.

Moaning. Writhing. Begging. "Touching yourself."

"You never sent me a video back."

You laugh quietly. It turns swiftly to a moan when Billy's middle and ring fingers glide between your folds lazily. "I... I tried."

"Did you?"

As two digits press at your entrance, your hand on his cock stills. The pressure is delicious, a little demanding, a little possessive. He touches you like he owns you. He does own you. "Yeah. But... oh, shit, that's nice. But when I watched it back, I... mmph, Billy- it wasn't quite right."

"Impossible," he whispers. He leans over to kiss your neck just as his fingers slip inside. "Everything about you is perfect."

"You're blind."

He bites your ear and then blows into it. "I'm a man in love, that's all."

"Love," you breathe. Finally, you find the strength to stroke him again, although his fingers moving inside of you are driving you to distraction. "There aren't enough words to tell you how I feel about you."

"Mmm?"

"I'm fucking obsessed." He rewards you with his thumb pressing against the side of your clit. He gently rubs up and down, careful not to overstimulate you. "Shit, just like that, please-"

"I don't deserve you." But he's smiling this time. "My pretty girl."

When he says things like that, you utterly melt. And then, it's you who's putty again, and Billy who's in control. "Kiss me?"

"Come here, baby."

You whimper needily when he pulls out his hand. But he grabs your hand, and you climb back into his lap. His trousers and underwear are still on his thighs. Perhaps if he fucks you good enough, you'll leave your smell on them.

"You want me inside you?"

You nod and clutch his shoulders. "Please."

"Please, what?"

It's not even a question. It's am automatic response now. "Please, daddy."

"Oh, that's my good girl."

As you cling onto him, Billy runs his cock through your folds, pressing the head against your clit. When you feel his bluntness against your entrance, you whine softly. "Please. I need you so bad. Please."

"You love me?"

You nod, and press a feverish kiss to his forehead. "I love you so much."

As he presses inside you, your mouth drops open in a silent moan. He's perfect for you, not big enough to hurt, not small enough to frustrate. He doesn't stretch, he fills. He's everything to you. You grind against him and feel the delicious slip of him inside and out. When you rock against his hard pubic bone, he praises you. "Good girl, taking what you need. I'm so proud of you."

It makes you bite your lip. You rock in a familiar rhythm that suits you both. His kisses are on your chest and your shoulders, hot and wet. Over the pulse in your neck, he sucks gently. He'd never leave a mark on you that would embarrass you for other people to see. But when his lips find your breasts again, he gives you flowers of purple and red.

"Fuck!" you whine. "You're perfect, you're so perfect."

He crushes his mouth against yours. Strong arms wrap around your back and then all of a sudden he flips you onto the sofa and shoves your legs up. They press together and you feel the ache down the back of them, but it's nothing compared to the ache in your cunt now he's left you empty. It's only for a moment, though. He slams back inside you, and the change in angle threatens to overwhelm you. Like this, his every pound has the tension between your legs stimulated.

"Daddy!" you moan. "Please, let me see you, please, please-!"

The hand that grips your ankles loosens enough to let one leg drop down. Now you can see him, his slight grin, the fire in his eyes. He looks at you like a man obsessed, like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

"That's it, baby," he pants. His hair sticks to his sweaty forehead. His tight balls slap against you with every thust, making you whimper. "You're taking me so beautifully. Well done, my sweet girl."

"I'm so close!"

"Tell me what you need." He holds your elevated leg up by his shoulder, and turns his head to kiss your ankle. But his eyes never leave yours.

"Your h- Jesus! Hand! Please! Please!"

"Well done," he says again between laboured breaths. "You're so good at telling me what you need. Like this?"

While his hand presses firmly against your pelvis, his thumb finds its way back to your clit. The circles he runs are harder and faster now.

"Can I come?" you beg.

"Of course, baby. Whenever you need."

'Thank you, daddy!"

He's so good to you. He makes sure you orgasm first. Billy pounds you through your explosive completion that makes your whole body jerk, and only when your guttural screams have subsided does he let himself go. You got the coil so he can have you properly. He clings to the thigh against his chest as he comes, spending deep inside you. The cry of your name is deep and ragged. It sends aftershocks rushing through you.

He collapses on you, and you both pant. Only when his cock begins to soften does he pull out of you, but beyond that, neither of you move much. His face is buried in your neck, and your hand is buried in his hair.

After a while, you feel lips press softly against your throat.

"You okay?" you whisper.

"Mmm."

"I wanted to be the one to take care of you." You laugh softly.

He kisses your skin again. "You always take care of me." His voice is nothing more than a mumble.

The laughter fades on your lips. "I always will. I love you so much."

"You make life worth living."

Your arms tighten around him. "Your life is so precious, Billy. We'll find a way to make it better. I promise."

"I love you."

#billy washington x reader #billy washington x you #ewan mitchell #billy washington x oc #billy washington #billy multi #ask #anon #sorry if hes not pathetic enough for you!!!!!!!!! my vision of him has evolved a lot #hes still in a flop era though #mine

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arteastica · 9 months

Text

early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (1)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24) | (25) | (26)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters). no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 2.1k

One could say it was the most important night of that summer. Even the cloudless sky had allowed the stars to witness the scene unfolding beneath, and only the occasional barking of faraway dogs interrupted the silence. It was the night decisions were awaiting to be made. The type of life-defining decisions that no teenager should ever be expected, or rather forced, to make. Luckily for you, you were a couple of years ahead, ahead enough to not be considered a teenager anymore. And maybe this was the reason why looking around and seeing the tightly clenched fists, trembling jaws, and sweaty foreheads of your 15-year-old Training Corps classmates made you realize that you honestly didn’t know what you were doing in the middle of it all.

The choice was simple for those who actually had one. As it was tradition, the top ten students of the class would be allowed to choose the best out of the three options presented: to join the Military Police and enjoy the safety and commodities that came with life in the innermost wall, to settle for a more humble lifestyle by doing whatever it is that they do in the Garrison, or to put their lives in the line for humanity in the Survey Corps. With young brains still under construction, no one could be trusted to make the right call. The definition of ‘right call’ being ‘one you wouldn’t regret years in the future, or next week when a titan had you in their grip.’ However, you believed that joining the Military Police came with significantly lower risks of regret. And that’s why the MP was the one you were aiming for. Or would have, if you were part of that coveted top 10. That would have been ideal.

Ideal. In an ideal world, no one would have to make such a crucial decision at that age. In fact, there wouldn’t even be crucial decisions to make, in the first place. But this wasn’t an ideal world. It was far from that. A quick glance around at the faces you had gotten used to seeing for the last 3 years was enough of a reminder, in case you had forgotten. But who could forget? All of them standing next to you had either lost someone or everyone precious in their lives when the Wall fell. Luckily for you, however, you had your immediate family alive and well in the capital. And although you didn’t own enough wealth to be accepted into the social circles of the rich, you lived a comfortable life, and most importantly, a safe one. That’s why it came as a shock to your family when you enlisted as a-

“We will reach that basement in Shiganshina. However, this requires us to retake Wall Maria”

Retake what? Your backstory was left pending for another night. Because, before you could start narrating it to yourself, a solemn, modulated voice pulled you out of your thoughts, your head instinctively turning to the stage to locate the source. And that was the first time you saw him: The 13th commander of the Survey Corps, Erwin Smith himself.

“But with the Trost gate permanently sealed, we’ll have to take the long way around from Karanes in the east”

You had heard stories about Erwin Smith. A man of unyielding drive, an iron-willed leader, a liberator, you believed you heard someone called him once. And of course there was also ‘reckless’, ‘demented’, and ‘out of it’, all of which were adjectives commonly tied to his name, especially in the capital. ‘Insane’ was your father’s preferred one, usually heard around dinner time when the topic of Erwin Smith’s latest outrageous expedition somehow found its way into the family table. And you remembered feeling sorry for the man on more than one occasion. Because, from the safety of your Sina home, the closest titan surely miles away, as you fluffed pillows and slipped under warm blankets of undisturbed rest, you had struggled to think of anyone living a more different lifestyle to yours than the commander of the Survey Corps, that one man relentlessly trying to attain the unattainable: to free humanity from the walls.

“It seems the four years we spent preparing a route for an invasion force have gone to waste”

And that night he also seemed to be trying to attain the unattainable: convincing a group of frightened individuals to join a suicide squad.

“In those four years, more than sixty percent of the Legion’s forces lost their lives”

You wondered if there was at least a single easy thing in the man’s life.

“Sixty percent in four years. An insane figure”

His voice was controlled and pleasant to listen to. Even though the things he was talking about were far from pleasant. Life scouting beyond the walls sounded as rough as it probably was. And you guessed that there was no way to make it sound appealing, no silver linings to be mentioned or talked about.

“Any trainees who join us will participate in next month’s expedition beyond the walls”

You had heard that his branch was in desperate need for new recruits, yet you could tell he had decided to let honesty do the talking that night. Because not even when discussing the dire prospect of survival of a Survey Corps member…

“We estimate thirty percent will not return”

…not even then he seemed tempted to make false promises.

“And in four years, most new recruits will be dead”

In fact, the more he spoke, the more honest and raw his words seemed to get. And while, so far, he hadn’t mentioned a single appealing thing about joining his cause, you felt you were beginning to understand it…

“But those who make it through that hell will become superior soldiers, capable of surviving anything”

You see, you had heard all the stories, but you had never seen the man before. And rumors had left out the part about how compelling he was. As he extended an open invitation to a potentially deadly celebration, his voice had a commanding yet gentle feel to it, the type associated with reliable leaders. He had an enthralling demeanor to him, the one that’s used to persuade. His words were softly spoken but rose-thorn sharp. There was something about him, the way he spoke, and carried himself. Erwin Smith certainly looked like someone who could talk the winter into skipping a year, or the rain into waiting until he got home. So yes, you were starting to get it...

“Now you have the cold, hard facts.”

After all the contemplations, it finally clicked.

“Any still willing to risk their lives, remain here.”

It makes sense you thought, why men followed him to their deaths.

“Ask yourselves, am I willing to offer my beating heart for humanity?”

Why they ‘dedicated their hearts’ as they say.

“That is all.”

Erwin Smith was intriguing. Very intriguing.

“All of you wishing to join other branches are dismissed.”

Muffled footsteps brought you back from the realm of thought. You looked around to find the previously full plaza now more than half-empty. You could hear Reiner’s heavy breathing beside you. Jean fiddling with his shirt behind you. Sasha clicking her teeth to your left. And despite the close proximity between your bodies, it all sounded so distant. As if you had been thrown underwater.

“Are you willing to die if I ordered to?”

Erwin Smith’s question, on the contrary, felt as if it had been whispered right into your ear. It felt personal and targeted. And for a brief second you forgot that, although almost everyone had already left, you were still not the only one in the plaza.

I don’t want to die. You answered in your head.

“I like the looks on your faces” You heard him say.

I don’t want to die. You repeated as you picked up your pace to catch up to Hitch at the entrance of the plaza.

“What took you so long?” she asked when you finally joined her.

“I hereby welcome you all to the Survey Corps!”

You heard Erwin Smith’s voice, now nothing more than a faint sound blending with the rustling leaves and getting carried away by the wind, as you and Hitch made your way back to the barracks.

“Did you hear almost all the top students joined the Survey Corps last night?” Hitch sounded particularly excited and jolly that morning. A huge smile plastered on her face.

“Did they?” You didn’t want to let yourself get too hopeful. But Hitch’s enthusiasm was contagious.

“Yep! And you know what that means right?” Your roommate gave you a cheeky grin “There might be a spot left for us at the MP after all!”

You were sure there most certainly was a spot for Hitch. But for you, that was a whole different story. You were no Mikasa. You were no Reiner. And given the fact that your physical capabilities were pretty average, even a little below that on bad days, you were certain you weren’t even in the top 20.

“Jeez. Woman, please look excited! We are set for life!”

She is set for life. “I’m not sure I’ll make the cut. It was the physical aptitude test-”

“Who cares? To hell with that test. What would you need stamina for inside Wall Sina anyway? I heard they don’t even use ODM in the MP. In our first year, maybe we’ll have to run after one of those random idiots who steal papayas from the street stalls, but I’m sure we can manage that much”

You laughed at the thought “You catch him. I’ll write the report”

“Deal!” she said “but once we climb up the ranks…” her eyes lit up with ambition as a result of whatever was going through her head. And you could tell she was plotting something questionable. But before you could start prying she added “Plus you did well everywhere else.”

She was right. While your physical performance wasn’t necessarily stellar, your academics were very good. As an overthinker, often worrying too much about too many, you overstudied for tests like no one in your class did, and your efforts often resulted in excellent marks.

“You’re right. Everyone save Shadis left something nice in my report card. Nothing personal, I’m sure”

Hitch nodded enthusiastically, clearly satisfied with herself because her words were having the effect she intended. And they really were, your head was starting to pitch more and more ideas to support the possibility that maybe, just maybe, you would be able to join the Military Police.

“You know what? You’re right, Hitch. We’ll join the MP and we’ll be on our way to the capital tomorrow.”

Wrong. Later that day, as you held the application paper in one hand, fountain pen in the other, you couldn’t help but snort when imagining how foolish you must have looked that morning, believing you would be back home as a member of the MP brigade. But there was no use in reminiscing now. You needed to focus and make the second best choice.

But focus for what? The only available options for you were the Garrison and the Survey Corps. And the choice was plain and obvious, wasn’t it? The Garrison wasn’t cool or anything but it was safe. Except, of course, for that incident from a couple of weeks ago, when that random titan showed up again, and tried to obliterate Trost District. Luckily for you, however, you had been assigned to assist with the relocation of the citizens once they entered Wall Rose, so you didn’t even have to see any titan at all. That had been a rare occurrence. And with the Survey Corps, the chances of survival were significantly lower. Zero for someone with your physical capabilities.

Are you willing to die if I ordered to?

Erwin Smith’s words from the night before showed up uninvited.

Those who make it through that hell will become superior soldiers, capable of surviving anything.

You could hear his solemn voice loud and clear, even one day later.

I like the look on your face.

Your hand now hovered dangerously over the ‘Survey Corps’ box, centuries worth of handed-down survival instincts forgotten in the blink of an eye.

I don’t want to die.

Your brain repeated as a last resort, right before the ink found the paper.

I don’t want to die.

Now it sounded like a complain more than a petition.

I hereby welcome you to the Survey Corps.

You heard him say, somewhere inside your head, as you turned in your application and walked away.

next chapter

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elliot-olivia · 1 year

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MY FOLLOWERS’ TOP 5 L&O SEASONS, BASED ON EO CONTENT:

5. Season 2 (OC) / Season 23 (SVU) – 36% of voters.

#bensler #elliot x olivia #benson x stabler #elliot stabler #olivia benson #eo #bensleredit #svu23 #oc2 #multi #4k*#mygifs #svu #law and order svu #law and order oc #organized crime

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hesthermay · 2 months

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 // 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

PAIRING: sergeant hunter x fem!oc reader

SUMMARY: the assignment of miri rocksled to clone force 99 brought an even higher success rate than the two groups presented on their own; in the times of the clone wars a well working and formidable team was necessary for the republic. but little did they know that the decision would become the biggest thorn in the empire's side. master rocksled had never been like other jedi, and the bad batch had never been like other clones, and as they navigate the end of everything they had known and the beginning of something much darker those traits are put to the test. rules no longer exist, lines are blurred, and forbidden waters are tread as the bad batch fight the great fight for everything they deserve.

RATINGS + WARNINGS: general audiences, mature themes, angst, fluff. female oc, jedi!oc, use of she/her, mentions of death/canon typical violence. found family trope. the bad batch time period, follows the timeline of the show.

NOTES: this one...came to me in a matter of days. miri was born quickly yet she is the moment! tbb makes me feral, i apologize for anything that happens during this period in www.hesthermay.tumblr.com history. again, winging it! love it or hate it, it is who i am

STAR WARS MASTERLIST

-: ✧ status: [ongoing]

SEASON 1

part one

part two

in the works !

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paddockbunny · 1 year

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One

Summary: Aria Armund is hired by Alpine as an "image guardian" for a reluctant Pierre Gasly - AKA she is hired to be his "babysitter". What happens as the season progresses and both of them have their buttons pressed by the other? And what happens when one of them suggests making a rather interesting bet? Rating: 18+. Pairing : Pierre Gasly x Aria Armund (OC) Word Count : 4,418 Trigger Warnings : 18+, NSFW, misogynistic Pierre, language, mention of sex & blowjobs, descriptions of women's bodies etc. 💞Authors Note : This is going to be written from a first person narrative and will switch from Aria's POV and Pierre's POV. No idea how long this will be but I'm considering posting every race day (not sure yet due to work commitments, as usual). OH, and if you want to be added to a tag list then please comment on the newest chapter's before I make a dedicated page for it!!

Pierre

I let out a long, laboured sigh as I slide into the car. I really didn’t want to be doing this. I would much rather have been still in bed with Jessica - or was it Jenna or maybe Jennie, fuck maybe it was Julie? It began with a J in any case. And anyway, who fucking cares?! All that mattered was I had to peel myself away from her this morning to get to the factory on time for this dumb as fuck meeting. A groan escaped me as I suddenly remembered how fucking phenomenal Jessica (Jenna, Jennie or Julie) was at giving head and how I would much rather be getting sucked off right now rather than go to this boring meeting where some big wigs will talk AT me not TO me for a few hours and waste my day.

Ben opens the door on the other side of the car and gets in. He slides into the back next to me and I can’t help but glance over at him as as he checks his watch and tuts about the fact we’re going to be late. I let him stew instead of answering him. There’s no point. Last year I realised pretty quickly he was one of those types of guys. The ones that were so regimented and anal about doing things right and on time that even a minute behind schedule and he would be having an internal meltdown. I just let him do what he wants without input from me. So I pull my phone from my jeans pocket and smirk to myself when I see a DM from a Jocelyn Silva pop up - JOCELYN! Her name was Jocelyn! - so I click on it and it’s a photo. She’s lying in the bed I had just left her in throwing the camera some “come hither eyes” with a tiny little pout dancing across her full (filler injected) lips. But I only fleetingly glance at her face, it’s lower that I pay more attention too and the fact the bedsheet barely covered her exquisite boobs and the deep sun kissed glow from her tanned skin. I’m sure she said she was a model or trying to be a model and really, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine her in a bikini or lingerie in front of a camera. I swallow instinctively upon remembering what she tasted like last night before actually reading the text that went along with her provocative pic.

Jocelyn_S_Silva: 💋 last night was fun Papi, let’s do it again sometime?xxx

Was it too soon to ask if she would be down for tonight? That picture she sent was enough to give me blue balls for the rest of the day. I clear my throat so I don’t laugh aloud at how ridiculous I sounded. No pussy was that good to go chasing after so quickly. So I sent a stock response back;

PierreGasly: until we do…give me something to remember you by?🍑

And click off my phone to stare out of the window hoping I could stay in control of the blood rushing down toward my dick. It was raining (again) in England. The country looked so dull and grey in comparison to some of the other places we visited with the travelling circus that was F1 but they wanted me here, in Enstone for a meeting ahead of flying out for testing next week. Ben’s ear had already been significantly chewed off about that. I was supposed to be at the PSG match tonight, had a date lined up and everything - Aletta Dekker, sister of Lars Dekker the Dutch tennis player. We’d gone out a few times, fucked a lot, but I actually got on well with her. We could chat without feeling the need for it to go anywhere. It was just some fun with no strings attached. I didn’t have the balls to let her down over the phone so chickened out and text her saying I needed a rain check. The irony now as the rain hammered down on the car as we drove down a monotonous English motorway was not lost on me.

It took close to two hours to get to the factory. I never stayed near it simply because there was fucking nothing there so we’d come up from London to the factory and go back when the day was over. It wasn’t like all those years at AT where you could at least be in the beautiful Italian countryside and take in the stunning landscapes out the window, not fields and copious amounts of cows and sheep. When we finally pulled in front of the building where all the offices and important rooms with important people in them were, Ben finally asked if I knew what this was all about. Seriously, he didn’t even question this random meeting until the moment he stepped out of the car and I couldn’t help but shake my head at him. I liked Ben, he had become a good friend over the course of last year. It’s hard not to grow close to someone you see pretty much every day and does everything with you.

“No idea.” I told him as he rounded the back of the car as I shut the car door. “Hope I’m getting a raise for dealing with all that shit last year though.” Ben laughed at my words, which weren’t intended as a joke but must have sounded like one. As two of the guys from Alpine came out from the building to greet us, apologise for the bad weather and issue us inside my phone buzzed in my pocket and I wondered if that was the photo I had asked that Jocelyn girl for earlier. Took her time didn’t she? I made sure I didn’t scoff and tried to stay professional as we walked through the building while the guys I had met a million times before talked about the weather and asked me if it was better in Paris - clearly not clocking the tan I was sporting to realise I had certainly not spent my winter break in Paris.

“We’re just in here, Pierre.” The shorter, more rotund one of the two opened the door and held it open for me. I’d been in here before. It was where I had that big meeting with the big bosses after the incident in Singapore but the less said about that the better. I recognised everyone in the room. Otmar and the like were all sitting around the oval table and got up immediately to welcome me. But my eyes were firmly trained on the mass of long brown curls and feminine shoulders that were still sat at the table facing away from me. This was a new addition. There hadn’t usually been a woman at these meetings before. I glance around and confirmed no one had been fired and I hadn’t found out. So maybe she was just a new PR girl or one of the girls that worked in the offices at the factory. Otmar suggested I take a seat and so I did. The mystery girls head turned slightly, enough that I could make out some of her features. Cute straight nose, naturally full lips and high as hell cheekbones. She had to have only been around 23 or 24 perhaps? But maybe I was wrong and she only just looked younger - I wasn’t the best at women’s ages and my I knew better than to presume I knew anything about the feminine being anyway - anyway, as Otmar started speaking I would be sure to find out exactly who this new addition was.

“As you know, at the end of last season I told you I would be discussing things with some of our bosses and whatnots at the end of year review we have. The big debrief meeting where all the heads of department get together and talk about the good things and the not so good things that happened and how we could look to improve in the future. Y’know, like our race debriefs at the end of a race day….” Yeah Otmar, I know, I’m not fucking stupid get to to point. I pull my leg up and rest my ankle upon my opposite knee while I sit back in the chair and nod in the right places. “Well, one of the things that kept coming up was the tension between yourself and Esteban and the incidents that arose last year.” He means him running me off the track at two separate races, trying to break test me anytime I was behind him, me bashing him in front of the cameras any chance I got but it was probably, the public near fight caught by cameras in Singapore when I tried to get my own back by flirting with his girlfriend that was what he was really referring too.

“Pierre with your results last year there’s no doubt of your future within the team but the negative attention the pair of you have garnered has raised a lot of concern.” “Otmar I…” I was going to tell him it takes two to tango and if this conversation was happening with me it better be happening with Ocon too. He was as much to blame for last year as I was. But a hand made me pause while he continued. “However, after some deliberation on how to resolve the conflict and how we can possibly move in a more positive direction for all of us involved. We have decided to bring in an image guardian.” I look at him like he’s grown another head. What the fuck was an image guardian? And that was when I saw his hand flick over toward the girl that had momentarily occupied my mind before Otmar started talking.

This time, when I looked over at her, she was looking straight back at me with quite possibly a pair of the most striking blue eyes I had ever seen before. A soft, sincere smile spread across her lips as her hand rose from her lap in a “that’s me” gesture. Fuck, I couldn’t help but imaging those eyes staring up at me while she had her lips wrapped around my cock. Which involuntarily twitched in my jeans while I had to blink a few times to make sure I wasn’t daydreaming. The words “image guardian” were still ringing in my ears so I most certainly in reality and not a twisted dreamland. “Sorry, what exactly is an image guardian?” I had truthfully never heard of the term and was one hundred percent certain they were making this up. “Well, we felt that the added pressure that the press and marketing teams had to face last year was rather, unfair to them. Their jobs turned into looking after or, perhaps that’s not the right words, making sure the both of you were looked after which meant some of those PR people weren’t as focused on their jobs as maybe they should have been.” I knew he was indirectly referring to Claudia without actually wanting to say her name but the less said about her the better. “So we created the role of an image guardian specifically to make sure your own PR game is onboard with ours. Someone who can liaise from your side with regards to meeting the needs of the team.”

Things took a minute to click in. He was bullshitting. This was a totally made up job so they could make someone my fucking nanny. “A babysitter?” I exclaimed loudly, my anger clearly evident in my voice and body language mimicking it. My foot fell back to the floor and I leaned in. “I don’t need a fucking babysitter.” I glance back over toward this girl whose name I didn’t even know (but who moments ago I had envisioned fucking) that was now labelled as my fucking au pair. “Pierre, it’s image guardian and we feel that you do.” Otmars voice changed tone. He was now not as breezy has he had been. He turned direct and much more commanding. “This is bullshit.” “Esteban has also been given an image guardian who will consult regularly with Miss Armund to ensure a more harmonious season this year. I can’t stress enough how this needs to work, Pierre. You know what can happen if it doesn’t.” I fucking knew. I had seen how people like Ricciardo and Mick Schumacher had been treated. Fuck! How I myself had been treated a few years ago at Red Bull. But a minder? Really? “And what is it she’ll do?” “I think Miss Armund is best to talk to you about that.”

“Hi…” She was nervous. She took a pause after simply saying hello. I was probably glaring at her like I wanted to set her on fire which might not have helped, but rage ran through my veins like boiling hot lava. “Firstly, I just want to introduce myself. I’m Aria Armund. I was born and raised in France till I was 10 and then moved here to England so if you want to talk to me in French you can, I’m bilingual.” There was a pause when she looked at me and I could tell she was waiting for me to say something polite (probably in French) but absolutely nothing came to mind that I wanted to say to her. She took a little breath in and it was usually while I was giving girls the come on when they got this nervous around me. I rolled my eyes and pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth as the pause seemed to get longer. I observed her straightening up and let out a quick exhale. She seemed to be gathering herself and I clocked her little touch of the bracelet on her wrist as if it was somehow giving her the strength to keep going.

“So basically, what I’m here to do is to look after you. You’re not particularly incorrect in thinking I’m a “babysitter” as you called it. My sole purpose is to keep you out of trouble. To minimise any issues you may have with your team mate and prevent them from leaking into the media. I’ll also help make sure your image doesn’t suffer from all of your liaisons with various….friends, and you don’t end up on the gossip pages as you have done in previous years. I’ll make sure your reputation and that of Alpine isn’t damaged in any way, shape or form.” Where did her sudden directness come from? Her nerves seemed to evaporate immediately. It was confusing it happened at such breakneck speed. But how she managed to take control of herself and take charge was nothing shorter than a major turn on. She could take control of me anytime she wanted. “Ok?” She smiled and it was now on me.

I had nothing to say or at least nothing came to mind as those swimming pool blue eyes stared into mines like they were trying to read my mind. As she turned her head away and Otmar went to speak suddenly a question did pop into my head. “Who does Ocon have?” I asked the question in the direction of her turned head. When she looked away some of her glossy curled locks fell across her shoulder and drew my attention directly to her ample chest. She was a woman - very much a woman - and I had a horrible feeling that Alpine might have been trying to set me up for failure. What with everything that happened with Claudia. “Excuse me?” Otmar seemed confused. “Who is looking after Ocon? You said he had a babysitter too.” In those minutes my question went unanswered, I hoped it would click on someone’s brain about why I was asking and I wouldn’t actually have to fucking say it. “Uh….” Otmar sat back in his chair and narrowed his eyes at me in a fashion that told me he twigged and he realised the intonation behind my questioning. He didn’t expect me to react like this, did he? During the increasingly awkward pause I fully believed that he was imposing this girl on me as a way to trip me up so he could get rid of me at the end of the year. If Esteban got a guy babbysitter then there was my answer. He would be getting off with his dickhead behaviour last year. “Mr Ocon’s guardian is Kyle Gilby.” Aria spoke up and I let out a quick exhale of air. Why the fuck did this not surprise me? I knew it. I could sense it from the way Otmar was staring at me. Ocon gets someone he can talk to, level with and I get stuck with her? Typical. “Is there a problem Mr Gasly?” Fuck her calling me Mr Gasly. Girls only usually called me that in the bedroom, not a boardroom.

I pretend there isn’t but there is. The whole thing is totally fucked but what can I do? I don’t want thrown out my seat so I have to play ball. And if that means I have to have a babysitter then fine, I’ll do it. This whole thing was feeling like a massive, risky, fucked up game of temptation? I made an audible scoff because I know where this is going and I know she won’t last long meaning they’ll probably get their way. I can’t help the fact I was born a flirt and women always fell for it. I’d give it two or three months before they’ll be having conduct meetings with me after she breaks her fraternisation contract clause after firing her for sleeping with the person she’s there to manage. It’s happened before and it will happen again. After all, it’s their own fault for hiring someone that would look more at home in Playboy or Sports Illustrated than working in an F1 team. They seriously couldn’t have hired someone less, tempting? They couldn’t have given her to Ocon and at least pretend they weren’t setting me up for failure?

Thankfully the meeting was over rather quickly. There were orders to go with her somewhere so she could do something or other and go over stuff but by that point I was zoned out. I cancelled my plans for this? They could have just told me over the phone. I didn’t need to be here in person when it would have been a quick email. I try not to sigh when I lean forward in my chair to get up but notice her move first. When she rises from her seat I can’t help but cast my eyes over her body. A perfect rack was hidden behind a satin-y type blouse and her smart, tight trousers did little to stem my attention away from her perky, peachy rear practically begging to be spanked. I was right. Playboy or Sports Illustrated. She would look so pretty on her knees. Give it a few weeks, I tell myself. By Miami she’ll be begging for me. I can tell.

Fifteen minutes later we were sat in a smaller, more bland impersonal office while she tried to convince me to hand over my social media passwords. “Mr Gasly, I assure you that your accounts and information will be safe with me. I simply need access in order to keep on top of any potential Alpine related business.” She was getting me riled up at this point. “Last year I believe there were, incidents, over social media with some questionable comments?” She was referring to the emoji’s wasn’t she? The PR girls laughed about them last year but she said it with a straight face. “I simply need to be able to delete anything that would be unsavoury toward your own reputation and the team.” “Telling people my favourite sex position through an emoji is not damaging to my reputation or the team.” I retort back with a smooth laugh. I thought it would throw her but the silence and stoney face I was met with made me push it even further. I smirked before adding; “it’s the dog by the way.” Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I couldn’t recall the last time I wasn’t able to flirt and smooth talk a girl into at least raising a smile. But there was nothing from her. “It’s the dog because my favourite position is doggy…” “Yes, I gathered that Mr Gasly.” She hastily shut me up and I noticed her roll her eyes. Was she not into men? Maybe that’s why my forwardness wasn’t doing it for her.

“Please, your passwords.” I watched as slowly she placed her pen on top of a notepad and pushed it across the glass topped table toward me. Her eyes didn’t leave mine. They stayed trained on me as if she had gone through military training. Unflinching. I would have been complaining if they weren’t so fucking captivating. You could get lost in these eyes.

“Earn them.” I glanced over toward Ben and smirked again. It was a game at this point. I couldn’t help myself. “Excuse me?” “I said, earn them.” I didn’t even know where this was going or why it was coming out of my mouth. I just went with it. I liked how women would squirm a little when I turned it on and I desperately wanted to know she was eating out of the palm of my hand, so sue me. But if I expected her to crumble like all of the others she surprised me. She sat back in her chair and took a deep breath before exhaling. For a brief second I thought I won and I managed to rattle her but unfortunately for me, apparently not.

“Listen, looking after a twenty-seven year old self confessed playboy is not something I thought I would be doing when I got this job so if you think your flirting will have an effect on me and I will pull a Claudia, was it? Then you are very much mistaken.” It was I that was rumbled. And she had to mention last years indiscretion by name so she had clearly been told all about it - or had she read about it online and didn’t need anyone else’s judgment about it to pass her own judgment on to me? “Now…Mr Gasly, your passwords.” Touché. Fucking Touché.

I reached for the pen and notepad and noted how much I felt like a child. It was as if I had been sent to the Alpine School’s principle’s office for being naughty in class. As I wrote down the passwords for her highness, my phone buzzed again in my jeans pocket and it suddenly l dawned on me that she would see everything I received. She would see all of the DMs I was sent along with the mountains of nudes (such as those waiting on me from last nights hook-up) that various girls sent me, mostly without a single shred of prompting. I should probably have felt a little embarrassed or ashamed by them in all fairness but for some reason - probably because she was acting like a fake ball buster she actually was one - I wasn’t. Let her look. There’s probably a fair few suggestive ones of myself on there she could find too if she really wanted too. I cursed the route of thought my own mind suddenly drove me down as now I was imagining her sliding her hand down past the waistband of her tight trousers to get off on the risqué pics I had floating around in some conversations. But she didn’t seem like the type. Fortunately for me the passwords were enough to appease her, for now. She smiled - a fake one of course - and said that was all, I could leave before adding she would would see me at testing. She would be at testing? This girl was really going to be sticking to me like glue, wasn’t she?

Thankfully, this whole fiasco was clearly coming to an end and I glanced toward the door and was desperately trying to think of something smart to say and a way to get out of here. I didn’t want to hang around for any longer than I needed to and certainly not long enough for her to continue getting one over on me or getting a metaphorical upper hand again, but it looked like she had and there was nothing I could do. When I happened to look toward Ben I realised he was smirking and clearly holding back a laugh. He was married and so never really joined in (nor understood) with the flirting and flustering behaviour I was king at. Now, after I had lost the opening match against her, it was as if he could read my startled little mind and I certainly didn’t like that. I arose out if my seat opposite my new babysitter and stared at her for a moment. I couldn’t help but wonder if she had ever worked in F1 - or even just a sport - before because she didn’t act like how all the girls usually acted around guys in sport. She simply seemed unimpressed. Stoic almost. “Goodbye, Mr Gasly.” A normal girl would be turned on by saying that over and over again. By now imagining how it would feel to be bent over the glass desk and having me rail them into next week. But she used it formally, professionally and without a single shred of sarcasm. I just about managed to get to the door to the office when my phone buzzed loudly one more time and I paused to remove it from my pocket.

“I hope that isn’t something I am going to have to get involved in?” Her sweet, soft voice echoed from behind and my sudden laughter filled the room as my brain had come up with the most perfect of perfect responses. “Not unless you want to make it a threesome?” I didn’t hang around long enough for her to respond and mentally high fives myself for my quick retort. She lead herself into it and my brain couldn’t catch up to my mouth. She may have been hired to be my babysitter, but that didn’t mean I had to make it easy for her.

#pierre gasly #pierre gasly fanfiction #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly fic #pierre gasly series #pierre gasly x oc #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly imagines #pierre gasly multi chapter #f1 smut #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagines #f1 imagine #f1 series #f1 x oc #bet trope #grumpy sunshine trope

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readychilledwine · 7 months

Text

Bound by Fate - Part Two

Part 2 Summary - just a short little filler after Kaylee finally wakes up.

Warnings - slight self harm/rage fit, references to sexual assault, some sexual tension

Word Count - just over 2000

Part One Part Three Part Four Part Five

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Deep voices caused Kaylee to stir. She was somewhere soft, warm, and there was something strong wrapped around her. "She's waking up," a smooth voice said. "Come on, Kaylee."

Another set of hands brushed her hair and sweat from her forehead. Soft, large, slightly calloused. Rhys, her mind whispered. "We are all right here, honey. You are safe."

Scarred hands ran up and down her back, her arms, her neck. They laced into her hair and scratched her head as if they knew a headache was starting. "She is overwhelmed." Kaylee snuggled further into the source of that voice, of those hands. "We have food downstairs, Kaylee. I know you're hungry. Just open your eyes and we will get you downstairs."

Kaylee finally stirred enough to peek one eye open slowly, keeping the other screwed shut to ensure that this wasn't another cruel joke. "You are safe," Rhys whispered again.

Kaylee opened both of her eyes before beginning to stretch and accidentally tapping a wing behind her. The hand in her hair tightened and Rhysand chuckled lightly. "Sorry."

Rhysand pulled Kaylee's hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "He's fine. There's dresses in the closet. I'm going to leave you two alone. Dinner will be served in 30 minutes."

Kaylee rolled into Azriel's chest, immediately noticing how she could now actually place his scent. Cedar and Night air. He held her silently. Allowing her to process being awake, allowing her to process where she was.

The silence between them was comfortable, despite the numerous questions he had. He remembered her at the King's feet. Pale, broken, lifeless. As if every ounce of joy and youth had been drained from her. He knew what had happened there, but he needed answers on how deeply that emotional scar ran.

He finally broke the silence between them, "When you're ready, I need you to show Rhysand what all happened. We do not have to talk about it, but we need to know who all was involved." Kaylee just nodded against him as a soft pull came from her ribcage. "I also need to know where boundaries are with us now."

She processed that sentence as if it was being drug through mud. "I don't think there can be an us right now, Azriel." The words stung him. The bond aching at the slight rejection. "I don't think I can just hand myself to you after-" he watched as her eyes squeezed shut again, as if blinking hard enough would erase those memories.

Azriel kissed her forehead gently. "I do not want you to hand yourself to me, Kaylee." The soft timber of his voice made her relax significantly. "I want you to heal. I want you to grow. I want to be by your side and in your corner as that happens."

Warm wet tears began to run down her face as she finally looked at Azriel. His hazel eyes were studying her as he wiped the tears from her cheekbones. "I can wait forever, Kaylee. But I can't stay away. All I ask is you do not push me away. If this is as close to intimacy as we ever come again, I can live with this. I can live knowing you are safe in my arms, happy, and healthy. Okay?"

She nodded again, love overfilling her heart. Pulling him closer to her, she just laid in his arms. "I'm sorry," her voice was broken. Her hands and body were beginning to tremble. The weight of what was between them hit her. This constant connection between the two of them hit her. She felt his anger, his sorrow, and his self-loathing. She felt his relief and joy. She felt that string of emotions running through him.

"You NEVER apologize for what that asshole did to you ever again. Do you hear me?" Azriel forced her to look at him. "Nothing that happened was your fault. You owe no one an apology."

"He-"

"Will pay for what he did to you. He will suffer for every second of it." Azriel pulled her in again. "Even if it takes me 900 years, Kaylee. He will suffer."

It was a promise that had Kaylee leaning impossibly further into his body. Silence fell between the two again as his wings wrapped around them and shielded her from the outside world.

Kaylee's stomach interrupted the silence this time. "I'm really hungry." Azriel hid his smile in her hair. "Really really hungry."

Azriel looked down at her again before holding his hand out and grabbing the dress his shadows brought to him. "I'll let you get dressed and then take you downstairs." Azriel pulled himself away from her, painfully slow, and Kaylee's eyed widened. "What?" Kaylee shook her head. "Does me being shirtless bother you, honeybee?"

It did. It bothered her a lot actually. Azriel was beautiful. Muscles sat under tanned skin, dark swirling tattoos covered his arms, chest, and shoulders. "I-" Azriel just smirked as her mouth shut. He approached her slowly and leaned down to her now sitting height. "Hi."

"Hello," he kissed her nose softly. "The bathroom is right there," she watched as his hand motioned towards the open doorway. Her eyes trailed the veins in his arms. He watched as she bit her lip. Studying her reaction to him as if he was someone he had locked in his dungeon. He knew he would have to tell Rhys what he was figuring out very quickly.

They all knew from their experience with the sexually assaulted priestess, and from Rhysand, that victims fell into a few different categories, and he was quickly figuring out Kaylee's. Shame and guilt flooded the bond from her end once the arousal hit. "It's perfectly fine and normal for you to still have wants and urges." Azriel kissed her forehead again before leaving the room to go change.

Cassian was leaned against his bedroom door and pushed off of it. "How is she?" They entered his room. Cassian immediately took a seat on Azriel's bed, wings stretching slightly and his face lightly wincing. "Fucking wings."

"Stop doing that before you hurt them again. She's numb outside. Terrified inside." Cassian nodded. The same feelings he was constantly experiencing from Nesta minus the anger. "She likes my arms," Azriel shrugged at Cassian.

Cassian laughed loudly. "You are attractive, Azzie." Azriel felt his face heating up, only furthering Cassian's laughter. "Is it okay if I go say hello to her?"

Azriel nodded and watched as Cassian left the room. It was then he allowed the absolute rage he felt to come forward. He was staring at himself in the mirror, buttoning the front of his shirt up, and without even knowing what was happening, his fist collided with the glass surface shattering it into thousands of tiny pieces.

He threw a few things to the ground, rage spiraling in him for longer than he was proud to admit. Hands found his shoulders and spun him into a tight hug. He breathed deeply, clinging to the soft jacket and scent of citrus and sea as Rhysand used that one spot in his shields to enter his mind and calm him.

"It's okay, Az." Rhys felt Azriel begin sobbing into his shirt. "Everything will be okay. She's in the dinning room with Cassian. It's just the four of us tonight. She's smiling, she's laughing at his shitty jokes. She's okay right now."

Azriel nodded, refusing to drop his hold on Rhys. "I want to kill him."

Rhysand understood. He wanted the King to suffer as well. He wanted him to suffer as payment for the years Rhys spent locked in Amarantha's bed, for the torture Feyre went through at his general's hands.

He wanted to kill him after he allowed his brothers to bleed and almost took them both from him. He wanted the king to suffer for every single moment or fear, pain, and devastation the Archeron sisters had been through.

He wanted to kill him for the nightmares that Rhys had watched plague Kaylee. The acts of cruelty forced upon a mortal girl barely entering her adulthood. He wanted his head on a spike, delivered to her by Azriel after the Spymaster had stripped the King of every shred of hope the way he had Rhysand's poor little sister.

"We will, Az. We will skin him alive if that's what you need. Right now, though, Kaylee is taking a big step her sisters have not yet, and she needs support. She needs you." Rhys paused to heal Azriel's hands, the House having already picked up and repaired the rest. "Let's go eat. There's brownies. The ones Cerridwen makes with the salted caramel swirled in it. Kaylee might eat all of them before you get there if you don't hurry." Azriel pulled away. His face fell as he took in Rhysand's serious features. "Her sweet tooth puts yours and Cassian's to shame, brother."

Azriel instantly moved out of the room, yelling down the stairs as he stalked towards them. "Kaylee, I swear on the Mother, if you eat all of those brownies we will fight."

Cassian's loud laughter filled the house immediately, mixing with one Rhysand and Azriel could only describe as soft. It felt like rain falling on the roof of the House. Like a gentle breeze on a hot day. Rhysand tapped his shoulder, and they looked toward the windows lining the room.

Countless animals scurried, birds flapped their wings happily, soaring carelessly in celebration. Rhys felt his jaw tighten and Azriel felt his stomach drop.

Her laughter was the final confirmation that the sudden increase in wildlife around the Night Court had to do with Kaylee. They took their seats calmly as Kaylee and Cassian continued to giggle.

Azriel watched as Rhysand looked over Kaylee. She looked beautiful in the pretty off the shoulder cotton dress, her hair braided by Cass. But power that continued to beat off of her, echoing through the halls that had Rhysand's interest and attention.

He finally said into Azriel's mind, She has powers over nature and animals. We need to be careful. If she can summon little things unknowingly with just her laughter, Gods know what she could bring with practice.

Azriel's jaw twitched. There were countless possible answers for what she could be. Amren had been searching for days now, only finding more questions. Questions they'd only be able to answer by using Kaylee's powers. He looked over at Kaylee. Her smile was beaming as she laughed at whatever Cassian just said as he pushed more food on her plate. Rhys, we have no clue what she actually-

I know. Rhys interrupted the thought. His own cut off as Kaylee reached for Azriel's hand and held it. It was a subtle movement caused by the bond. She had felt Azriel's need for comfort and offered it to him instantly. We just have to be careful.

Taglist:

@impossibelle

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel fic #multi part fic #azriel shadowsinger

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pocket-thrawn · 2 months

Text

Crossing the Stars

A pretty self-indulgent fic, warming up my Thrawn writing muscles.

Thrawn x f!reader

Music swirled around you, painting dazzling notes of clear flutes and heady cellos all merging into a beautiful symphony. You smelled the fine wines and the decadent foods being passed around on silver platters by carefully dressed servants.

Despite the rich atmosphere and numerous happily chatting guests, all that filled your mind was the injustice of such rich frivolity when there remained such desperate suffering in the Galaxy. Acts of atrocity spurred on and, in some cases, encouraged by the very Empire you had to pretend to support.

Naboo was your home world, and you had fought tooth and nail to keep your people as protected from the Empire’s influence as you could. Your fellow senators had become little more than puppets dancing luridly on the end of Palpatine’s strings after the fall of the Republic. It was with a heavy heart you took up the mantle of Naboo’s senator after the last Queen had so tragically passed away.

So many uniformed individuals, your heart twisted at the sight of the Stormtroopers and Imperial officers milling around. Your own traditional dress brushed velvet against your skin as you turned and walked unhurried to a part of the grand hall that was sufficiently unoccupied.

“Oh, I do apologize.” You said, brushing against another body as you maneuvered around a rather gaudy potted plant.

“It is quite alright.”

You turned your head to offer the gentleman a commiserating sort of look at the state of affairs here, yet the small smile froze upon your face. Your eyes widened slightly, knowing immediately the identity of the blue-skinned alien you’d carelessly knocked into.

“Grand Admiral.” You said, fluidly moving to an appropriate distance from the Chiss.

Thrawn looked down upon you, a small tensing of his lips the only indicator of his amusement. “It seems you already know who I am. I would be remiss not to ask for your identity miss…”

“Erys.” The false name you’d created rolled easily off your tongue as you politely extended your hand, unsure if he would take it. “Senator and representative of Naboo and her people.”

Thrawn did indeed take your hand and shook once before relinquishing it. You noticed immediately how unusually warm his skin was against yours. “Grand Admiral Thrawn, of the Imperial Navy. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, however abrupt in nature.”

“Yes…” You pulled your skirts fully off the offending plant and gave it an aggrieved glance. “Again, sorry about that.”

Thrawn simply gave a small smile. His glowing red eyes unnerving in the emotionless quality they lent.

“Enjoying the gala?” You ventured, feeling obligated to keep the conversation going. You were almost on auto-pilot at this point, going through the motions of a political representative.

“Not entirely.” Thrawn’s smooth voice was almost hypnotic, you found yourself leaning in to hear better as he cast a look around the crowded room. “I am of far better use on the command deck of the Chimaera.”

“Your Star Destroyer, of course.” Something in your voice must have betrayed your disdain for the Imperial vessels because Thrawn’s piercing gaze flicked back to your face.

“Indeed.”

“You had art specially commissioned for the body of your ship, correct?”

“I’m surprised you are aware of my personalization.” Thrawn seemed to be growing ever more interested in this banter.

You chuckled, making sure to not make excessive eye contact with him. You didn’t want gossiping whispers following you back to Naboo. “I’m not sure there’s anyone who doesn’t know of it.” You met his eyes again, he was making no such tactful attempts. “It’s quite the statement.”

“There’s little about me that isn’t.” Thrawn intoned, drawing a surprised chuckle from you. “May I ask after the nature of your clothing?” He continued, hands tightly clasped behind his back and yet his gaze almost felt corporeal on your person as he studied you.

You swallowed a little thickly through your nerves. The points of brighter red you guessed served as Thrawn’s pupils followed the movement of your throat as you spoke. “Yes, of course.”

Thrawn held up a quelling hand for a moment, smiling politely. “I do not wish to impose my presence if unwanted.” It seemed he wished to clarify his intentions. “The conversation you lend is proving to be the most tolerable of this evening.”

You gave him a dubious look. “I get the impression that’s not saying much.”

He chuckled, short and quiet, but yet an actual expression of mirth from a man rumored to be implacable and cold at all times. “No, you are quite correct.”

“Still…” You decided to capitalize on this congenial moment. “I thank you for the compliment. My dress, as you already suggested, is fashioned after the regal regalia of my home world.”

“Excellent play on words.” Thrawn turned his body fully to face you and despite yourself, you did the same. “Please, continue.”

You explained the meaning behind the colors and the artistry woven into the fabric of your dress and hair ornaments. Thrawn listened with rapt attention, seeming to genuinely be interested in your every word. You couldn’t tell if it was simply politeness on his part, in a desire to be distracted from the endless chatter of political machinations around you. Yet as you spoke and he prompted you from time to time, you felt the tension between you slowly ease and drop into an easy companionship.

“Your planet has quite a rich history.” Thrawn said, inclining his head politely when you’d finished speaking. “My condolences on the passing of your late senator.”

Your lips pursed, lingering melancholia tugging at your heart. “She was the best of us.”

Thrawn was silent for a moment, his mouth turning slightly downward in thought. “You strike me as an intelligent and capable individual, you will do well.”

“What of you?” You asked the question that’d been burning in the back of your mind since bumping into him. “Where are you from? What brought you to serve the Empire?”

“A story, perhaps, for another time.” Thrawn said, giving you a smile to indicate he wasn’t offended by your prying.

“It’s quite unusual to see someone non-human to rise within the ranks of the Empire, and so quickly too.” You mused. “Though I am sure you’ve heard such a sentiment quite a lot.”

Thrawn nodded slowly. “Indeed, I have.”

You wanted to ask so many questions but got the sense he was not open to answering them.

“You are not fond of the Empire.” Thrawn said, it wasn’t a question, and it caught you off guard.

“I…whatever gave you that impression?” It was near impossible to keep the irony out of your voice. You clasped your hands behind your back, mirroring his posture, suddenly careful. Amidst the ease of your light banter, you’d forgotten just what Thrawn was and who he served.

Thrawn studied you silently for several seconds. “It is quite evident. Whenever you speak mention the Empire or look at the Officers in this very hall, the distaste is clear upon your visage.”

“You’ve been scrutinizing my ‘visage’ hm?” You asked coyly, deflecting.

“Indeed. Am I correct?”

You hesitated, your shoulders tensing as you looked around the room for a ready excuse to exit this suddenly uncomfortable encounter. You got the sense that it was no use lying to this Chiss man. You gave a terse nod. “Yes.”

“May I ask why?” Thrawn was unlike any Imperial you’d heretofore encountered. He had proven to be polite and respectful, even though you were a senator; a position that drew disdain and condescension from the majority of Palpatine’s servants. You felt like you could open up to Thrawn, which might have been his game all along, there was no real way of knowing.

The fact he would ask your reasons for disliking the Empire surprised you into answering. “There are aspects that I do not agree with, the utter abolishment of democracy being one of them.”

“It has not been abolished as of yet.” Thrawn intoned, lowering his soft voice so you could not be overheard. “The Senate remains, you are proof of this.”

“We are little more than puppets, extensions of Palpatine’s will. And the Senate, as it remains, is slowly being dissolved.”

Thrawn listened to your words, he didn’t argue back. Again, surprising you.

He waited, so you continued. “I don’t condone slavery or the rape of worlds for their resources, displacing millions of people from their homes.” Your words lapsed as you became dangerously close to speaking treason.

“I will not say the Empire is perfect.” Thrawn’s voice remained gentle, no condemnation coloring his words. “However, it is stronger than the Republic, more capable of protecting the Galaxy.”

“I won’t argue that the Republic was perfect.” You rubbed anxiously at your neck before folding your hands politely in front of you. “However a totalitarian regime that relies on fear to govern isn’t the answer.”

“Yes, I had heard rumor the senator from Naboo was quite vocal in her political stance.” Thrawn murmured, his hand found the small of your back causing you to jolt slightly. “Come, peruse the gallery with me.”

Intrigued and not wishing to draw more eyes than had been already, you allowed the Grand Admiral to gently guide you out of the crowded gala hall and into a more secluded marble corridor. Your footsteps echoed as you walked together in silence, Thrawn’s hand no longer at your back.

“After you, please.” Thrawn opened the glass door and bowed slightly as you passed.

You instantly noticed the plush carpet beneath your thin shoes and sighed in relief at the ease it gave your aching feet.

“Yes, a much more comfortable setting. One I quite prefer to political decadence.” Thrawn said behind you, and you turned to see him calmly observing a vivid oil painting framed by the door.

“You did mention your fondness for art.” You joined him and looked at the splash of color that made little sense to you.

“I am equally fond of truth.” Thrawn glanced sideways, you could feel the burning of those red eyes upon you like a weight before he shifted his attention back to the painting again. “What do you see upon this canvas?”

“A…lot of color all thrown together.” You said, mildly peeved, you folded your arms across your chest. “It’s quite an abstract piece.”

“Indeed.” Thrawn turned to face you more fully, causing you to step back on instinct. “To me it describes chaos, anger perhaps, a purposeful lack of care to hide the true meaning beneath.”

“You know…” You remained poised and standing straight, your shoulders back as you inclined your chin to look up at him. “It is very impressive what you can sense from someone’s art, or what they’ve named as art. However, I will remind you that art is up to the viewer’s interpretation. You cannot draw concrete conclusions from art the way you can from the sciences.”

A small smile tugged the corner of Thrawn’s mouth, it gave a self-satisfied impression. As if you’d said exactly what he’d expected. “Very astute, senator Erys. And almost entirely correct. However, even with art, there are certain patterns that become predictable as one studies the nature of sentient beings, particularly humans.”

You arched a brow. “Such as what, may I ask?”

“Emotion.” Thrawn said, leveling his glowing gaze at you. “I would suggest art is always produced by the emotion of its creator. That is why, to understand an adversary or an ally one must study all aspects of their culture, including their art.”

“Which am I, adversary or ally?” You asked, unable to help yourself, even as your hands clenched briefly.

Thrawn smiled and shook his head slightly. “I do not yet know, senator.” His smile faded as he lent down more into your space. “There are many rumors surrounding you, however I know firsthand how such gossip can be entirely inaccurate. For this reason, I am giving you one opportunity to tell me the truth.”

“The truth?” Your heart dropped like a stone; your hands became clammy as you realized how you’d walked right into his trap. The tilt of his head indicated he’d read and recognized all your reactions as the dread coiled within you.

“About yourself, and the organizations you are affiliated with.” Thrawn said softly, his every muscle holding very still, like a spider in its web. “Now, shall we start from the beginning?”

#thrawn fanfiction #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x oc #chiss fic #drabble #multi part fic

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