#should i murder that traitor? should i speak with her? should i speak with the traitor for atleast some context? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cdragons · 1 month

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I'm Yours, But You Can't Be Mine | Dark!Robb Stark x fem Knight!Reader

Summary: The Freys and the Boltons were so close in their attempt to assassinate Robb Stark and switch the tides in favor of the Lannisters. But a knight's devotion to her king should never be tested. Her loyalty always remains true, even if she breaks the heart of the man she loves in order to protect him.

Trigger Warning(s): MDNI 18+, blood, gore, graphic violence, forced abortion, violence against women, canon character deaths (not Robb or Starks), graphic smut, more hurt than comfort, Talisa is a spy (and a ho), Reader has post-murder clarity and guilt

A/N: A couple of days ago, I woke up and chose violence (emotionally and "literature"-ally) ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ. Also, Theon Greyjoy never betrayed Robb in this fic bc I said so - HOORAY! Also, if anyone can tell me how I can use different fonts in my posts, that would be great.

Walking out from the tent where the emergency council meeting was held, you steeled yourself for the information you would have to discuss with your king. With each step falling to the ground, bringing you closer to his tent, the boulder in your stomach grew more and more heavy.

“This is a bad idea,” you thought to yourself. “This is a bad idea and a mistake; he will never forgive you if you go through this.”

But you made a promise – and as Ned Stark taught you, you would keep it because it was right and honorable. Because when choosing between what is right and what is easy…you must always choose what is right.

You stopped before the two Northmen who stood outside your king’s tent as guardsmen. Their postures straightened and appeared as imposing as possible when facing you.

“Turn back, Ser (Y/N),” one guard said. “No matter how familiar with King Robb, we are on strict orders from Lady Catelyn that no one but her and Princess Arya are permitted to enter His Grace’s tent.”

“I need to speak with the King,” you spoke in your best militant and authoritative tone. “His lords and I just held an emergency council meeting to discuss House Frey’s betrayal. I need to ensure that no information is held from him.”

“Perhaps it be best you let His Grace rest,” the other guard spat out. “He had just lost his queen and future heir at the hands of Walder Frey – even if his wife was a spying, traitorous cunt sent by Tywin Lannister. We could all use some time to mourn.”

You snarled and grabbed your dagger when you saw the sigil sewn on her sheath. He belonged to House Blackwood. Your eyes softened as you recognized him as Bywin Blackwood, cousin to Lucas Blackwood, one of the four hundred casualties slain by Hosteen Frey. Taking a deep breath, you tried to appeal to their sympathetic natures.

“I concur, Ser Bywin,” you said. “But you cannot deny that time is of the essence. Three days have passed since the failed Red Wedding, and word has surely reached Tywin Lannister and the rest of the Red Keep of their failure. I fear for Princess Sansa’s life if we do not take action soon. Her well-being is entirely dependent on King Joffery and his bitch mother’s whims and wishes. The faster I can bring our king up to speed, the faster we can retaliate and bring our former liege lord’s daughter back.”

You watched them glance at one another before delivering the final blow. “And then we can all go home so that we may finally properly mourn and honor the lives lost in this war.”

They let you through, and you entered your king’s tent. Seeing your friend lying so still on his cot broke your heart. His chest was wrapped entirely in gauze and bandages, and the memory of seeing the arrows puncture his body swept chills down your back. Grey Wind sat beside him as dutifully as ever and did not even turn his head to look at you when you entered. Like his master, Grey Wind was a beast of discipline and strength. He and Robb shared the same qualities of holding the stoic appearance of a leader – even when the world around them came crumbling down. But here, at this moment, Grey Wind was neither a beast nor a leader. At this moment, he was simply the pet whose mind was running rampant with worry from fear of his dearest friend never waking up.

You held out your hand and called out his name. “Grey Wind.”

His head finally turned to face you. You often wondered if he was more man than beast, sometimes based on how soulful his eyes looked alone. You crouched on the ground and beckoned him to you.

“Come here, boy. Are you thirsty? I brought you water.”

He immediately trotted to you and showed his joy in seeing you were alive by licking your face and nudging you with his wet nose. You softly laughed at his eagerness to shower you in love while also inspecting your body to see if you were injured or carrying weapons. His body stilled, and his fur stood as he stopped to sniff the sword resting on your hip. He took a sniff and bared his teeth to let out a low growl when he recognized the scent of Talisa’s blood soaking the metal of your blade underneath the leather sheath.

You petted him and spoke in low whispers to calm him down. “It’s alright, boy. She met her end – you and I both ensured that.”

A pained voice rasped out. “I don’t suppose you got any information out of it?”

Your eyes widened at the only other voice in the room, and Grey Wind immediately returned to Robb’s side.

Tears filled your eyes as relief flooded your body. “Robb,” you sobbed out.

Before you could stop yourself, you flung yourself to hug him. “You’re alive! Oh gods – you’re alive!”

Returning your embrace, Robb held you close. “I am, and so are my mother and most of our men—all thanks to you.”

But the happy atmosphere became sour and somber when he looked down at your sword. The memory of your hands covered in his wife’s blood as you stormed into Frey’s Great Hall with the rest of his men was fresh in his mind. Fury swirled and thundered inside him as he learned he had been played as a fool by Tywin Lannister. Using one of his vassal house’s daughters as a spy while disguised as a healer so that she could seduce him was a low he never thought those fucking lions would stoop down to, but they had, and he will have their heads on spikes.

His grip on your arms grew harder. “Did she suffer?” he asked.

You looked him straight in the eyes. “Every second until she had her last breath.”

“Good,” was his only response.

“Robb,” you started. What you were about to tell him was cruel, but he needed to know. “I tore her child out from her womb…it had blonde hair.”

Robb let out a bitter laugh and clenched his fists. “So not only was she a spy, but she was also a whore.” He shook his head. “I was a fool.”

You took his hand in yours. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. She had us all fooled.”

Robb shook his head. “Not you. She never fooled you. You hated her the minute you saw her, and you were right, too.”

You never once hid your distrust and dislike for her from the moment she and Robb locked eyes, a distrust that only grew more intense when Robb decided to marry her, thus breaking the vow he made with Walder Frey. But despite your skepticism of Talisa Maegyr, you never suspected she was a spy under Tywin Lannister. Eventually, though, you began to trust her after observing her for countless hours.

She wasn’t a Frey girl, but she might be good to Robb. Maybe she would make him happy.

Robb tucked in a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Who would’ve thought that your natural hatred and distrust for anything pretty would come in so handy?”

“I do not hate all things ‘pretty,’” you scoffed. “I just have a natural distrust for things that seem too good to be true that happen to be pretty. Why do you think I ran away from you for so long?”

Robb smirked. “But you always trusted my father?” he chuckled.

"Ned Stark was someone who was born into privilege and knew it," you shrugged. “Besides, he was old and fat when he found me. And I didn’t think it would be useful until now.”

You thought it strange to see her leave the feast so early, claiming that she felt ill, and one of Bolton’s soldiers escorted her to her chambers. You whispered to Theon that you needed some air before quietly following them. You found them discussing how everything was set and how House Stark would fall that night. Talisa’s true name was Joy Marband, one of House Lannister’s vassal houses in the Westerlands. Tal- Joy ensured Lord Bolton that House Lannister would reward him for his loyalty to the crown. Horrified by this revelation, you rushed to where Grey Wind was locked up and freed him after slaying the guards that stood in front of his kennel.

“Grey Wind, gather the men,” you ordered. “Gather as many as possible and lead them to the Great Hall! We don’t have much time!” Grey Wind howled before doing exactly as you ordered. When he parted, you set off to find the spying whore. On your way to find her, you slew every son, guard, knight, squire, and steward that came across you.

You found her all right – found her in her chambers getting fucked from behind by one of Lord Frey’s many bastard sons. You took out your dagger and gutted him from balls to the chest before cutting off his pathetic cock. It gave you a sick amount of pleasure to see how his blood sprayed across the room – from the walls to the bed, on the traitorous cunt’s back he was fucking to on your clothes. His body went limp as a massive puddle of blood surrounded him. After watching him die, you turned your attention to her.

“Please,” she cried while clutching a blood-splattered sheet close to her chest. “Please, I am with child – Robb’s child!”

You reached out, and your hand squeezed around her throat as she tried to claw her way out of your grasp. Anger being your drive, you slammed her head against the headboard of the bed and watched as her lips turned blue from lack of air.

“Don’t you say his name,” you growled. “Don’t you EVER say his name!”

You flung her like she was a simple ragdoll as her body slammed against the stone wall adjacent to the bed. She coughed and gasped for air while rubbing her throat – the bruises were already forming. You stalked towards her before she could crawl away.

“Robb trusted you!” you thundered. “Lady Stark trusted you! The North trusted you – I TRUSTED YOU!”

You towered over her, grabbed a fistful of her umber-shaded locks, and forcefully yanked it until her face was only inches from yours. “AND WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU TOOK THAT TRUST AND REPAID IT WITH BETRAYAL!”

She tried to crawl away before you stomped on her hand and felt it being crushed underneath the sole of your boot. Your former queen wailed in agony from the pain that almost hid the sound of her bones cracking. The dagger you used to fill the bleeding corpse was still in your other hand, and you knelt to trace Lady Marband’s pretty face with its tip.

“W-w-what are you going to do to me?” she pathetically sniffled.

“I have – STOP CRYING! I have only one question for you,” you harshly whispered. “Did my king truly sire the child in your womb?”

“YES!” she cried out quickly…too quickly. Your jaw clenched so hard you thought your teeth would break from all the pressure.

“…Liar,” you hissed.

With nothing left to stop you, you took your dagger and stabbed it into her body. Dragging the blade until her insides were spilling out into your hands, you dug your find to find the child. Her screams howled louder than any beast at night, and you were almost worried that her wails would give away your position. But all those worries went away when you tore the fetus from her womb. Pouring water on it, you found tiny wisps of hair…straight, blond wisps of hair that more resembled the color of golden wheat than Robb’s dark, russet curls.

Hearing Grey Wind’s howl outside the window, you knew it was time. Still holding the whore’s limb and bloodied bastard in your hand, you raced to find Grey Wind. If your suspicions were true, most of the archers for House Frey were already inside the Great Hall while the feast was happening. If you didn’t hurry, you and the men Grey Wind gathered would be too late. You managed to locate him quickly and were relieved to find thousands of men behind him as he immediately trotted to your side.

“Queen Talisa Maegyr is a traitor working for the Lannisters!” you loudly roared. “She belongs to House Marband—one of their vassal houses! Tywin Lannister had sent her to spy on and seduce your king!”

You raised the dead babe high above your head for all the men to see. “The babe in her stomach is not even Robb’s! If you wish for proof, see for yourself!”

You flung its body to the nearest man. He picked it up, and you can see his eyes widen and fill with rage before confirming your words as truth.

“BLONDE!” he bellowed for all his comrades to hear. “BLONDE LIKE JOFFERY AND HIS WHORE MOTHER, HIDING IN THEIR RED SHIT-STAINED CASTLE!”

Cries and shouts of outrage and anger amongst the men. You watched with bated breath as the surge of revenge and the need for bloodshed filled their hearts. You then revealed that Walder Frey and Roose Bolton were also in a secret allegiance with House Lannister and watched as enraged spirits filled the men with enough fury to take down an army of ten thousand. The North needed something to boost morale, and here it was. You looked down at Grey Wind. He stared back into your eyes with the same loyalty he gives Robb, and you know what you must do.

With one swipe, you unsheathe your blade, ‘Purge,’ and raise it above your head as the men go silent.

You shouted before leading the charge into the keep. “COME WITH ME AND LET’S TAKE THESE FUCKING FREYS TO THEIR GRAVES!”

Grey Wind howled to the sky, and the men raised their weapons to let out their battle cries as they followed you, storming into the keep. You shouted orders for the Riverland archers to run to the upper levels to take down the Freys perched there. Your king’s direwolf raced ahead and took down any soldier that tried to cross him. By the time you and the men reached the doors leading to the Great Hall, all of Grey Wind’s face was soaked with spilled red liquid life save for his golden eyes.

You pushed the door open just in time to see Robb stagger back from the arrows piercing his chest. Just when Roose Bolton tried to deliver the final blow, Grey Wind let out a booming bark before dashing to Lord Bolton and clamping his teeth into his neck. Meanwhile, you went to where Theon was held and removed the heads of the men who were pinning him down with a single swing. You grabbed him by his doublet’s collar, yanked him to his feet, and shoved a spare sword in his hand.

“Grab Robb and his mother, and get out of here!” you ordered.

He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you–”

“Dammit Theon! Don’t argue with me!” you shouted. “Just get Robb and Lady Catelyn somewhere safe!”

Theon looked at the chaos unfolding around him. “What about Queen Talisa?”

“She’s dead! I killed her!” you answered.

“WHAT?!” Theon’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head.

You rolled your eyes. “Tywin Lannister sent her to spy and fuck Robb – NOW, GO!”

Once you saw Theon take Lady Stark and they dragged Robb’s bleeding body to safety, you could finally focus on the fight. You focused your sights on every man who wore a Frey or Bolton sigil and didn’t stop until each one was lying at your feet. The blood spilled from each slash, stab, and chop from Purge soaked your clothes and caked your face. But it was as if a dark ritual had taken place, as their blood only seemed to empower each and every one of your attacks. Before long, it was too late for House Frey and House Bolton. Walder Frey and Roose Bolton were bleeding at the Northmen’s feet, and any reinforcements called were immediately subdued and taken into custody.

As far as you were concerned, the only Frey left in the hall was Roslin—but whether she and the rest of her sisters would keep their heads after their surviving brothers would soon lose theirs didn’t really matter to you.

“I’m alive,” Robb began while cupping your cheek, “because of you. The North survived because of you. How can I ever repay you?”

You held his hand. “I didn’t save you for your gratitude, Robb. I didn’t save you so that you could repay me with titles, money, or lands. I saved you because it was my duty. I saved you because I swore to that night Joffery called for your father’s head, and we named you ‘King of the North.’ I saved you because I…”

Robb titled his head. “Because you what?”

“Don’t make me say it,” you whispered.

“Because you love me?” he softly asked. Pressing his forehead to yours, he continued. “Because I do…you know I do.”

You shook your head. “No, Robb – please. Please don’t do this to me. Don’t say things you don’t mean to make me look less foolish.”

You tried to move back and away from the man you’ve longed after for as long as you could remember. But Robb took your hands and pressed them close to his chest as he implored you to remain by his side.

“That night, after they named me ‘King of the North.’ Do you remember? We were in my tent. I told you I wanted to be alone, but you refused to leave me. I cried and lashed like a screaming child, but you never left.”

This was getting too far. This wasn’t why you came here. “Robb, you need to listen to me–”

But Robb didn’t stop talking. “You just stood there – taking it until you finally took me in your arms and held me. You didn’t say a word; you just let me cry out my pain. Like that time when we captured the Kingslayer, you held my hand when I kneeled in front of the Whispering Wood to mourn the men I lost. You didn’t speak of how brilliant I was or how the lives lost were for a good cause; you let me be me and mourn.”

“Robb–”

“That’s when I knew I loved you – that I’ve always loved you. And then, when we kissed–”

“I’m leaving,” you blurted out, “to Maidenpool tomorrow morning.”

The silence between you two seemed to echo louder than any wind that howled during the fiercest storms. Shock was the first thing on Robb’s face before complete and utter horror took over.

You may have spoken too quickly. “Well, no…technically, I and…a few other riders will be headed to Maidenpool tomorrow morning. We need to prepare a ship for your voyage to Dragonstone.”

“…What?” His voice sounded so broken that you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You combed your fingers through the stray hairs in front of your face. Then, you took a deep breath to prepare for the little speech you had prepared for this moment. This was the plan you and all lords agreed on. It was a good plan, and it was going to work. That’s all you needed to believe to convince Robb.

“Stannis is the realm’s best chance for peace. Perhaps he’s too stubborn but needs more people on his council. Your lords and I decided it was best if you traveled to Dragonstone to try and convince him to become allies with us. But you still need a few more days to recover. So, by the time you arrive at the docks, the ship will be ready. That’s why I – we’re traveling to Maidenpool… to travel to Dragonstone.”

“And after?” Robb breathily asked. His grip on you tightened in desperate hopes of keeping you close. “After we speak with Stannis, we’ll come back? You and me—we’re coming back together?”

You looked away. “You’ll be coming back…along with everyone else. But I…I won’t be coming with you.”

“But I…I won’t be coming with you.”

Robb dropped his hands as if you burned him. You were lying. You had to be – you weren’t genuinely thinking about…about leaving him.

“No,” he panted with terrified eyes. “No, no, no, please.”

You cupped his face. “Robb, please understand–”

“What’s there to understand?!” he cried out. “I love you! And you love me – and yet you’re leaving me! Why?”

“You don’t love me,” you countered. “You’re only saying you love me because you’re angry and hurt by Talisa–”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about that whore,” he spat out.

You rolled your eyes. “Robb, please. You married her. You took her as your wife and nearly ruined the North because of that choice. Of course, you loved her. And, understandably, you’re lashing out because she betrayed you. But don’t lie to me and say you didn’t love her.”

“(Y/N), love,” he beseechingly thought, “you have no idea how wrong you are.”

Robb snarled like the wolf he was at your words. “I married her because I thought she was carrying my child, and I didn’t want my future heir to be a bastard.”

“Even so, that doesn’t explain why–”

You were going to hate him for what he was about to say. “Because you refused me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his shameful reveal. Robb never felt more rueful and penitent of his naivety than now. The last thing he wanted was your disgust and hatred, but he needed you to understand how long he’s loved you. He needed you to realize that you were always the one who held his heart and sanity – without you, he was nothing, as was proven by the Freys and Boltons’ betrayal.

“Robb, I…I don’t – I don’t understand,” you stammered. Your eyes showed that your mind was running amok with questions and a desperate need for clarification. “Wha-…what are you talking about?”

Robb took a deep breath and tried to swallow the lump lodged in his throat.

“That night when my bannermen named me ‘King,’ you followed me to my tent. I kept lashing at you like an angry child, but you never left my side. And then…we kissed, and it led to more. The following day, I wanted to find you – to declare my love for you fully. But every time I got near you…you turned away like I was poison. That’s why I turned to Talisa…to try to forget about you.”

Your eyes widened in horror as your chest moved up and down with shaky breaths. “You broke your vows with Walder Frey…was because of me? You bedded and married Talisa because of me? …I hurt you… a-a-and–” You let out a trembling sob. “–Oh gods, this is all my fault! I-i-if I hadn’t confused you that night–”

Robb could feel you slipping away and continued to try to tether you to him.

“No, my love,” he cooed. “You never confused me. You’re not listening to me. I’ve always loved you, even before that night.”

Robb tried to hold you close, but you harshly shoved him back and stood. He watched as tears continued to fill your eyes, and your face carried an expression that could only be described as overwhelming guilt. Robb flung the covers off him and tried to walk towards you, but each step he took closer to you made you step further back.

You stared at him with a shameful expression. “Robb, I…I was wrong to let things escalate between us. You had just been declared king and were grieving for your father, and I took advantage of your grief and vulnerability–”

Robb tenderly held your face. “No, no, no—you didn’t, though. (Y/N) That night…you gave me your love. You didn’t say it, but you gave me your love, and I gave you mine. I never regretted that night or laying with you. How you spurned my attempts to connect with you afterward—that was what hurt me the most.”

“Robb…” you sobbed his name as tears strolled down your cheeks. “I never wanted to hurt you. I just wanted…I thought if I weren’t beside you…I’d also be protecting you from distractions from the war and your duty to the Freys – oh gods, I’m so sorry.”

You put your hand over your face. “Robb, if that night never happened…if I never followed you to your tent then…then, we wouldn’t be in this mess! All of this is my fault! Talisa, the Lannisters, the broken vow with Walder Frey – the North is more vulnerable than ever, and it’s because of me! …I mutilated a pregnant woman and murdered her unborn child.”

Robb helplessly watched as you continued to blame yourself for his foolishness. Knowing you would want your privacy, he sent Grey Wind away to guard his tent. Gods, his father would be so ashamed of him if he saw him now. He watched as you fell to the ground and began to weep out apologies to every soldier who was murdered by the Boltons and Freys at the Red Wedding.

…Lucas Blackwood…Dacey Mormont…Patrek Mallister…Robin Flint…Ser Wendel Manderly…Owen Norrey…And over three hundred other men and soldiers whose blood were spilled that night.

You even begged for forgiveness from the old gods and new ones, for the blood that belonged to Joy Marband that will forever remain on your hands, along with the stolen breaths of her unborn son.

But then the tears stopped…and an eerie calm cloaked the tent. Your eyes were red and swollen, but a spark of mad clarity was dancing in them. Very slowly, you stood with your head still bowed.

“I have to leave,” you whispered. “I have to leave and never come back. If I stay, I’ll only continue to ruin you and our cause more than I already have.”

You turned away to leave, but Robb reached out to stop you before you could take another step. He begged you to look at him, pleading for you to listen to reason before making any rash decisions. When you stubbornly refused, he grabbed your jaw and forcefully turned your head to face him. His crystal-blue eyes were wide with fear and misty from anguish. He had to make you understand that your leaving was not an option.

“(Y/N), look at me—please, love,” Robb implored. " If you leave me, I will never recover. If you dare leave my side, I will tear all of Westeros apart—leaving no stone unturned, no cave unsearched, no village left unplundered. We belong together. You and me – ruling the North, side-by-side in Winterfell. Us, together, spending every night in each other’s arms, with each morning beginning by being greeted by our children.”

He pulled your face closer until your lips were only a few inches away, and your individual breaths intermingled to become one. You want that life with him—just as he wants that life with you. So why can’t you embrace it and share it with him?

You shut your gaze from him and tried to choke down the pain. “It doesn’t matter what either of us wants. All that matters right now is what we need. What matters is how we can gather ourselves from these losses and try to form allies. And if me being here distracts you from that, then…then I need to leave.”

Robb determinedly shakes his head. “No, no – I don’t accept that.”

“Robb–” you tried to reason, but all of your pleas were cut off when he pressed his lips against yours.

And just like that – all words floated away like debris falling into a steady river.

A warm and tingling sensation ran down (Y/N)’s body as their lips met, and she closed her eyes to fully succumb to the sensation. She knew that she should have pushed him away immediately. But as Robb continued to hold her face gently to deepen the kiss, all sense of reason fled from (Y/N)’s mind when his lips moved against hers with gentle and firm urgency. In that moment, nothing mattered – not the messy past, the unstable present, or the uncertain future. At that moment, (Y/N) felt completely free of all worries and fears as Robb’s hands began to trail down to wrap his arms around her waist to hold her closer while (Y/N) wrapped her arms over his neck.

Despite the constriction of their lungs, neither wanted to part. If they could die in this embrace, then so be it. (Y/N) felt every hard, warm muscle of Robb’s body pressed against hers as they began to walk back until the back of his knees hit his cot’s edge. They tumbled onto the cot, and the fall caused Robb to fall on his back with (Y/N)’s soft and supple frame to press further against him. He slightly winced in pain, which caused the two lovers to finally part. As (Y/N) stared down at her king with a concerned expression, Robb thought an angel was with him.

He stared at her flushed cheeks and lust-glazed eyes with naked longing. Her (h/c) strands tumbled to form a curtain hiding their faces. Staring at the mythic beauty over him, Robb knew he wanted this with (Y/N) forever. Meanwhile, (Y/N) gently swept his curls from his face before trailing her hands down his bandaged chest to search if any wounds had been opened.

“Do you need me to stop?” she asked, her heart beating a hundred miles a minute. “You’re still healing, it might be best if we–”

“If you even think of finishing that sentence with ‘stop,’” Robb interjected. “I’ll bind your hands and take you from behind over and over until the only word you can say is my name – just to show you and everyone else that I could be dying from a cut-off leg if it means I can have you.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and giggled. “You’re so dramatic sometimes. I just don’t want you bleeding out and dying before I finish.”

Robb sat up, wrapped his arms around her, and forced her to straddle him. The sudden realization that Robb had been naked this entire time had somehow escaped (Y/N)’s attention as she felt the evidence of his heavily growing arousal against her body. His lips hovered as his warm breath hit her skin, and his low-timber voice whispered into her ear.

“At least you know where this night will take us,” he huskily growled. “Because I don’t plan on stopping until your womb is so full of my seed – it leaks from your cunt.”

He lowered his hands to grasp her hips before trailing them down to sink his hands over her ass. Showing his canines with a lecherous grin, Robb teasingly ground his hips against hers. He rubbed his hardening manhood against her warm core and reveled in the gasps and whimpers escaping her plumped lips. (Y/N) threw her head back as she could no longer hold back her cries of ecstasy. Taking full advantage of her exposed neck, Robb latched his lips just under her and traced the column of her neck with his soft, hot lips. The feeling of his lips combined with the scruff of his beard against her skin was nothing less than euphoric.

“Oh, Robb,” she breathily panted as their bodies rocked together in sync. “Gods, don’t stop!”

Her hands roamed until her fingers fisted around his dark copper curls. (Y/N) felt her lower body clench when he bit on a pulse point before giving languid strokes of his tongue on it. The contrast between his hot, wet tongue and the chill of his breath when he blew on it gave her goosebumps. (Y/N) softly pushed him back as she longingly gazed into his sapphire-ice pools with her (e/c) eyes and twirled one of his russet curls with her finger. Robb leaned forward and pressed a small peck on her lips as an overwhelming feeling of love encompassed him at her smile.

“I love you,” he sighed out, “do you know that? I love you, (Y/N). I love you so much.”

(Y/N) wanted so desperately to say it back, but the words failed. Seeing how much his love struggled, Robb cupped her cheek and reveled in her warmth as she nuzzled into his palm.

“You don’t have to say now,” he reassured her. “I just—I just want you to know that. Promise me no matter what, you know that.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I promise,” she said with a trembling voice. “I…I want it to say back. But I just…with everything that’s happened—I can’t help but feel like…if Red Wedding wasn’t going to be the thing that causes us to lose this war, I’m so scared of what will.”

Robb pressed a soft kiss to (Y/N)’s temple. “Don’t be scared. I know we’ll make it. We will win this war and take King’s Landing from the Lannisters. And when we do, Sansa will finally be free, and we can all return home.”

“To where you’ll rule the North as King in Winterfell,” (Y/N) mused in a wistful tone. “It feels like a sin to even dream of it now.”

Robb stroked his thumb over her cheek. “It’ll be your home, too.”

(Y/N) gave her beautiful king a genuine but sad smile. “I don’t want to talk about the future right now.”

Robb’s brow furrowed at her foreboding words. “What do you want to talk about?”

When (Y/N) pulled away and stepped off his lap, Robb was prepared to chase her through the camp naked if she dared run away while he was in this state. But she just stepped to the center of the space before removing her boots, followed by her stripping the dark leather breeches slowly down until the bare skin of her legs was revealed. She then lifted her tunic over her head along with her chest binder.

Robb was so painfully hard just from looking at her. He cursed himself for thinking he could ever be happy with Talisa, knowing that perfection was standing before him in his tent. His eyes drank in the sight of (Y/N)’s naked body as if looking away would kill him. He took it all in, from every scar that faded to a pale sliver to every beauty mark unique to her. He wondered if she truly knew how beautiful she was…if she understood how much she had completely and utterly bewitched his soul just with her presence. He wondered if she knew how much he wanted to kneel at her feet so that he could beg for her permission to let him worship her for the rest of his life.

(Y/N) began to walk toward him, and it felt as if the world around them was fading into incoherence, and only the two of them were left. When she finally reached him, she took his hand and placed it over her heart. She wanted him to feel it racing from his touch, from his gaze. Then, she lowered herself until her eyes leveled with his as she sat on the cot’s blankets. With her hands, she cupped his face and poured all her love for her king from her eyes.

“I’m tired,” she sighed. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want this…of pretending I don’t want you. But most of all…I’m so tired of pretending that I…that I don’t love you.”

It felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off her shoulders as (Y/N) finally confessed her love for her king, Robb Stark. The man she marched with from Winterfell when Joffery first imprisoned his father. The man whom she fought beside and watched mourn for every good man who fell fighting for him. The man she’s loved since before she knew what love meant.

(Y/N) let out a heavy sob. “Because I do, Robb. I do love you. Gods, I love you so much – not just as a soldier loves their king, but as a woman who loves a man.”

Robb hadn’t realized he was crying until (Y/N) wiped a tear with her thumb. He took his hand from her chest and pulled her face towards him until their lips met again. Wet laughter mixed with tears and kisses made for a strange sight for an outsider, but it was a moment filled with more love and happiness than these two dared to hope. The way their bodies moved and swayed before (Y/N) fell on her back underneath Robb Stark as he hovered above her looked more akin to an awkward entanglement of limbs than an impassioned embrace. But for the two lovers, kissing each other seemed as easy as breathing and soothing like a gently falling summer snow. (Y/N) marveled at how easy it was to kiss Robb. It almost felt organic, with how naturally drunk they became by the taste of the other.

Soon, the kiss became more heated as (Y/N) and Robb grew more hungry to explore more of each other’s bodies. The more heated Robb kissed her, the more eager (Y/N)’s hands grew to explore his strong, muscular body. Her hands caressed his warm skin, and her fingers softly traced the scars that made him all the more desirable. His lips trailed to her chin and traveled down her neck until he had just reached the tops of her breasts. Grinning at how hard she was breathing, he took one breast in his hand and twisted her nipple. A needy cry left her lips at his harsh tugging before turning into a high-pitched whine when he bit the other.

Pleasure coursed through (Y/N)’s body like blue-hot lightning as her back arched into his body, and her entire frame felt paralyzed from it. She felt her core leaking from arousal as Robb’s hard, throbbing member was pressed against her stomach. Deciding that if he waited any longer, then he would likely burst, Robb used one hand to roam down (Y/N)’s body until he settled in the special place between her legs. He then took the other breast and tugged its nipple between his teeth before using his other hand to tug and twist the one previously in his mouth. Meanwhile, (Y/N)’s mind was so clouded in lust that she could not feel Robb stroking her clit with one finger before sinking two fingers inside her walls.

“Fuck…your walls are so tight on my fingers,” he huskily groaned as (Y/N) wept in ecstasy. “Such a wicked girl…avoiding your king and keeping this sweet cunt away from me. Every time I laid with that whore, I had to fight the urge to call out your name when I spilled into her. But you won’t do that anymore, will you? You know better to run now, right?”

“I-I-I won’t run! I’m yours, Robb! I only belong to you!” She stammered as Robb began to rub tight circles with his now-soaked fingers on her clit. She thrashed against the covers, fisting the furs on his bed to somehow anchor her. Her core tightened, and no matter how much she wanted to close her legs, his hips prevented her from doing so. As a result, (Y/N) had to take it and continue drowning in the pleasure that was Robb Stark’s love.

“Good girl,” Robb darkly chuckled as he straightened his back and placed his hands on the back of her thighs to spread them wide. He took his cock in his hand and rubbed its leaking tip against her folds. “Are you ready for me to take you? Are you ready to know how a wolf breeds his mate?”

(Y/N) quickly nodded. She couldn’t take the waiting any longer. “Please, Robb,” she begged. “Please take me—make me yours!”

With a single thrust, Robb plunged his entire length inside until he bottomed out, and the tip of his manhood kissed the entrance of her womb. The stretch of his thick, hard member against her walls gave the most delicious burn that made (Y/N) peak from the feeling of how deep he was inside her. Meanwhile, Robb’s face snarled at how warm and tight (Y/N)’s cunt felt around him. As her walls tightly clamped down on his length, he bit inside his cheek so hard that the coppery taste of blood coated his tongue to prevent him from erupting right then and there. His hand traveled to her hair and sharply tugged it back so that he could roughly kiss her. His blood only further aroused (Y/N)’s lust for the man inside her as she considered it another sign that she had tasted more of her king and another piece was inside her. Emboldened by this action, she wrapped her tights around his hips to further mold their bodies as one.

The way (Y/N)’s body was pressed against his inflamed Robb’s ardor as he pulled out until only the tip was still inside before roughly thrusting himself in fully. Each time he pulled out and pushed back in, she gave him a symphony of cries and begging that could be heard throughout the camp. The slapping of their skin from each thrust inside of (Y/N) made him grip her hips so tightly that she could already feel the bruises forming on her skin as a steady pace had been reached.

Sweat built on both the lovers’ bodies as (Y/N) began to dig her nails into Robb’s skin and claw long scratches down his back. The twinge of pain only made the young king want to sink deeper and deeper into her until they became one inseparable being. Robb tried to remind himself to go slower to avoid harm (Y/N), but one look in her eyes told him there was no need to hold back.

“Take me,” her eyes begged. “Make me completely yours from this day until my last days.”

Upon her request, it felt as if a dormant beast had taken over Robb, as all he could think about was how much he wanted to take her faster, harder, and rougher – until the only word she could say was his name. As he set off at a new pace, (Y/N)’s eyes rolled back as she began to babble out incoherent cries and moans. It felt like there was no part of her mind, body, and soul that wasn’t wholly drowning from waves of pleasure crashing into her.

She was sure the following day, she would do everything in her power to avoid everyone’s eyes, as they all likely heard her moaning for their king like a common whore. But for now, at this moment, she wanted to only exist for Robb and continue drowning in his love.

Soon, it wasn’t long before the familiar feeling of a knot tightening inside her began to coil more tautly as Robb continued to lavish her in his adoration. (Y/N) could feel her pleasure climbing higher and higher until the knot grew so tight that it snapped. It felt as if a dam had burst, and a heavy flood of pleasure crashed into every muscle of her body. The release had made her feel as if her body had reached new heights of pleasure so immense that it became almost painful as tears started to roll down her cheeks. (Y/N)’s eyes shot wide, and she opened her mouth as her back arched into him, but no sound was made. There was nothing that could adequately convey the

Feeling (Y/N) release on his cock, Robb growled as he felt the last vestiges of his sanity snap and lost all composure. He began to increase his pace until his thrusts became rough and frantic to chase his end. He pushed her thighs until they were pressed against her chest before wildly thrusting deeper inside her walls to feel more of her heat. He was able to fuck into her once, thrice, ten more times before his body went taut, and he spilled his seed into (Y/N)’s womb. Her soaked, vice walls gripped around him and tried to milk all of him in desperate want to carry his child.

As Robb felt the last of his cum leave him, a wave of exhaustion crashed into him, and his arms were no longer able to prevent his body from falling atop (Y/N). Panting for air and resting his head in the crook of her neck, Robb turned to rest on his side while making sure her body was still connected to his. His touch became soothing and gentle as he whispered his dreams and hopes for a child with her hair and his eyes to be borne from this night. She tiredly giggles as he delicately kisses her cheeks, nose, temple, and brow while he talks.

He wanted to weep tears of joy. He felt almost…blessed. After aimlessly wandering in a barren wasteland with no clear end, Robb felt as close to peace as the first time he shared a bed with (Y/N). Robb wraps his arms around her frame and brings furs to cover them as a chilling breeze enters the tent, and (Y/N) shivers from the chill. He tightens his embrace as sleep takes over him.

He whispers in her ear, “I love you, (Y/N). We will be so happy together. I know we will.”

She slightly hesitates before replying. “I am yours, Robb. I swear this to you.”

Her king was so lost in his bliss that he didn’t notice the sadness in her eyes and the tremble in her voice.

A gentle stream of light stirred Robb awake. He stretched his arms and blearily rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Based on how loud it was outside his tent, it was late in the day. He reached out to hold you once more…when he felt your side of his bed feel cold. Immediately alarmed, Robb shot up and looked around his surroundings.

There was no sign of you anywhere.

Your clothes…your bag…your sword…even your bloody scent was gone!

Robb shot out of bed and hastily dressed himself in only his breeches and doublet to begin searching for you. But just as he was about to leave after putting on his boots, a small scroll had been placed in the middle of his desk. He dashed over and quickly opened it. The instant relief from recognizing your handwriting cruelly died as he read over your words, and he could feel his heart breaking.

Every word I said last night holds true – from this day to my last day. I am yours, Robb Stark. But you cannot be mine.

Also, I plan to make this a...3 part series? Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Please comment your thoughts and reblog if you think more people would like to read this!

Tagging: @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @llonelygoddess, @arcielee, @countrymusiclover, @yns-world, @axelsagewrites, @bre99, @katzoinks, @asongofrhaenyra, @rise-my-angel, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @anewpersonthatexists, @bogbutteronmycroissant, @sylasthegrim, @writingsofwesteros, @julessworldd , @dipperscavern

#robb stark x reader #robb stark x female reader #robb stark x fem reader #robb stark fanfic #robb stark smut #game of thrones fix it #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones fic #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #dark robb stark #dark fic #my writing

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harryforvogue · 7 months

Text

Bringing the Queen Home*

hi yes hello. this fic is about persephone being a late to returning to hades!harry, so he decides to take matters into his own hands. 6.5k words and, as always, happy reading :)

tw: mention of child passing away

***

Hecate and Hermes glance at each other as Harry stalks past them again, the look on his face murderous. The effects of his rage have been prominent from the trembling of the palace walls and the cold air shifting through the gardens. His arms are behind his back as he paces, hands in fists.

Hermes is the first one to speak. “Er, my king. Perhaps we should look into communicating with Dem–”

“Say her name and I’ll kill you.” Harry’s growl is demonic. He turns his black eyes to Hermes, daring him to say more.

Hermes (tries to) stand his ground, but he shifts back towards Hecate against the corridor wall and murmurs, “Your turn.”

Hecate doesn’t bother. She’s been around an enraged Harry too many times to interfere. Whatever plan he comes up with will be his own and then he can’t go around blaming other people for the hole he digs for himself.

“A week,” Harry’s muttering to himself. “What could have made her so upset that she’s late for a week. I understand a day. Maybe even two. But 7 entire days is ridiculous.” He runs a hand through his hair, gripping it tight at the base of his neck.

Harry paces in the dimly lit hallway outside his bedroom for a little longer. And then, suddenly, he stops. Hecate knows he has a plan from the way he lifts his head sharply, eyes returning to their normal color.

“We must go up and get her.”

Hermes groans. “You’re still technically barred from leaving the Underworld, remember?”

It’s true. Last year, he’d been visiting Persephone after a particularly terrifying dream about his father, and only wanted solace in his wife. Persephone had kept it a secret very well, and had cradled his head to his chest while waiting for him to calm down. But as he was leaving, disguised as a black snake, Helion, the traitorous bastard, had identified him and alerted Zeus. And as a result, Hermes was sent to “guard” the king of the underworld to ensure he did not break the clause in his contract that (paraphrased) stated, “Do not be stupid and leave the Underworld while your wife is gone or I shall fry you on the spot.”

Also as a punishment, Zeus placed Hades on something that the mortals had made up. “House arrest” he’d called it, looking quite pleased with himself for thinking of it.

“I’ll be invisible,” Harry says.

“It will not be enough!” Hermes groans, his head in his hands. “You put me through so much stress. If I were mortal, I sure would have one of those things. Those heart conditions. The, er. Heart…heart…”

“Heart attack,” Hecate mutters.

“Yes. Precisely!”

Harry is unfazed. “You will cover for me, and if you should refuse, I will keep you as my personal servant and messenger for the next five years.”

Hermes looks up, horrified. “Five years? You’d be that cruel?”

“Quite. Do you want to defy me?” Harry’s voice is low and challenging.

“But your brother–”

“Will never find out. I must get my wife.” Harry prowls closer to him, power radiating off him. His eyes are growing black around the edges again. “Hermes. What is your answer?”

When Hermes is all but backed to the wall with a looming, murderous man above him, he yells, “Fine! Fine! I won’t tell!”

“Good.” Harry doesn’t look away from Hermes. “Hecate.”

“Yes, my king?”

“My chariot.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Hecate?”

“Yes?”

“You must stay here and look after the kingdom.” Harry finally pulls away from Hermes when the other deity starts cowering under the dark glare. “I will be going tonight.”

Harry steps back and looks at both of them pointedly. They nod back, and then Harry disappears into his room, slamming and locking the door behind him.

***

There’s nobody else capturing her attention, Harry tells himself as he removes his crown from his head. He’d dressed up well for his wife’s return, adorned in jewelry and the finest material. He turns the crown in his hands. There’s nobody more important to Persephone than he. There can’t be.

So why is she not home?

Harry pinches the bridge of his nose, falling down to his shared bed. He tosses the crown away. Could she be upset with him? So filled with rage that she doesn’t wish to see him? Was he not writing back to her well enough? Was he not telling her enough, how much he loved her? How he ached to touch her? Kiss her? Was it not enough?

Is he not enough?

Does she not wish to be his wife anymore?

His chest tightens, and Harry thinks it’s all too mortal of him to feel the physical ailments of his agony.

Persephone loves him. He knows that. He does. So why does he–?

Harry stops himself. He stands up again and fixes his clothing. He then prepares for his journey, hiding sheathed bronze weapons in his suit, tucking his invisibility cap close to him as well. It matters little of the reason for her reluctance. He will bring his wife home.

Before he leaves his chamber, Harry looks at himself in the mirror, a picture of terror. He forces his face to relax. Persephone always tells him not to be so severe. He can feel her soft fingers pull apart his eyebrows that she swears are connected. He can feel her lips on his jaw, kissing away the tension. My love, she murmurs, arms around him tight. I just want to see you smile. Please?

So then it is decided. Whatever the reason for her hesitance is, he’ll deal with it. Whether it’s a duty, or another man. He will be rational.

***

Harry is anything but rational, he finds.

Because Persephone isn’t with her mother at her palace. In fact, Demeter’s already weeping and grieving and all that fucking bullshit. The earth is cold, winds picking up as he leaves the palace.

Persephone isn’t with her mother. Persephone isn’t with him. She’s elsewhere, and now he’s angry at her.

Now that the familiar feeling has returned, Harry wants nothing more than to quickly identify where his wife is and demand answers. So after a brief break within the trees, he stalks out of the woods then, and closes his eyes, willing himself to calm down so that he can grasp the connection between him and his wife.

He might have felt even a flicker of something if he weren’t so angry. He opens his eyes and begins walking in the usual direction Persephone takes to return to him. Demeter has previously expressed that she doesn’t like seeing Persephone leave the way she comes because it’s “too close to home” so Persephone usually goes a town over before returning to him.

Harry’s footsteps against the earth are hard, and he catches himself caught up in his rage when the trees around him begin to shake.

What could have been so important that she refused to return home to him?

The town over is quite far, and Harry uses the long walk to try to calm down. He doesn’t want to be raging when Persehone sees him for the first time in six months.

By the time he reaches the town, Harry’s feeling lighter. He’s said a few mantras to himself — which Hermes told him before he left — and taken a few breaks in between miles. He’s done well, he thinks. At least by the standards of the King.

He walks on the town’s cobblestoned pathway, winding between makeshift houses and temples. At nearly every door, he stops and closes his eyes, trying to feel his wife’s presence. But everytime, he comes up short, devoid of any trace of her. He doesn’t immediately give up even though the irritation returns. Instead, he walks to each establishment, including the pubs and hotels, hoping he can feel her.

It isn’t until he’s about to leave the town and angrily trudge to the next one that he violently stops, turning his head.

There. He feels her.

He slowly turns around and scans the land. The town is busy preparing for winter, several men walking in front of him with wood on their backs, the women carrying baskets of vegetables into their homes. Some of them are bandaged, some of them limping.

But despite the excitement. Harry can feel a faint glimmer, and it tugs at his heart. He looks around. She wasn’t in the house. Not the shops. Not the pubs. She’s–

The infirmary. His eyes narrow in on the small hut-like building made of remaining bricks and wood, barely put together. His feet begin to walk him in that direction.

She can’t be hurt. She’d heal immediately if she was.

But that reminder doesn’t make him any less worried. Suddenly, he feels stupid for being angry. Never once did he consider she could be hurt. He just assumed she’d be able to take care of herself.

It’s not a busy infirmary, though. There are a few children laying on cots with their mothers near them, but aside from that and the one healer, the room is empty.

Harry walks through it, careful not to make any sound. He hovers over the children, their pale faces flushed with fever. With a tight jaw, he holds his hand over them and reaches, removing their pain. He can’t completely heal them, but he figures anything will help. The children, barely of ages 5 or 6 he assumes, relax into their bed, eyes fluttering shut. To their mothers, it looks like they’ve fallen asleep.

He steps away and then turns back towards the room, glancing around.

The healer is dressed in all white, tall and kind. She is currently busy with helping a child enter, taking the baby of barely six months in mortal time from its father and resting it on her hip. She cradles the baby’s head to her chest and sighs softly, gently bouncing. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “You’ll be just fine.”

The mother rushes in, eyes filled with tears. “I did as you asked, Miss. Only natural milk. As you asked.”

“Yes,” the healer says softly. She brushes her fingers over the baby’s full cheek. “And you must leave the rest to me. I assure you, she will be well in a day’s time.”

When the healer turns around, Harry stops.

Persephone. Wife.

Harry immediately goes to her, but stops when she starts walking in his direction. She’s disguised herself well, the opposite of what she really looks like, but her gentle eyes remain. Wholly focused on the baby. She brings the child to the cot closest to him and lays her down gingerly, reaching for a wet cloth. The baby has miraculously fallen asleep, no doubt Persephone’s work, and she puts the cloth over her eyes.

She stands again to address the parents. The father has his arm around his wife, holding her tight as she cries against him. “She will be okay,” Persephone whispers. “I promise you.”

Some more reassurance and then Persephone steps back to let the parents sit. She goes around to the other cots, nodding when the parents thank her for her help.

And then she’s finished with her round. She stands at the back, her hands clasped in front of her, a look of determination on her face. But her eyes. Her eyes look sad.

Harry steps closer again, wary of coming into contact with her. He can’t reveal himself. Not here. He’ll have to wait until it’s dark. Or at least until a few candles have been extinguished.

So he busies himself. He too walks around and removes the pain from the children, incrementally taking away the parents’ sorrow. It goes on for several hours. He’d never known parents could feel such hurt over their children, but then again – how would he know?

And he also watches his wife flutter around. Persephone makes stew over the fire and pours it by the ladle for her patients, passing the bowls around to the children and their parents. She sits with them, whispering even more kind words. Pretends to their food.

Harry’s anger is gone. All he feels now is a tremendous amount of love for his wife. He cannot name a single other god or goddess that would do such a thing for mere mortals.

At nightfall, Persephone goes around and blows out the candles. She leaves only two and then she gathers herself, exiting the infirmary. Harry trails after her, and once she tells her replacement the updates on the children, she turns the corner and rests her back against the brick wall, staring out into the night. He sees her lips moving silently as if praying.

His heart gives a start in his chest, the bond between them growing tight.

She’s talking to him.

Harry approaches carefully. He removes his cap, walking in the shadows to avoid any lingering eyes from the distant town.

Persephone sees him from the corner of her eye. She wipes her hands on the front of her dress, pulls a happy face on and then turns to him. “Good evening, sir. How can I–” She trails off when Harry steps into the dim light of the lantern perched outside. “Harry.”

“Wife,” Hades greets, eyes running over her face. He hesitates, suddenly feeling ridiculous standing so far from her with his hands tucked into his pockets. This is their reunion. He should be grabbing her. Kissing her.

Scolding her for not sending a message.

Persephone must see it all on his barely lit face. She suddenly crumbles, her shoulders dropping. With a glance around to ensure nobody is watching, she waves a shaky hand over her face, revealing her true appearance. Harry’s heart aches at the sight of her, his hands flying out of his pockets to grab her face.

“My darling girl—”

“Harry.” Her lips tremble.

“Yes. Yes, Kore,” he whispers, pushing her back against the wall. Her own hands grip his shirt. Every thought in his head disappears when he brings his mouth down, draping his body over hers. He kisses her hard, 6 months of sadness rushing out of him. “My love. My wife.”

Persephone’s hands trail up to his face. Then his hair where she knots her fingers in his curls. “I should have told you,” she says softly. “I know. I should have. But I couldn’t– I didn't think –” she suddenly cries and throws her arms around him, hugging him fiercely to her. “Harry. I’m so sorry. I’ve missed you so. I’m so terribly sorry.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t understand?” he whispers, cradling her head as she’d done for the baby. He feels himself crumble when her body trembles with sobs. “I would have. I would have, love.”

Persephone shakes her head. “You were angry. I felt it. The ground shook and I knew it was you. Oh, but Harry. I couldn't walk away from this. They needed me. The poor children. The mothers. The fathers. They’ve suffered so much already. My mother did it. I left and she– the storm. It ruined houses. Everyone was hurt or sick. The healers did their best but there weren’t enough of them so I–”

“Shhh.” He turns his head and kisses her hair. “It’s okay. It’s okay now. They’re doing well.”

“I lost a few. Got here too late and now they’re–”

“We’ll see to them. Once we’re home, we’ll see to them, I promise you.”

Persephone raises her head. Tears slide down her cheeks, desperation in her eyes. “We will?”

“Of course.” He wipes her face gently. “They’re your people. And you are their queen.” He presses his thumb to her lips when it looks like she’ll keep crying. “I love you, Kore. I was worried about you. And yes, I was very angry too. But I understand now.” He cups her face. “So let’s fix everyone and go back home, please. I’ve already lost a week with you and I would hate to lose more.”

Persephone sniffles and nods. She wipes her face and kisses him again, sweeter and softer this time. “Okay. Yes. I love you. I want to go home.”

Harry doesn’t let her go for some time. He kisses her until she can’t breathe, and then kisses her tear streaked face, her neck, and shoulders. Anywhere he can reach. And he holds her tight to him, making up for lost time.

“I love you,” he rasps against her cheek. “My wife.”

The only thing that breaks them apart is a sudden shriek.

They jerk apart, glancing at the infirmary and then each other. The other healer who replaced Persephone rushes out, wildly looking around. When she spots her, Persephone is already in her disguise, and Harry stands several feet away, invisible.

“What is it?” Persephone demands, running into the infirmary with the other healer. “What?”

“The babe,” the healer says miserably. “He’s gone. The one with the fever from yesterday. He’s…”

Harry follows behind them. The parents of the boy at the end of the line of cots are crying, huddling around their son. Persephone runs to them, meeting the family from the opposite side of the makeshift bed. She tends to the son, but Harry knows, and he knows that she feels it too. As the King and Queen of the Underworld, they’re too accustomed to death to not feel it.

He sees it on her face. The grief. The sudden sadness. The anger.

The other healer is trying her best. “I was only checking him. He looked flushed. I was just–”

Persephone raises a hand, quieting her. “Please.”

“I couldn't have–”

“I know. I know.”

Harry watches his wife stand and stare down at the now incomplete family. For several long seconds, she lets the family cry. And then she raises her eyes up to stare at where Harry is, piercing him with her gaze despite his invisibility.

He slowly nears, beckoned by her. Harry carefully places a hand on her shoulder and then reaches for his cap. Persephone’s eyes close, tears dripping down her face, hands tightened into fists.

Then, she opens her eyes and looks at the healer. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For your help.”

“I should have done more,” the healer tries, crying. “I should have done more, miss.”

“No,” Persephone says. “You did well. Please. Take a rest. It’ll be okay.”

“I can’t–”

“You will.” Persephone’s voice hardens slightly, though it still shakes. “Now.”

The young healer holds a hand to her mouth to stop her mouth and leaves the infirmary.

The parents before her are still crying loudly. The other children and parents are waking, but Harry cannot have that. He releases his cap and walks to each cot, waving a hand over their faces to put them back to sleep. It’s not a power he’s familiar with so it takes more energy out of him than usual, but soon, they've all returned to sleep and all is silent except for the cries.

Persephone dims the candles and then nears the parents. She kneels before them. Harry’s beside her again. She reaches out to touch their hands.

“Listen to me,” she says quietly. “You must listen to me.”

The grieving parents glance at her shakily. Harry can’t look at them for too long. Even the King can’t bear this type of suffering.

“My baby,” the mother gasps, digging her fingernails into her skin. Her face is red and blotchy. “My-my only baby.”

Persephone looks behind her and nods. Harry removes the cap from his head, revealing himself. Two pairs of widened eyes slide over to him, horror growing on their faces. The mother shrieks, throwing a hand over her mouth, and she goes to rise out of fear, but Persephone’s honey voice keeps her still.

She reveals herself afterwards, but it only makes the parents shudder, their mouths opening to scream. Persephone shakes her head and pats their hands calmly.

“My name is Kore,” she says softly, power radiating from her. “And this is my husband, Aidoneus. It’s okay.”

Terror sprawls over the young parents’ faces. They grip each other tightly when they look at Harry. He can feel the intense spike of emotions when they do. He’s used to it, and normally he’d enjoy it, but now’s not the time.

Harry walks forward and kneels before them as well, putting his hand over his wife’s. “Your child is safe.”

A king on his knees. If Zeus were here, he’d rage. Perhaps Harry would too, if Persephone weren’t besides him leading.

“Yes,” Persephone says kindly. “Your child was a good person. And he has passed onto our realm. But we promise to treat him well. I shall ensure his happiness. He shall wait for you until you, too, are ready to come.”

Hades and Persephone give the parents time to understand. Their breaths stutter, chests blooming with ache, knuckles white, but they remain still, simply looking at the pair of them. The mother seems to have trouble breathing, the father absently rubs his wife’s back.

She is the first to recover and move. She throws herself onto the floor before Persephone and Hades, her forehead touching the hard ground. “Take me now, my King and Queen. Please. Take me now!”

The father is still frozen in his seat. Harry levels his eyes at him while Persephone tends to his wife. It’s better that way. Harry’s never been all that great at calming mortals, not even the dead ones.

“It is not your time. Not yet. And that is not our job. But when the right moment comes, you shall see him again.”

The mother continues to sob, clutching Persephone’s toga. “No. Please. I can’t bear to live without my baby. It took years to conceive him. I cannot. I cannot–”

“You’d do best to calm your wife,” Harry says to the father. “Mine only speaks the truth. You will be reunited and that is my oath to you, my humble worshipper. You must be patient. Do you not trust your King and Queen?”

“O-of course,” the father stammers, shakily reaching for his wife. He roughly draws her to his chest. “Darling. We trust them. We trust them with everything, don’t we?”

It takes some convincing to get her to start agreeing. She hides her face in her husband’s shoulder and softly weeps. “We do.”

“And I thank you for it,” Persephone says. “We must get going, but fear not. Just wait for the day you’re reunited.”

“Yes, my Queen.” The father watches Harry and Persephone rise. “We will. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Harry takes his wife’s hand and tugs her closer, slanting her a look. “We have no choice but to leave now,” he murmurs. With a nod of his head, the crying parents suddenly grow tired, and then they lay their heads down on the bed, falling asleep.

Then, it’s just Harry and Persephone. She squeezes his hand and nods, looking around the room. “The rest of them should be okay. He was our sickest child.” Persephone sighs. “My mother will have to answer about this.”

“They’re mortals,” Harry reminds her gently, taking hold of her chin. “Demeter will not suffer any consequences.”

“But they become our people once dead. She should care about that, if anything.”

“My love.” He holds her face a little tightly. “We will see to it once we return home. Yes?”

Her eyes are troubled as they look around at his face. “Yes.”

“Good. Now come.” He begins to lead her out of the infirmary, slowly so that she can scan her eyes over the cots once more.

Outside, Harry takes his invisibility cap and puts it on her head. He bends down to kiss her and then transforms into a snake, dropping by her feet. Instead of slithering on the cold ground, he wraps his body against her warm leg and nestles his head on her thigh. Though she’s invisible, he knows she’s looking down at him fondly.

“Home,” Persephone whispers wistfully. “Let us go home.”

***

Later when they’ve settled, Hades watches Persephone thank Hecate for keeping things running while both rulers were gone. And as soon as Hecate has left, Harry crosses the throne room to her.

Persephone’s eyes widen with happiness when he wraps his arms around her and picks her up, spinning her around.

“Harry!” she giggles.

He doesn’t put her down right away. He holds her flush against his chest and looks up at her, eyes dark. “Shall we go to our chamber, my darling beloved?”

Her eyes turn golden and she catches her lower lip between her teeth. She nods, kicking her legs behind her. Harry moves her, throwing her over his shoulder before beginning the ascent up the long stairs to their room.

“Harry!” She’s hitting his back. “Careful!”

Once the door is locked, Harry pulls her back down and tosses her onto the bed.

Persephone laughs, a beautiful fucking melody, leaning back on her palms. She takes in her devilishly handsome husband clad in his typical all black attire with a tilted gold crown resting on his brow. “You always do that. Throw me on the bed whenever I come back.”

She watches him unbutton his shirt slowly. “Oh yeah?” he murmurs. His voice is so deliciously velvet, she grows warm.

“Even did it on our wedding night.”

Harry’s dimple shows. “What a night that was.”

“I think I still hated you.”

“And I shall be the one to let you know that I was utterly, completely…” he leans down to kiss her, voice just barely a whisper, “and pathetically in love with you.”

Persephone loops her arms around his neck. He focuses his weight on his hands. After the brief trial of the kiss, her eyes appreciatively ogle at his thick arms, and soon she’s pushing the shirt down and off the floor. Her hands make quick work of his pants.

“As you still are,” she says, blinking up at him with innocent eyes.

“As I still fucking am.”

She’s still in her toga, so it’s easy to get her out of it. Once it’s off, Harry pushes her down on her back so he can take her in. She shivers under his dark gaze. Harry removes all his clothing and then joins her on the bed. Before he touches her, she reaches for his crown, carefully removing it from his hair and setting it on the pillow beside her. She does the same with her own.

And then she takes his hand, curiously looking at all the new rings. Harry remembers how she’d compared their hand sizes on their wedding night. How she’d stared up at him with wondrous, lust drunk eyes after tracing his long fingers. He suppresses a shiver at the reminder.

“I’ve got you some new ones too. Cut them from the finest stones,” he murmurs, holding the back of her head as he kisses her feverishly.

“You can’t keep these on,” she tells him in a small voice, her eyes lit with something he adores. “Shall I take them off?”

Harry’s mouth grows into a smirk. “Go ahead.”

Her eyes remain on him as she brings his hand closer to her mouth. She brushes a kiss on his knuckles and then slowly turns his hand to the side and bites down on the ring on his middle finger.

“Fuck me,” he breathes, growing harder.

She slides the ring off carefully and then holds it in her mouth until he places his other hand below her chin. She drops the gold into his awaiting palm.

She continues to do the same for the rest of his rings, but when she gets to his wedding band, she presses a kiss to it and then grins up at him.

“All done,” she murmurs, tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth.

Harry surges forward and grabs her face, leans down for a breathtaking kiss. Her tongue licks into his mouth, and she grinds up against him, gasping at his hard thigh against her core.

“If I were alive,” he whispers. “That alone would have killed me.” Persephone has the audacity to smile sweetly, fluttering her lashes against the bridge of his nose. “I want to taste you,” he says, holding her face tightly between his now ringless fingers. He drops the rings onto the side table, and then lays down, getting himself comfortable between her thighs.

“Yes,” she gasps. “Yes, I want–”

Persephone’s breath hitches when he glides two fingers through her folds, hands reaching out to grab his hair.

“So wet,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to her thighs. “So fucking pretty. Is this all for me, wife? Tell me it’s all for me.”

“S’for you,” she says softly, cupping his face gently. “It’s all for you. Just… Could you–”

He slowly presses the two fingers inside of her, watching them sink in. She always takes him so well. Wary of their time apart leaving her unprepared, he takes his time opening her, tilting his fingers up and rubbing until she cries out.

“There! There. Yes,” she groans. “Oh, fuck!”

Harry grips Persephone’s left thigh, keeping her legs apart as he leans down and drags his tongue against her. She jolts again, and Harry has half a mind to raise his head and grin at her. The idea goes out the window, however, when her fingers in his hair tighten and she raises her hips to meet his mouth.

“Fuck.” She looks down at him, her eyes golden. The black sheets on their bed are rumpled, and with his wife sprawled above him Harry doesn’t know if there could be a better reunion. “It’s so unfair.”

Harry turns his head to press kisses to her soft inner thighs. “What, my sweet?”

“This,” she whispers, running her thumb over his cheek. “Having to be away from this.”

He smiles and laps her up again, crooking the fingers already inside of her. She cries out, body shuddering from the relentless thrusting of his middle and ring finger.

“I know darling.” His words are gentle, but his grip is anything but. When he brings his mouth back to her, he tastes her like he’s starved, eyes fluttering shut and losing himself in the feeling.

His little wife whines, gripping his curls tight. Besides him, their crowns are falling to the floor where their clothes are thrown in different directions. She’s breathing hard, and despite how many times they’ve found themselves in this situation, it never gets less arousing. Exciting.

Harry’s entire body is feverish. He sucks gently on her clit which makes her quiver. His hard cock is trapped between him and the mattress, but he cares little for it right now. All he knows is his wife’s desperate whimpers and pleas.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispers to herself. Harry feels her tighten around his fingers. Before she can come, he pauses and raises his eyes to glance at her. There’s a thin sheet of sweat on her body. Her perfect, jaw dropping body that he plans on worshiping once the initial desperation is out of his body.

“Harry,” she begs, eyes fluttering open. “I want you inside. Please. It’s too much— It’s not— I miss you so— I thought about it every day…”

He pulls away from her, gently removing his fingers. His lips drag up, skating over her hip bones and then up to her ribs. His mouth kisses each individual rib, and then wraps around her nipple. She gasps when his tongue glides over, her fingers twitching with more need.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, kissing up her collarbones, shoulder, and then finally her neck. His hands are on either side of her head, trapping her underneath him.

She looks up at him with wide, fucked out eyes. It’s already enough to get him to spill, and she doesn’t help when her hand reaches out to wrap about his cock, giving him slowly pumps. He releases a breathy moan and continues to kiss her neck. He sucks a spot right below her jaw.

“Please,” Persephone whispers, wrapping a leg around him. “Harry. I need it. Waited for so long. I waited–”

“You did,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to kiss her mouth bruisingly. “You waited for me.”

“For months– I waited for months. I can’t– I can’t think–”

“I know darling,” he coos. “I know. You were such a good girl waiting for me. And you deserve a reward for that.”

“I do. I deserve it.”

“Even though you made me wait for an entire week, hmm?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, my love, I should have never done that,” she sobs.

With a quick maneuver, he has Persephone on her stomach, and he hovers over her, using his knee to pull her legs apart.

Persephone lifts her hips to meet his, burying her face into the sheets. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

Harry leans down to kiss down her spine, occasionally biting and then relieving the pain with his tongue. With a hand under her stomach, he pulls her up, just enough so he can slot himself between her thighs.

“I want you inside of me,” she tries again.

“Persephone,” he says warmly in her ear. “Are you asking me to fuck you?”

She groans, grabbing the satin sheets tightly. “Yes, yes.”

“Tell me then, wife.” He carefully holds her hips, lining himself up against her entrance.

Persephone trembles beneath him. “I want– I want you to–” she takes a deep breath, skin hot. “I want you to fuck me, Harry.”

He smiles. “Good. And tell me this, my sweet angel. Do you want me to fuck you hard, or should we take our time? Should I fuck you nice and slow instead?”

She’s in near tears from the anticipation. “Hard,” she says, glancing at him over her shoulder. Her eyes swim with need. “Hard. I want it hard and fast.”

Harry raises his eyebrows.

“Please!” she begs.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. He wastes no time after that, easily sliding into her. He grits his teeth at the feeling, her walls fluttering around him to get readjusted to his size. It’s one of his most favorite feelings. After six months of being deprived, her body needs to accommodate him. Needs to be reminded who fucks her so well.

Persephone drops her head back onto the sheets, her moan muffled. Harry can feel the abrupt power surge inside of her, his own body feeling electrified when she whispers a small, “Thank you.”

He grips her hips and fucks her like he’s promised. He pulls out all the way and then sinks into her again, watching the pleasure take form on her pretty face, her lips apart as she whimpers, a tight knuckled hold on the sheets to keep herself grounded.

“Beautiful,” he mutters along with the swears under his breath. “My beautiful queen.”

Persephone doesn’t seem to be able to say much. As if her mind has shut off, all she can manage to give him are small sounds and occasional cries, especially when he snaps his hips, driving himself into her with a pace she can’t comprehend.

Yes. This is what he’d been missing. It’s the answer to everything. Why he feels half a man for six months a year. Why he can’t seem to breathe properly. Because of her.

His perfect Queen.

It makes sense. Harry needs to be intertwined with her in every way. His hands on her, her vanilla scent surrounding him, the taste of her lingering on his tongue, the sight of her thoroughly fucked underneath him, and his cock deep inside of her.

Harry drops a hand to her clit, running small tight circles. She immediately reaches back and grabs his wrist, digging her long nails into his skin. She’ll be leaving marks, that much he knows. But he can’t find it in him to care. The longer he works her, the shakier her moans get, and the sharper her nails become.

He fucks her fast, and the pleasure leaves her with tears in her eyes.

“I love you,” she whimpers brokenly. “So much. I missed you.” He feels her tightening around him. “I’m going to come. Fuck, I can’t–”

Harry holds her tight, dropping his head to her neck. He turns and kisses her sweaty skin. “Do it. Come on, baby. Come all over me. Wanna feel it. Come on, sweet girl.”

She shatters around with him with a trembling cry of “yes, yes, yes, thank you, I love you, thank you” and he follows shortly after, her walls so tight around him he finds himself barely able to breathe. He crashes against her, crushing her under his weight as they try to catch their breaths.

Harry slowly pulls out and then wraps his arms around Persephone, only loosening when she shifts around to face him. Her glazed over golden eyes take him in, lips apart. Nobody looks at Harry like that. Only his wife.

Her breasts press against his chest, legs between his thighs. He’s so big over her, covering her view of anything that isn’t him.

Harry wipes her face clean of any tears and then kisses her for a long time, rubbing soothing patterns against her side. She nestles into his side.

“I love you,” she says quietly, reaching for his hand. She laces their fingers together. She clears her throat. “I really am sorry I didn’t come home straight away.”

Harry shakes his head once, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. “Well now you know that I’ll be leaving my kingdom to go get you if the need be.”

Persephone blinks her pretty eyes at him. He leans down and kisses her eyelids. “I personally would love it if you retrieved me every time.”

“Your mother would curse me.”

“So what?” The corner of her mouth lifts challengingly. “Are you afraid of her?”

Harry takes her wrists and pushes them into the mattress, hovering over her with darkened eyes. “I’m afraid of nobody, dear wife.”

Persephone wraps her legs around his waist again, a burst of excitement striking through her. She’s ready to go for more. Already. The only person that could match his energy.

“Oh yeah?” she says coyly. “So you’ll come get me every autumn solstice then?”

His eyes narrow. Then he’s leaning down to catch her mouth in a kiss. He mutters, “Quiet,” and Persephone knows she’s won. She kisses him back, breaking her arms from his hold, wrapping herself around him until every inch of her skin is touching his.

He pulls back and holds her face. “I love you,” he tells her softly, eyes ablaze with endless adoration. He caresses her cheek. “Welcome home.”

#harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #hades harry #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst

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peakyswritings · 7 months

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Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby X OC

PART IV

Summary: after their late-night conversation, something has changed between Nina and Tommy. Now Tommy’s slowly coming to understand that they might be more similar than they thought.

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, slow-burn, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s), time-typical misogyny, addressing the topics of rape and murder, English is not my first language.

A/N: This is more like a passage chapter with little to no action, but it’s fundamental for the development of Tommy and Nina’s relationship. But be ready, cause there’s a storm coming!

Important information for the context: In this chapter, Nina explains the delitto d’onore (honour killing) and the matrimonio riparatore (rehabilitating marriage), two practices which were recognised by the Criminal Code and were only abolished in Italy in 1981. In Italy, r*pe went from being a crime against the moral to being a crime against the person only in 1996.

PREVIOUS PART

SERIES MASTERLIST

CHAPTER’S MOODBOARD

Dividers credits

Sipping lemonade at the kitchen table, with the birds chirping outside and a slight breeze coming through the open window, Nina relished the first moments of peace in weeks. With the women of the family busy with the tradition of making tons of tomato sauce to preserve for the winter at Aunt Rita’s house and the men out for business, she could finally enjoy a day all for herself. She might even go to the sea, stay there to watch the sunset.

Glancing out the window, a curious sight caught her attention. Tommy Shelby was lounging in a chair, his head leaning back, his eyes closed. He had abandoned his formal attire, he wasn’t wearing a jacket nor a tie, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing his forearms. There was something captivating in his disheveled appearance, and in the way - despite his apparently vulnerable position - he still seemed to be fully aware of his surroundings. There was a clear tension in his shoulders and his eyelids fluttered, from time to time.

After their late-night conversation, it didn’t take long for Tommy and Nina to go back to their old ways. That morning, while they sat at the breakfast table, they mostly ignored each other, and the few words they exchanged during the day were mere courtesies. It was almost as if last night never happened. Almost. Because it had happened, and something had changed between them. But it was such a small change that neither of them were actually aware of it. Maybe that change was the reason Nina took pity on him and walked out to approach him.

However, as soon as his stern blue eyes rested on her, an unfamiliar nervousness took over her, and she suddenly felt stupid, regretting her impulsive decision. It wasn’t like they were close, after all. But he was there, and he was looking at her, and it was too late to go back. She had to find something to say before that situation became even more awkward.

Before she could speak, something she hadn’t noticed before caught her eye. A black fur-ball was curled up in Tommy’s lap, hidden by the shadow of the table. Nina watched in shock as Winston purred and stretched his little paws, enjoying the man’s scratches behind his ear. How the hell did he manage to touch Winston without losing a finger?

The gangster’s eyes shifted between Nina and the cat, and his lips curved into an taunting grin. “Your cat likes me. That should be a good sign.”

“Quite the contrary.” She retorted, recovering from her astonishment. “Winston’s a devil. If he likes you, there’s clearly something wrong with you.” She teased him, feeling the previous embarrassment slowly fade away.

“But he likes you.” He squinted his eyes, pointing at her.

“Yes, because I feed him.”

Something moved in the grass, causing Winston to raise his head and stare at a specific point. It took him only a few seconds to spot a lizard, and he jumped from Tommy’s lap to catch the poor animal. Traitor, she thought to herself, watching as the cat ran away with his loot.

Once Winston had disappeared, she remembered the reason why she had walked up to him in the first place. “I’m going to the sea for a while.” She said, shifting her weight from one feet to the other. “If you need something, everybody’s over there.” She nodded her head at Agnese’s house.

Tommy stayed silent for a few seconds, pondering, almost hesitating. “Would you mind if I came with you?”

There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, which surprised Nina even more than his question. One thing that she had learned in the short time she had known him was that he never wavered. Yet, only for an instant, his firm and unmovable facade seemed to falter.

Truth was, Tommy didn’t even remember the last time he went to the beach. He was still a kid, Finn probably wasn’t even born yet. He had almost forgotten how it felt, and for the first time in a long time, he longed for a feeling that seemed to belong to another life. But Nina didn’t particularly like him, and perhaps he was overstepping by asking to go with her. Moreover, if her family found out, chances were that they would get the wrong idea.

“No.” Nina shook her head, recollecting herself. “No, I don’t mind.”

She took both Tommy and herself aback with her answer. Up until a few days earlier she would’ve said a sharp “no” without thinking about it twice, but now, as much as she hated to admit it, his company wasn’t so unpleasant anymore. Quite the contrary. And their bickering surely was a way of escaping the boredom of the small village.

So they found themselves walking down the dirt road outside the big gates of the houses, in the opposite direction from where Tommy had arrived a little over a week ago. It stretched in front of them as far as the eye could see, and its left side was surrounded by nothing but trees, whereas the right side overlooked the sea below. In the silence, he could already hear the sound of the waves and breathe the salty air, and the comfort it brought him almost made up for the burning sensation of the sun on his face. He wasn’t prepared for the warmth of the Italian summer, so radically different from Birmingham’s gloomy weather.

Eventually, they approached some narrow stone stairs, which led down to a small beach.

“Careful.” Nina told him, starting to walk down the high steps with surprising ease. “It’s slippery.”

Tommy followed behind her, paying close attention both to where he placed his feet and where she placed hers. She was going a bit too fast for his liking, and although her movements were agile and graceful, he had the impression she might slip at any moment.

Little did he know, she had walked down those steps hundreds of times. It was a spot she had discovered a few years prior, hidden from prying eyes and unknown to most people. It wasn’t even a proper beach, rather a small sandy space surrounded by rocks. It was her refuge, the place that sheltered her when she needed to be alone. Sometimes she would sit on a rock and watch the hypnotising motion of the waves rolling in, other times she took off her shoes and stood at the sea’s edge, lulled by the feeling of the cold water around her feet. She could pretend that nothing existed except for her and the sea, that she was free of the suffocating weight of judgement and injustice. And she could breathe.

“Nice place.” Tommy’s hoarse voice came to her ears as she went to sit on a rock. She watched as he looked around, an unreadable expression on his face. Another thing she had learned about Tommy Shelby was that it was impossible to tell what was going on inside his head. He was so good at hiding his feelings that Nina figured it must be an ability he had mastered over the years. There was nothing left of the glimpse of humanity he had revealed the previous night, and she wondered whether her mind had just made it up.

With his back to her, he stood in front of the sea, observing the slow motion of the waves. “How’s your cousin? I haven’t seen her today.”

Unlike the previous days, that day no big lunch was organised in the shared garden, and Tommy had eaten with Nina, her parents and her two brothers in their dining room. Since he had officially started the courting the day before, the family’s agitation had quieted down, and big gatherings were not necessary anymore, unless something important happened, like a proposal. But it was too soon for that. So that day everything went back to normal, just like Nina had predicted the day he had arrived.

“She’s busy. She and my cousins are helping my mum and aunt Rita.” She informed him. “Summer means conserve. They’re making tomato sauce and preserving it. It’s a tradition.”

“You didn’t join them?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not this year.”

Tommy took her short answer as a sign not to inquire further. He wasn’t blind, he had noticed she was a bit of an outcast in her own family. He had seen how her aunts and cousins looked at her, how they whispered among themselves when she said or did something they considered unacceptable, how her own mother lowered her head in embarrassment on those occasions. It hadn’t taken him long to understand how things worked in Sicily: women had to be meek, agreeable and marriage-minded. It was no wonder Nina’s temperament clashed with that state of things.

“Anyway, Agnese’s happy.” She continued. “Just like everyone.” Although she was trying to keep her tone neutral, she couldn’t hide a hint of bitterness in her voice.

“But you’re not.” He stated matter-of-factly, turning to face her.

“I’m happy that she’s happy. What I’m not happy about…” she left her sentence hanging, thinking about her next words. “Is this whole sale thing. Because you can call it whatever you want, it doesn’t change what it really is.”

There it was, the rage she tried so hard to contain. It never completely reveal itself, it only shone through cracks and fractures, like in that moment. But Tommy had seen it since the very beginning, for anger recognises anger, and he was angry too. He had been angry since he was a boy.

He sat next to her, keeping his eyes on the calm sea in front of them. “You’re right.” He nodded, knowing there was no point in denying what was in front of everyone’s eyes. “But it’s necessary. I’m selling myself too, you know. Before all of this I didn’t think I’d ever get married.”

Nina glanced at him, furrowing her brows. “You never thought about marriage?”

“I did.” He admitted, his mind wandering to moments that seemed so distant yet so close at the same time. “There was a woman I wanted to marry. Grace.” He explained, having to force himself to say her name. After a whole year, that name still stung on his tongue.

“What happened with her?” She asked curiously.

“Turns out she was a spy, working for an Irish cop who was investigating on some stolen guns.” Reality crashed back on him as he said those words, the memory of how he had been played by the woman he loved hitting him like a bucket of cold water. “He thought we had them.”

“Did you?”

A smirk made its way on Tommy’s face at her innocent question. He turned to look at her with raised eyebrows, slightly leaning towards her. “How do you think a backstreet razor gang managed to take control of the city without the police intervening?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it right away, shaking her head with an impressed look on her face. For once, she was at a loss for words.

“Anyway,” he straightened his back, becoming serious again. “She ratted us all out, and then she left.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s in the past.”

It’s in the past. Tommy had lost count of all the times he had said that to himself. Maybe if he repeated it long enough, it would eventually become true. And maybe it was happening, because that was the first time he thought about her in days. Yet, it still hurt. He thought they were the same, that he found her, and she found him. He was wrong.

After a while, Nina broke the silence that had fallen between them. “At least you’re not some old man.”

Her sudden statement caused a chuckle to escape his lips, and even though she had tried to keep a straight face, she soon followed him. Tommy realised that he had never actually heard her laugh before. A few times she had chuckled, but until then she had never let out a real laugh. It was infectious, and he found himself laughing for the first time in God knew how long.

Soon the laughter died down, and Tommy was left with question that had been burning in his mind for a while. “Why don’t you want to get married?”

There was no judgment in his voice, just plain curiosity. He didn’t find it strange, but he couldn’t help but wonder what made her so adamant about the matter.

She took her time to answer, as if she was ordering the words in her mind, and he couldn’t tell whether she was translating her thoughts or finding the way to address a subject that was clearly a sore point. She was so fluent in English that sometimes he forgot it wasn’t her first language. Then her accent came through, or she mispronounced a word, and he was reminded that it probably hadn’t been easy for her to master a language without living in the place it was spoken. It was quite impressive.

“Because if I got married,” she started, bringing his attention back to the topic. “I’d be completely subordinated to my husband. I couldn’t make financial or even employment decisions. If we had children, they wouldn’t really be mine, I’d have no right over them. In the eyes of the law, my husband would have absolute power over us.”

Tommy attentively listened, not daring to interrupt her, afraid that she would close herself off again.

“Best case scenario, I’d end up being a wife and a mother, nothing more, nothing less. Worst case scenario, I’d end up like one of my mother’s friends, who was killed by her husband because he thought she had cheated on him. And he got a sentence reduction. Because it was a honour killing.” She spat out, her voice full of scorn. She frowned, as she did every time she didn’t agree on something.

“Honour killing?” Tommy raised his eyebrows. He had heard about it, of course, but there was something grotesque in the fact that it was somehow recognised by the law.

“If a woman brings dishonour in any way to the family, and one of her family members were to kill her, they would get a sentence reduction. It’s called delitto d’onore. Honour killing.” She explained, and he could tell she was trying not to let emotions take the best of her. Her gaze rested on him, and he figured his expression let his thoughts slip through, because she nodded. “You think that’s fucked up? Wait until you hear about the rehabilitating marriage.”

“What about it?”

“If a man rapes a woman, he can escape his sentence by marrying her. It’s in the Criminal Code, just like the honour killing. And the woman must marry the man to save both her honour and her family. Otherwise she’ll be identified as a shameless woman.” Her dark eyes blazed with outrage as she stared at some point in front of her, and Tommy found himself sharing the same disdain. Maybe it was the part of him who had never tolerated injustice, a side of him he had pushed back a long time ago, but that stubbornly came to the surface whenever something unfair occurred, or maybe her rage was so strong that it was able to infect those who were close to her.

“It’s not that uncommon that a man kidnaps a woman so that she will be forced to marry him.” She shook her head, her voice lowering. “It’s not right. Sometimes I sit here and it’s all I can think about. It’s not right. And no one seems to be angry about it. Most people even agree with it. It’s just how things are. It’s normal. It shouldn’t be.”

Tommy knew that feeling, the frustration that came with helplessness. It plagued him when he was a boy, when he was treated differently because of who he was, of where he came from. When his mother couldn’t afford to put on the table anything but lard. When aunt Polly’s children were taken from her. It was that feeling that pushed him to make sure people feared the Shelby name, so that no one would dare treat them like scum ever again.

“I’m not saying that I wouldn’t like to have a family of my own. But it’s not worth the risk of becoming no one. I don’t want to obliterate myself. I don’t want to depend on a man who might be cruel to me. I want something that’s mine. Because right now, I have nothing. And I know that I finished school, and that’s way more than what most boys get, let alone girls. But it’s not enough.” Her voice cracked, but there was no trace of tears on her face. “Is it so bad to want something more?”

No, Tommy wanted to say. No, it’s not. But couldn’t bring himself to speak, because he knew that there were no words that could make it better.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, pulling herself together. “I got carried away and I talked too much.”

“No.” He said quickly. “You didn’t. I asked you a question and you answered it.”

For some reason, Tommy didn’t want Nina to think that her talking bothered him, that she had to hold her tongue with him. He liked hearing her talk. She was smart, she had thoughts of her own, and she challenged him. She didn’t agree with everything he said - or pretended to - just to please him, she didn’t make herself smaller like everyone else did in his presence. That was somehow refreshing.

There was silence again, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. They were both meditating on the words they had said and heard, and the gap between them didn’t seem so wide, now. As the sun started to set, the sky took on shades of pink and orange, and a warm light illuminated the beach.

Tommy took advantage of Nina’s distraction to look at her. The last rays of sun lit up her eyes with a golden hue, giving them a colour which resembled honey. Her tan skin seemed to gleam, and her cheeks had taken on a tinge of red. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time, and he realised - she was beautiful. He had already noticed her interesting, sharp beauty, but now it felt as if it had intensified. A light gust of wind rose up, and her long raven hair tickled his cheek, sending a shiver down his spine. When the scent of lavender filled his nostrils, he couldn’t restrain himself from closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

Nina shifted her position, causing their hands to accidentally brush.

He didn’t flinch away this time. She didn’t either.

NEXT PART

Heart, Body and Soul tag list: @zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms @call-sign-shark @kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240 @diorrfairy @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @gaslysainz

Tag list: @iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys @lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989 @call-sign-shark @jomarch-wannabe

Tommy Shelby tag list: @50svibes

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fics #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x oc

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flusteredmoonn · 4 months

Text

better than revenge; regulus black

summary: "now go stand in the corner and think about what you did," in which she is under the impression that he is just like his brother. she's mistaken.

tags: (SFW), angsty, attempted resolution, war angst, mentions of war, mentions of murder, lowkey implied bloodsurpremacist!regulus, use of the word mudblood, fast paced, implied slytherin!reader, she/her pronouns, third person y/n.

words: 700+

speak now tracklist. request.

they both lingered arm in arm in the depths of the dungeons corridors. the air moved coldly, as it deflected off of the stone brick walls. the small breeze often had become a means of comfort between the two, a reminder to them both that their rendezvous were real.

the nature of their relationship was not something that should be dangled in front of the taunting reality which was the impending war. publicly, they remained on as each other's opposition. they shouldn't be fraternising, regardless of circumstance.

very quickly, it had become a forbidden love. though it was something they never discussed. not with their friends, or in the seclusion of a diary. not even amongst themselves. neither acknowledged their compromising position, knowing the deadly consequence should they be found out.

the clocktower's bell was struck, ringing throughout the aged castle a number of times, signalling the early hour as they began to ascend the spiral staircase, leading them to the main courtyard.

the girl turned her head, watching as several of the owls departed from the owlery, many carrying the day's edition of the daily prophet. she smiled to herself as she listened to them speak with one another, before their inevitable separation.

a dark feathered owl swooped close to the pair, perching on the stone window sill. fervently, the owl held a newspaper in it's beak, waiting for the sleek boy beside her to take it's offering.

with a sigh, regulus relieved the bird of it's duties, smiling slightly to himself as the bird turned to face y/n, beady eyes blinking as it patiently waited for her to give it a pet of approval. happily obliging, the girl did so, before stepping back and waiting for it to fly off.

the boy looked to the object in his hands, giving it a firm shake as he straightened out the collection of papers.

the moving image flashed, as it became clear that several cameras were desperately trying to capture the minister of magic's speech. she peered over his shoulder as the headline made itself apparent. muggleborn death toll rises, voldemort rises to power. it read in bolded lettering, further detailing specifics in the article below.

the paper had taken to listing the names of the murdered in bulletv points, with the number only increasing by the day it had presented itself as the easiest way to show the information.

"this is ridiculous, he needs to be stopped," she spoke suddenly, causing the black haired boy to peer over his shoulder at her.

"it's not like it's that bad," he emphasised, moving to face her with a shrug, mindlessly refolding the newspaper.

"not that bad? people are being killed, reg!" y/n raised her voice, stepping further away from the boy, who merely looked around because of the octaves her voice had lifted, not in fear of getting caught.

"yeah, but only blood traitors and mudbloods," he justified, unsure why their conversation had breeched politics.

"they're still people, though, and what does it matter? they're magical nonetheless," her voice remained reasonable, scowling at his indifference.

"they don't support him. i have to support him, i have no choice," he spoke surely, itching his forearm as he spoke, a subtle indication. in understanding, the girl nodded, a second conversation occurring with only their body language.

still, the girl disagreed with his words, further stating her point. eventually, the boy reluctantly conceded, coming to an understanding of her point. for her, he chose to drop the subject entirely, deflecting back to their original conversation of the nights sky.

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johannesviii · 2 years

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So uh

The Power of the Doctor surely was one of the episodes of all time

Where do I even fucking start

Let's cut to the chase, narratively it was all over the place in a "let's throw everything at the wall to see what sticks" kind of way. The thing is, it was fun. It made no sense but it was still enjoyable. Why was the Master cosplaying Rasputin? Why 1916? What was the point of the Dalek traitor? Why the paintings? Who cares, I'm having the time of my life watching all this shit 7,5/10

Why Tegan and Ace, for that matter? Because it's fun to see them again, that's why. I'll take it. Tegan was especially great. Also Ace wasn't a CEO so bonus points for that

Why was Graham even here

Why the train

Why the Qurunx

Why the uh everything about the Daleks and the Cybermen and no-one getting betrayed or in-fighting in the process

Why do I care

Dan's arc started with him having no money and ends with him having no house. That's kinda bleak for a comic relief companion

I don't know how to feel about Tennant being the Doctor again? It's weird and interesting and I can't wait to see what they do with this, and I find it supremely ironic that the Doctor who was the most terrified of death is the one who will get to die THREE TIMES in this series - but at the same time, I really wanted to see Ncuti Gatwa and I feel like he's been robbed of his thunder, kind of? I don't know, it feels weird

Considering Chibnall's focus isn't usually on character arcs I wasn't expecting Thirteen's ending to have any kind of dramatic irony, but having very low expectations for this specific era was a blessing, because one of the things I desesperately wanted to see was this control freak of a Doctor, who never explains anything to her friends, being forced to rely entirely on her friends, and also completely losing control. And that's exactly what I got here. Yes. Very good

The Qurunx assuming the form of a child because it wants to be protected. The parallels with the Timeless Child. Exquisite

And that bit where she's hit by a deadly energy blast and she's carried back to the TARDIS like this?? Complete inversion of the trope of the Doctor carrying a companion and I loved it

Oh god look at Yaz. Yeah that's right, you can only hold her while she's literally dying! That's the only time she'll be in your arms! And she's DYING!! And then you have to say goodbye!! I'm feeling normal about this

I've already seen quite a few Thasmin fans screaming bloody murder and to be honest I get it but like. I'm also digging how tragic this is

I wasn't asking for a kiss but like. When they were on the TARDIS' roof. I wanted one of them to put her head on the other's shoulder. Was that too much to ask

Pretty fitting that Yaz joins the circle of Recovering Doctor Addicts at the end after that and oh god don't get me started

The empty chair for Sarah Jane?? Don't talk to me

Is Ian even aware that regeneration exists or was he just like "wait so the Doctor is trans? Good for her"

WHAT WAS THE "POWER" OF THE DOCTOR WAS IS TO LEAVE A SHIT TON OF TRAUMATISED PEOPLE IN THEIR WAKE BECAUSE IF THAT'S WHAT THAT MEANT I'M HOWLING

Here's the Doctor's power! You all need therapy now!!

"How many Doctors are there" GOOD QUESTION NOBODY KNOWS

SPEAKING OF WHICH

FIVE SIX SEVEN AND EIGHT ON SCREEN. I FUCKING SCREAMED

BANTER BETWEEN SEVEN AND EIGHT ABOUT CLOTHES?? HELLO??? THE SURREAL LANDSCAPE?? ADRIC'S DEATH BEING MENTIONED IN NEW WHO?? HELLO????

Why is Ace apologizing to Seven when he should be apologizing to HER and why am I even asking. Who cares that was so cool

Eight on screen EIGHT ON S C R E E N how am I supposed to feel NORMAL ABOUT THIS I WANT TO SCREAM I WANT TO CRY

OH SPEAKING OF WANTING TO CRY

TIME TO GET EMOTIONAL AND CRINGE ON MAIN ABOUT A FUCKING IDIOT WHO SPENT HALF THE EPISODE COSPLAYING RASPUTIN FOR NO REASON AT ALL AND MENTIONING HE USED TO BE A FURRY IN THE EIGHTIES

I turned off Anon asks so if any of you want to send me a new round of hate regarding the fact I love that Master which apparently makes me a fake fan or a Missy hater or something, you'll have to use your actual usernames, cowards. You know who you are

"Johannes shut up about that Master's supposed self-loathing that's not in the text that's just your headcanon to make him more interesting" OH YEAH YEAH CLEARLY I'M MAKING THINGS UP UH CLEARLY THIS IS NOT IN THE TEXT UH

THIS MF'S ENTIRE BULLSHIT PLAN WAS JUST AN EXCUSE TO STOP BEING HIMSELF FOR A MINUTE AND BECOME THE DOCTOR HI HELLO YES I'M FEELING NORMAL ABOUT THIS

"DON'T LET ME GO BACK TO BEING ME"

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA FUCK FUCK FUCK

I'm not making sense right now I'm sorry

"IF I CAN'T BE THE DOCTOR NEITHER CAN YOU" I want to scream I want to punch a fucking wall why are you like this why. are you. like THIS

The feelings are indescribable and I can't put them into words right now and I will have to make some art to make them go away, I don't make the rules I don't even have a choice at this point

TLDR this episode was a badly written narrative mess and full of fanwank and Doctor Who is terrible and I love Doctor Who with all my heart and I feel more alive than ever right now

#doctor who #the power of the doctor #dw spoilers #thirteenth doctor #the master #yasmin khan #capslock #and a lot of screaming

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 10 months

Note

Heyyy could you write where Erik obviously takes over the throne & gains the queen ( tchallas wife) in the process, after weeks of disdain for Erik.. she caves in/let him have his way with her

To everyone else, T'Challa was the King. He was the Black Panther, beloved by all and adored. Honest, brave, elegant, and caring. He put the welfare of his people before his very life. That was the miracle of T'Challa's rule.

To you, he was your life. He was your partner, your teammate, your support, your lover, your husband. Photos and mementos lay scattered before you as you reminisce, bitterness and twisting thoughts causing you to sear in your anger. You can't help but think that he should still be here. There's no good reason why he isn't.

There's a knock on the door that you ignore. Every time someone in the palace speaks to you, it pisses you off. They are traitors, living comfortably in a palace they don't deserve, serving a murderer.

They knock again, asking if you'd like to come out for dinner with the new King. Everyone seems to have moved on, you think angrily. Everyone but you.

"I'll come to dinner when that imposter you call a king is in chains and beheaded. Serve me his head on a platter and my appetite will have returned sevenfold."

You pick up a polaroid you took of T'Challa and look at the date. It hasn't even been a month since it was taken, only 9 days since T'Challa's death.

When the news travels back to Erik that you still refuse to comply with his requests, he isn't surprised.

"Who's been giving her food behind my back?"

You should've been crawling to him, begging for something to eat.

"If I ask again, none of you, including your families, will eat. I'll make sure of that."

Erik noticed the chef look at a Dora.

"You."

His finger curved, beckoning her near to his throne. When she was close enough, he threw a blade, striking her directly in the forehead. Her body thudded to the ground.

"And that wasn't even vibranium."

The cook lowered his eyes in horror. The Dora couldn't decide whether to hold their positions or fight back. The palace staff was broken.

"What," Erik challenged. "Y'all look like y'all wanna do something! Come'on," his lip curled under ferociously, bearing gold fangs.

No one stepped forward.

"The next person I hear stepping foot near Ms. Queen without my permission? You can look forward to joining your friend in the afterlife. Am I CLEAR?"

Typically, Asira would sneak into your corridor, and you'd unlock your bedroom quarters to accept fresh and sweet warm yeast bread and water, but she hasn't shown in two days. You're famished, sleeping it off between bouts of mourning.

Finally, there's a quiet knock. You rush to unlock and open the bedroom door, but it's not Asira. Killmonger pushes the door wide.

"So this is the king's suite."

You start to walk out, but remember your chest of memories and dive to gather the scattered photos, putting them back inside. He steps on one as you grab it.

"You really loved him, huh."

You freeze, weighing your response.

"I used to have love in my life. It was taken from me. Three times. First time, it was my father. Airships from Wakanda came down from the sky, and by the time I made it in the house... he was dead. I'd never seen so much as a sign of visitation before then. Lost my uncle in the same night. Of course, you called him Zuri."

Your lip twitches, the hint of a snarl forming.

"Uncle James was a traitor just like his nation. Just like all of you. You're all cowards!"

One drag of his boot rips the photo.

"Why should you be happy..."

Angrily, he pulls you up by your shoulder and captures your ornately twisted afro bun in his grip, turning your face so he can look at your cowardice up close.

"You married into a family of murderers and you have the nerve to judge me?! Look up at me!"

Something sharp plunges into his chest, piercing him with familiar pain.

Your dark brown eyes are vengeful and shining with all the grief and fury you've felt the past few days. Killmonger took your husband, your shared dreams, and the one true king.

You look directly into his eyes, your face scrunching while you push your letter opener into his heart with all your strength. Panting, you look down on him as he labors.

"For my husband."

Turning your nose up at his dying gasps, you turn away. The Dora should've done this. Anyone with allegiance to Wakanda should've done this.

With labored breathing, Erik looks down at the blood around the jeweled letter opener lodged in his chest cavity. Direct hit.

You step back slowly, thinking you've done something, but all you've done is turn a battle into an all-out war. Not a war between territories, but a war between his will and yours.

"You think you can kill me?"

His eyes on you, he chuckles.

"Cute."

This is the first pushback he's gotten since T'Challa. He watches you closely, grimacing and sweating as he pulls the letter opener from his chest. It's costed in blood, but thanks to the powers bestowed on him by the herb, he'll heal.

Pulling himself to his feet, he goes to take the corner of your pure white duvet, cleaning the blood from the small blade. He pants silently, still in recovery.

"You understand why I killed him..."

He swings the knife low with his gait as he approaches you. "Up until now, your leaders have been content in doing nothing, at peace with the bare minimum. T'Challa-"

"Don't you DARE insult T'Challa in MY presence," you point, stopping him in his tracks.

"T'Challa," Erik stresses, looking you in the eye. "As noble as he was, he needed to be replaced by someone with some real fire."

"You can go to hell," you nearly whisper, enraged.

He steps forward.

"There's one person in this entire palace with the guts to oppose me, and you’re not even a trained fighter... I can take you down at any point. You and I both know that."

"So why don't you?"

"I have other plans. I'd like you to remain Queen to convince our citizens to trust in my efforts. I'd like you to join me as an advisor at my side. Afterall, everything I do as King is for the advancement of Wakanda and the African diaspora."

"I'll never join you. You may as well kill me."

"Tempting," Erik's eyes narrow. "But no. I believe in my vision, and that vision includes you. You have the opportunity to use that anger to help a lot of people. I believe... after you've spent a few more days in here without food or water, you'll either come to the same conclusion or you'll waste away quietly. Either way."

He looks you up and down. Whatever you choose, he's prepared.

"As long as I live, so will his legacy. I will never stop fighting you."

"I believe you," he nods. "Even as I approach you with a knife, you don't run. You're not suicidal. You've been planning your next attempt on my life."

He stops inches from you and trails the bejeweled letter opener from your cleavage up your open and smooth brown chest, up your neck.

"I like it. You tough."

The light bounces off of your supple skin. It looks soft and bouncy, covered in a layer of raw shea butter.

He brings his face close enough to your neck to smell your gentle fragrance.

He doesn't acknowledge the sound of your gurgling stomach or your glare of hate as he dangles the blade in front of your face.

"Whether you join me or die is completely in your hands, but as for this? I'm keeping this."

He leaves, and the door closes behind him. When you open it, the Dora you once loved are blocking you in. They stand firm with their spears, shame on their faces as they avoid your look of judgment.

Asira isn't among them, which means she's probably dead.

You close yourself back into the room as you resign yourself to join her and your husband.

The hours are long. The hunger and thirst is strong. You patch the ripped photo and stash it safely with the other memorabilia, meditating and sleeping as a distraction. It's already been a couple of days with no food or water. Still, you hold out.

Four days in, you're dying slowly in a torture that feels unbearable. As honorable as your intentions are, T'Challa wouldn't want to see you suffer this way. You imagine he's with you, lying next to you. Right after teasing you about your body temperature being too high for cuddling only to bring you in closer, he'd tell you to take the food. Live at any cost. It feels selfish when you know T'Challa can no longer enjoy these things with you, but you know it's not. You're doing it FOR HIM.

If you're going to kill Killmonger. You have to eat.

When the news travels to Erik that you've finally come to your senses, his elbows prop on the dining table in wait of what's sure to be another interesting encounter.

You arrive in a modest white dress and matching headwrap, the traditional mourning color. He killed your man, and you want him to feel guilty seeing you as widow. He doesn't. He doesn't even really care.

"Sit closer."

He stares, watching you play musical chairs to keep your distance until you're right beside him. You look perfectly weak, tired, and hungry... More willing.

He doesn't miss the hesitation as you consider using the dinner knife as a weapon. Part of him hopes you'll give him a reason.

"I'm not your enemy."

The subdued murderous rage seeping from you despite your exhaustion is admirable.

"You are my sole enemy as far as I'm concerned," you mutter.

He turns to you fully, having been thinking about telling you something specific since he last saw you.

"I've done nothing but try to show you a system that's been broken from the start. I didn't SNEAK into the borders, though I could have. I EARNED passage by killing the black market arms dealer who murdered Wakandans and somehow eluded not one but two of your black panthers. I did that, and I didn't SEIZE the palace, though I could have. I followed your protocol and let you arrest me, taking me straight to the King who I defeated by YOUR OWN customs. You wanna vilify me? Go ahead. I didn't start this. You did when you killed my parents. I'm finishing it."

You stab at the food as he watches the conflict in your mind. His words are reaching you even if you hate him.

"I haven't been challenged in my power and authority since T'Challa," he repeats. "You're the only one who seems to give a damn that he's dead."

You look up quickly.

"-and that's a broken system. I've been where you are. Even being from the Panther Tribe, these people destroyed my family, betrayed my father's memory, and abandoned me. They are the weak links who, out of fear and tradition, won't challenge authority. They won't stand up for what's right. They wouldn't know right from wrong. They are selfish, and they are cowards. They are the traitors."

His words reflect how you feel. Everyone has fallen in line to the new regime as if T'Challa wasn't just here a couple of weeks ago, walking the halls. They smiled to his face then, but act now as if he never existed.

"We're not so different." He holds up a finger for you to listen. "Our responses have been to rebel. To honor the memory of our loved ones. But this goes deeper than us and our pain. I'm asking you, will you remain Queen and fight alongside me to change this broken system for good?"

You hesitate, wondering how it would look. Despite that, having the power to supervise Killmonger and affect change is appealing.

"As long as it's made clear that we are not together, I will agree... to keep an eye on you."

You watch him closely as he's watching you.

"What is your plan?"

"First, we have to unite the tribes," he says without thought, but the tribes are already united as much as they can be. The council exists. You kiss your teeth.

"There's tension with the border tribe... You haven't had contact with the Jabari in decades."

You look him up and down, rolling your eyes back to your food. You wonder about his approach to politics.

"How would you unite the tribes?"

Days turn into weeks as you listen to Killmonger's wild ideas that border on treason. He seeks power, that much is clear, but he has a plan for reform that you're beginning to believe in. You've been walking the palace and even traveling the country alongside him, training and directing him, showing him the ropes. He's adapting quickly and surprisingly open to your suggestions, quick to adapt your corrections.

"Yes, queen," has been his public response when you've chastised him. He's made good progress. It almost makes you not want to kill him anymore... Almost.

"When are we doing something about the ritualistic combat component in the road to becoming king?"

"I'll let you think of that," he says, leaving it to you. You'll have to think about it and come back.

You head back to your quarters to think alone, passing the treacherous Dora who only guard the throne. You haven't forgotten. Turning your nose, you close yourself into your vast bedroom and sigh, removing your dress and headdress. Lying down, you're in your thoughts for a while until you fall asleep with dreams of T'Challa.

You've been away for a couple of hours, and it's time for dinner. Erik looks up from his work load. You haven't returned to the discussion. He needs you to look over a new idea regarding vibranium, and you can do that over dinner, so he goes to your door and knocks.

When you don't respond, he confirms with the Dora that you are in fact in there. They unlock the door with a spare key. Clearly, he announces himself on his entrance.

It's not enough. You're asleep in lingerie, a peaceful expression on your face. He's never seen you without lines in your forehead.

Sitting on your bed, he strokes your face, watching it turn more and more angelic. You must be having a good dream. Slowly, he leans and kisses your lips. You'll never know it when you wake. He leans off of the bed, but in your sleep, you reach out, so he sits back down.

"Ms. Queen," he whispers, trying to wake you before deciding, "Fuck it."

He pulls off his black robe that he'd been sitting in all day along with his black pants and loafers. Sliding under your duvet, he lays in what must've been his cousin's spot, holding you against his chest. Your skin is soft and the gentle smell he's gotten accustomed to fills his nostrils.

He remains awake, lying there through dinner until he realizes you're not getting up. Then he can sleep.

Something suddenly doesn't feel right. He feels your body shift from his arms. At this point, he's been asleep a few hours. Instead of opening his eyes, he waits. He can feel you hover as if you're hesitating. You're probably going to stab him. He prepares mentally to sense where your blade might go. How big is it this time? Is it a kitchen blade? Did you get your hands on a spear? You're stronger now. Still not strong enough to actually kill him.

He waits and waits, but the blow doesn't strike. Opening his eyes, he finds you sitting on the side of the bed with a defeated look in your eye. When he sighs, you flinch and look over. You thought he was still asleep.

"Well... Don't feel bad," he grumbles, still groggy. "It's always harder to kill someone at their most vulnerable."

"That's not it..."

Oh? He waits for you to elaborate, but he can see it the more he looks at you and tries to put himself in your shoes. You're conflicted about more than just killing him.

"There was so much life left in him; so many dreams we shared and planned to live out. I wanted children. I wanted to travel the world with him as parents. I wanted us to grow old together. I never once considered that I'd lose him so soon. I thought you had time. And YOU killed him," she looks back suddenly with a growl. "You took that from me."

He lays still, watching your expressions as tears drop from your eyes. Either you're venting or having second thoughts. If it's the latter, it means damage control.

"So then... why," you gasp. "Why do I feel like this? I should hate you."

It wouldn't be wise to move. Letting you vent would be best. Again, he'd been there to know exactly how you feel.

"Look at me!"

He's already looking. His eyes widen in apology. He can't give you the one you want and you know why. He isn't sorry for killing T'Challa. He'd do it again if he could.

Your face scrunches as you crawl back in the bed, and after assessing the situation, he decides to put his hand on your arm to show you you're not alone.

To his surprise, you pull his arm to hold you for comfort. He does and for a while the two of you lie there until you turn over, seeking something more to dull the ache in your heart.

He knows exactly what he can offer for that. Gently, he kisses your expose skin. Your shoulder, your arm, your stomach, your thigh, your knee, your leg. When your thighs fall open, he kisses up the inside of your leg and thigh up to the outline of your panties. He looks up to check in.

"You sure?"

'Cause ain't no going back. You grab his locs, guiding him down and he pulls your panties off, tossing them off the bed. With one last look, he goes down.

You sigh and moan under him, ultimately whispering T'Challa's name. You must be thinking of him, but Erik doesn't care. Not yet.

Right now, it's T'Challa, but with time, it'll change. With careful guidance, YOU will change... just like everyone else in this palace who's come under his submission.

@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @tgigoldie @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybee @playgurlxoxo

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik killmonger imagine #black panther killmonger #black panther fanfiction #black fanfic writer #black fanfiction #request

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bananadrinkxxx · 7 months

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𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝓵 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝓵 (2)

Give me your loyalty

CHAPTER 2

[ Aemond Targaryen x female original Targaryen • fem! oc!reader]

[warnings: sex content, fights, harassment, angst, smut, domination, violence, targcest (uncle/niece)]

Only for 18+

[description: War is going on between the Blacks and the Greens and Aemma Velaryon is brought to Aemond as a prisoner.]

Masterlist for all available parts (click here)

"It seems like I killed the wrong brother."

Aemma had been afraid when she was brought to Aemond. It was difficult to keep her composure and not let it show how scared she was. Everything inside her screamed to burst into tears, as it had once when Aemond had bullied her as a child. Back then they had been a family, at least the ridiculous imitation of it, but this time they met as enemies. They were no longer uncle and niece, they were enemy and foe. She would not have expected to be in this situation once, but now here she was, facing death. Betrayed by the men who had fought by her side. If she survived this, she would smash Hugh Hammer's head with a hammer. The symbolic was beautiful. She would show him what it would mean to betray her. Arriving at Harrenhal, they immediately took her to Aemond. The place chased goose bumps over her body and brought back the memory of a man who had meant the world to her family. Harwin Strong had been murdered here and she knew it had been the Greens who had taken her father from her. Officially she was not a bastard, officially she was the daughter of Laenor Velaryon, but she knew the truth. She knew that Harwin Strong was her father. She had prepared herself to be killed immediately, maybe the same way her father did, perhaps Aemond would have her tortured or make a public execution out of her death, but she had not expected him to mock and humiliate her so.

"It seems like I killed the wrong brother."

Anger had seized her and before she knew what she was doing, she had reached for the burning wood in the fireplace. The fire burned into her skin and she threw it as fast as she could in Aemond's direction.

Only in the last second he managed to dodge before Aemma was with him and hit him in the face with both hands, which were still bound together, by the way.

She would kill him. Preferably she would kill him just as he had killed Lucerys, but that was enough for her.

Aemond stumbled, and the feeling of satisfaction spread through her.

Murderer. Honorless murderer.

"I'm going to kill you, kinslayer," she screamed, "I'm going to rip out your other eye, and stuff it in your mouth."

She swung at him again, but this time he caught her blow.

"You will burn screaming!"

"Maybe I will," Aemond confirmed, pulling her close to him. He grabbed her face and held her tightly. She hated to feel his skin on hers. She hated that she had to feel it again, his superiority over her.

She tried to free herself from his grip, but she had nothing to oppose his strength. "But I will kill your kin first, shortly after your traitorous cunt of a mother and her lickspittle of a husband are executed before your eyes."

It stabbed her right in the heart. Why did he still have such an effect on her? She suddenly felt so weak again. So lost. She remembered that one moment when she had stolen a book from the library, the history of the Targaryens, and Aemond had torn it up before her eyes.

"You are no true Targaryen!"

It had been her first confrontation with her true identity.

"Everyone out, but stay outside the door. No one comes in until I say so." The guards looked uncertainly at each other, no one seemed enthusiastic about leaving them alone. They should stay here and watch her kill the kinslayer.

"You're a traitor," she breathed, she felt tears welling up inside her. Her voice was weak. She hoped he would not notice.

"I hate you," she continued to speak. "I fucking hate you."

Liar. Liar. Liar.

"Hate is a very strong emotion, niece. So you still feel something for me? How nice," he scoffed. He brushed a strand of hair from her face.

Stop touching me, she screamed but no words left her mouth.

"It is hate. Nothing more."

She thought of glances that did not exist.

"Hate and love are close to each other."

She thought of touches that did not exist.

"I've never loved you."

She thought of kisses that did not exist.

"You're good at lying. You still want me."

"The only thing I want from you is your head."

"Gladly," Aemond laughed, leaning closer. "You can have him between your legs if you want," Aemond said, his eye on her chest, which was heaving with anger. What a treat it would be to his eye to see her naked and feel her breasts under his hands.

She thought of this moment where his body was on hers, that did not exist.

His hand came to touch her face, but she slapped it away. Aemond smiled.

None of it was allowed to exist. She had erased it from her mind, from her memories, and sent it where she would never have to think about it again.

"Fuck you."

He laughed. She wanted to scrape his laughter from his face.

"I'll leave that honor to you."

She thought of all these moments that did not exist.

Aemma contorted her face in disgust. How had she let it get this far. It had been a mistake to ever trust him.

"Why don't you just kill me and spare me your stupid chatter," Aemma hissed.

She did not want to die. But she was ready for it. She would die for her mother. She would die for her birthright. Jacaery's birthright. And she would die for revenge. She would die for Lucerys and then finally be reunited with him.

"You really think I would give up my most precious trophy just like that?" He laughed and tilted his head slightly to the side. His grip moved to the back of her neck and he pushed her head towards his.

"No, my sweet Aemma. You have a use other than your death. I would hate to see this tender skin melt by Vhagar's fire."

"No matter what you do, I will not yield."

"Oh, I hope you will. All the sweeter will be the victory."

After that, he had her taken to her chamber. To her prison, which was guarded by two guards. No one was allowed in. She was alone. Aemma didn't know if she would survive this, the chances were slim but she wouldn't bend and most of all she wouldn't go down without a fight.

"Write a letter to your mother."

Aemond placed the ink and pen in front of her. She raised an eyebrow and looked at him, unimpressed. She clasped her hands together, interlocked her fingers, and smiled smugly at Aemond.

"And why would I do that?"

Aemond returned her mirthless smile. He leaned forward. Aemma sat on the small wooden chair. It was the only seat next to the bed. In front of her was an old table that was past its prime.

"Well, let me put it this way. Your mother either doesn't seem to know you're here or doesn't care."

She knew exactly what he was trying to do.

"My mother is fighting a war, a war you started. She knows exactly where I am."

"Well then, I guess it's disinterest. I guess she's got enough bastards. There's one or two less, makes no difference."

She would like to strangle him with his own hair.

"Uncle, I hope you won't take this personally, but I wish your remaining eye would rot from your misguided thoughts in your head."

Aemond's grin disappeared from his face. He came at her faster than she could react and grabbed her. He forcibly pulled her down from the chair, making Aemma struggle to keep her balance. She tried to fight back, hitting and scratching at him, but Aemond seemed to take no notice.

Aemond grabbed her by the back of the neck and pushed her against the wall behind her. Her face pressed against the cold stone as Aemond stood behind her, his hand on the back of her neck. He pressed his body against hers.

Memories flashed through her mind. Soft legs as they wrapped around a strong body. A rising heat in her center that begged for release. His hand around her throat as he dominated her and she enjoyed it. Forbidden words whispered in her ear.

She had enjoyed it then.

Seeking the forbidden.

This time his touch disgusted her.

"Write the letter, Aemma," he hissed in her ear. "Or do I really need to remind you who's in charge?"

His manhood pressed against her buttocks. He was aroused. It had always excited him when he exercised power over her. He let his hand slide to her cunt, only her dress separated his greedy fingers from diving into her waters. Aemma felt ashamed that this situation excited her. Despite the terrible things her uncle had done.

"Remember when I could do anything to you and you begged me for more?" he asked with a moan, and Aemma narrowed her eyes. Her lips pressed together and she tried to ignore the rising heat between her legs. She could still remember everything. It had burned itself into her mind, lying over her like a constant shadow, tormenting her on the nights she longed for his touch, full of shame and disgust for herself.

"Remember when you threw your cup at me and I showed you afterwards what I do to ill-bred brats like you?"

His grip on her neck tightened. His lips slid over her exposed neck and she felt him leave a burning trail of desire.

"I just remember how you pressured me," Aemma replied coldly, and Aemond gave a snide snort. He grabbed her hair roughly and pulled her head back so she had to face him. A tingling sensation ran over her skin.

"Pressured? You seem to have something mixed up. I've treated you as befits your position."

"And what is appropriate to my position?"

"Well, let me put it this way…the genes of a whore lie in your blood."

Aemma didn't think twice. To be honest, she didn't think at all. She gathered saliva in her mouth and spat it in Aemond's face. More precisely, into his remaining eye.

He stiffened and suddenly everything was quiet. Too quiet. Her heartbeat doubled.

Aemond stroked his hand over his face. It gave her a satisfying feeling to see her saliva spread across his face.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"I should have done this a lot sooner. You're nothing but scum, Aemond," she hissed, and Aemond's grip on her hair tightened. It felt like he was lifting her scalp. "No matter how hard you try to hide it, you'll never be good enough."

"Maybe he died because of you," Aemond began suddenly, and her breath caught. He hadn't said that, had he? "Did you ever think of that, Aemma? If you hadn't interfered then, I'd still have my eye and Lucerys his life."

She didn't know what was worse, that Aemond might have been right, or that it came from the mouth of Lucerys killer, a man she had let get way too close. She had allowed him to hurt her, and she kept doing it. Even now, he had a power over her that she couldn't explain.

But she was no longer the same. The same little girl he could bully. She could fight back with the same weapons.

"I guess I wonder that as much as you wonder if your brother's son would still be alive if you hadn't been so ignorant and selfish, kinslayer."

He grabbed her neck with his other hand, his grip hard and unyielding. Her breath caught in her throat and Aemma gasped helplessly. The hand in her hair loosened and she saw Aemond raise his hand.

But she was not afraid. The times when she was afraid were over. She was a dragon and she would behave like one now.

"Come on, Aemond. Do it. I dare you," she sneered. His eyes narrowed. She saw fire in them. "Go on, show me. But it doesn't change the fact that you're no more a man now than you were then."

She didn't know what she saw in his gaze. It was anger, maybe hatred, but definitely something else.

She expected him to hit her. He had never hit her before, but this time everything was different too. He was her enemy, just as she was his.

They were destined to burn together, but Green Fire had been too greedy and had taken something that wasn't his.

So there they stood. She saw Aemond's hand tremble. She expected the pain, looked toward him, but before she could say anything else, Aemond let go of her, pushed her away from him, and wordlessly left the room. She looked after him, but he did not even turn around.

It was the middle of the night when they arrived.

Aemma had had difficulty falling asleep, how could one have a peaceful sleep in a hostile environment, but fatigue had overcome her so that her eyes had eventually closed on their own.

She had been awakened by a grip in her hair. Then by a thud, which she didn't notice until pain rippled through her body. She cried out.

"Careful, you idiot. You'll wake someone else," she heard an unfamiliar male voice and she wrenched her eyes open. There were three men standing in front of her. One had his hand buried in her hair, the other was standing over her and the last one was standing in front of the door, obviously assigned to keep watch.

"But I like it when they scream."

"Yes, and I like to keep my head."

"Who are you?" asked Aemma in a panic, but before she could react, the man who was holding her by the hair punched her in the face. Aemma immediately tasted blood.

"Shut up, bitch."

"Fuck, I said she can't have any obvious injuries."

Aemma turned to the side, groaning in pain. The blow had taken its toll. For a moment she saw stars in her mind's eye.

The other guy leaned down and stroked her hair, gently, as if he had only good things in mind.

"We have a lady here before us. A true Targaryen princess. Let's treat her accordingly."

The Man with his hand in her hair groaned in annoyance.

"I don't give a shit if she's a princess. She's just like any other cunt. So don't bug me and let me get started," he said grumbling and Aemma looked at him irritated. Her eyes snapped open. He didn't mean what she thought?

He smiled when he saw her gaze. A row of rotten teeth was exposed. It was a sickening sight. He reached for her face and squeezed her mouth.

"Don't be afraid, sweetie. I know what I'm doing. You'll like it."

She felt sick as she realized that was exactly what she was thinking.

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silens-oro · 1 year

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Eye for an Eye III

Aerraxys Inspiration - Credit: Henrique Dld on Reddit

Aemond Targaryen x F!Targaryen!Reader

Synopsis: Aemond has done the unthinkable and must deal with the consequences brought onto his family.

Note: All dialogue in italics is spoken in High Valyrian.

No "y/n" mentioned

Word Count: 3,673

Chapter Warning: Angst, comfort. General Warning: Targaryen brother/sister incestuous marriage, pregnancy, foeticide, murder, gore, torture.

AN: I've decided to extend this fic into a 4th part instead of ending it at 3. Thank you so much for the love and feedback this story has gotten. I appreciate each and every one of you! The final part will be spicy, so look out for that! As always, comments, messages, likes and reblogs are always welcomed and appreciated!

House of the Dragon requests are OPEN

“Aemond…” The Dowager Queen spoke, eyes heavily suspicious of the chest that was carried in behind him and placed onto the end of the long council table. A smell immediately permeated the room, the source sitting on the table. Aemond stood just behind it, hands clasped behind his back. A lazy smirk was plastered on his lips as the entire council stood and moved away from the chest. “What is this?” Alicent placed the sleeve of her dress over her nose and mouth to try and lessen the stench.

“A gift to my dear sister during these trying times. It shall be leaving for Dragonstone shortly,” Otto was the first to move towards the chest, not away. He used the dagger at his hip to flip the unlocked latch up and opened the lid.

Dry heaves and projectile vomiting could be heard throughout the room, along with Alicent’s gasps in horror of what lay within. Otto inspected the chest’s contents quickly before slamming the lid shut.

“I should believe my sister and uncle would like their assassins returned,” Aemond explained. His gaze dared anyone to question him. “Though they will not be whole.”

"This is dark, even for you, brother," Aemond said lazily from his seat at the head of the table. A grin was on his lips, as disgusting as the scene in front of him was. "I applaud you,"

“We may be at war, boy, but we are not animals!” Otto shouted at Aemond, slamming his hand on the table. Aemond motioned for his guards to take the chest out of the room. “There is a council for a reason, Aemond! Actions cannot be taken without a majority agreeance and the King's final say!”

“Am I to stand idly by with my son slain and my wife sitting on the precipice of death?” Aemond shouted, spittle flying onto the table before him. “I call for the head of the traitor Rhaenyra Targaryen, and her entire line. I will take them myself if need be, but she and her children will suffer terribly for this.”

“I know that you are ripe with anger-” Alicent began walking around the chairs to her son.

“-You know not of which you speak, dear mother,” Aemond hissed, ripping the patch from his face. His words stopped her in her tracks. “I have been ripe with anger since the age of ten and it did not seem to bother this council -with your exception. Nor did it bother the former King any.” Aemond looked around the table at each face before him, lingering on his brother's tired yet focused eyes last. “Let it be known: I will flay every Black that crosses my path and set their hides to billow along the King’s Road.”

“You killed her son,” Otto reminded with a twisted grimace. Aemond sent him a tight glare.

“Mm…then I should’ve killed the welp long ago, it seems. It makes no difference when. The boy was destined to die by my hand.” Alicent continued her steps to Aemond and brought his hands into hers.

“We will defeat them, but cool heads are needed to prevail.” She spoke. “She is my daughter, just as she is your wife. This will not go without repercussion,” Alicent promised.

“It is your rash temper that has gotten us to this point, Aemond.” The Hand spoke, leveling his grandson with a glare. “Listen to your mother for once.”

Ser Rickard Thorne stood dutifully at the bottom step of the south staircase that led into the caverns that housed the most terrifying of creatures. No one would venture down here, not unless they had a death sentence, so he did not go any further with you.

High pitched chittering could be heard of the younger dragons from higher up in the caverns and a low rumble could be felt through your feet. Snores that could only belong to Vhagar eased the tension in your heart. She dwelled far deeper into the darkness than even Aerraxys travelled.

The flame of the torch you carried stilled in the pitch black. Venturing further, you turned down the upcoming cavern to your right.

“Aerraxys!” You called to the creature in High Valyrian, “Be calm,” A deep chittering was the response you got from the shadows. The ground shook from the creature’s mighty steps forwards. The gargantuan beast’s scales were a deep obsidian, giving it the perfect camouflage in the darkness, and under the cover of night. His bright auburn eyes, the eyes that had monitored your recovery though the window, reflected the light of your torch back to you as he leaned his head down.

The beast was not hatched from your crib as most dragons within the Targaryen line are. It was a fact that Aegon, once you were both old enough to tease, liked to throw in your face any chance he got. He would later do this with Aemond as well. His jesting, though it was deliberate, did not hurt you as much as it hurt Aemond. You would have a dragon, you knew that much.

The summer of your eighth year proved to be a summer of your will conquering over your stupidity. Your family had taken a few weeks away from the Red Keep, just as they did yearly, to stay on Dragonstone. The second your tiny foot had stepped out of the carriage, you knew in your heart that your companion would be there. A connection brewed in the salty air, like lightning from the Gods struck into your heart.

If your mother knew where you were, she would’ve had you under lock and key for the rest of your days, never to see the light of day again. In retrospect, what you did was incredibly stupid, reckless even. Donning Aegon’s clothes -a black shirt, a pair of his trousers, a cape and a pair of his boots- you snuck past the guards in the cover of night. Sneaking through the Red Keep at all hours with your brothers gave you enough practice to make your way through the Keep at Dragonstone undetected.

Adrenaline vibrated through your body as you made it to the outside of the keep facing the mighty Dragonmont. Your eyes were on a swivel as you stepped into the sand towards the beach. Though Aegon was a year younger than you, his feet had grown at a much quicker rate than yours. His boots flopped with each step, kicking up sand, but you did not allow that to slow you down.

The waves of the shore were deafening, the wind whipping your hair. Through all of this, you could still hear the flapping of wings overhead, the thunderous roar of a dragon echoing around you. Looking to the skies, you could only see a shadow, massive in its span and length, blacking out the stars above.

Fear bled into your young heart as the shadow crept lower and lower until the beast landed on the opposite side of the beach. You stood your ground, knees shaking in terror. Make no mistake, fear is what kept you rooted to the sand, not bravery.

The obsidian dragon crept forward, the leather of its folded wings flapped with the movement like unused sails of a ship. The ground shook with each step, sinking your brother’s boots further into the sand. With each step it took to you, you could see the vibrant purple flames that hid beneath the creature’s black scales, as well as the glowing coming from within its gaping maw. The moon’s glow gave the sharp, long rows of teeth a threatening glint.

The dragon stopped just before you, growling ferociously. Its hot breath was fiercer than the winds as its lips curled back. The mighty beast could swallow you in a single bite if it so chose to, of that you were astutely aware. The dragon tilted its head, observing your tiny body, wondering just what to do with you. Its glowing amber eyes watched your every breath as you stood before it, knees knocking together. The feeling you had when you stepped out of the carriage during your arrival had returned; a buzzing tendril worked its way through your veins, mixing with the adrenaline and fear.

With every fibre of your being, you swallowed thickly and looked the dragon in its massive eye. A single word left your lips, causing the dragon to still, eyes turning to slits as it assessed you further: “Dohaerās,”

Your voice was stronger than you had ever heard it in your life, unflinching, unwavering. The untamed beast brought its head as close to your face without touching you. Saliva dripped from its teeth onto your brother’s clothes and boots, the vibrations of its warning growl ricocheted through your bones. “Aerraxys,” You named it just as you had named the egg that never hatched, “Dohaerās!” You spoke louder, chin held higher. It would’ve been a magnificent sight, had anyone been around to see it. The dragon seemed to consider you for a few moments that seemed to stretch into hours, though it was mere minutes, before it lowered its head to the sand.

A breath you didn’t know you were holding exhaled from your lungs. Your eyes were as wide as the moon above at the sight before you. This dragon, Aerraxys the Night Terror as he would come to be known throughout history, had accepted you. Aerraxys’ eyes snapped open when your hand touched the scaly skin just above his mouth.

This dragon, as you’d learn, had never taken a rider in its estimated 80 years until he accepted you. Every action would be new to him, just as it was to you. When you went to climb it that very night, you saw that he did not have a saddle. That thought alone was enough to entice you, as well as terrify you. An unridden dragon was unpredictable. An unridden dragon and an unseasoned rider? A disaster waiting to happen. Still, with the tenacity that only a child could possess, you climbed the beast with the help of the spikes that lined the creatures back and flank until you nestled yourself between two spikes along his spine to give you support along your back, as well as something to wrap your cloak, Aegon’s cloak, around to hold onto as a makeshift rein.

Aerraxys turned his massive head to look at you before running down the beach without warning, his wings spread as ascended into the night sky.

Your screams of terror and delight were heard over the entirety of Dragonstone, loud enough that they had awakened the occupants of the Keep, as well as alerted the Kingsguard.

By the time you landed, your hair had crafted itself into a rat’s nest and you were missing a boot. The smile on your face nearly cracked your skull in half as you fell to the sand. Scrambling up, you bowed to the dragon, thanking it out of respect as it seemed like the thing to do.

“I feel you,” You spoke through pants of air to the dragon in your native High Valyrian, a hand held to your heart then placed on the dragon’s jowl. Your name was called far in the distance of the Keep. You whipped your head around to see the guards scouring the perimeter. The castle became more illuminated as the seconds passed. Surely your entire family would be up by now.

You fell to the sand with a startled yelp as Aerraxys pushed you forward with the tip of his snout. As you tried to gain your footing, he pushed you once more in the direction of the Keep. His snout nearly tossed you into the air as he assisted you up the steep dunes until you were on the main road just outside the gates of the Keep.

As soon as you and the Night Terror were spotted, all Hell had broken loose.

The hot exhale from his snout was a true comfort, the air blowing your messy hair back. The purr Aerraxys let out when you brought a hand to the side of his face brought a small grin to your lips. This was the first time you had gotten to see your companion without a wall between you in weeks. You brought your other hand to rub under his jaw and rested your forehead again his jowl.

Aerraxys’ origins were unknown, though the dragon keepers had theorized he was sired from Balerion the Black Dread’s lineage if the dragon’s size and coloring were to be taken into account. The dragon, even at that time of your discovery, had stood taller than Vermithor does presently at nearly one hundred years. Aerraxys was estimated to be around eighty years when you had bonded on the dunes of Dragonstone that summer nearly two decades ago. His size could not be compared to that of Vhagar, as there was no known living dragon as large as she, but he was next in line as far as size counted. Still quick and ready for flight, he still had many years left until he would begin to slow with age.

“What say you to a ride, dear friend?” You spoke in your mother tongue as you placed the torch into a holder on the wall. Your voice was harsh, dry, as you hadn’t spoken more than a word at a time in days. The dragon stretched its mighty limbs, lowering itself so you could climb its flank just as you did so many years ago. The difference now was the intricately crafted saddle that was strapped to his back that was gifted to you upon your arrival back to the Red Keep that summer.

It had been weeks since your attack. Weeks since your son was slain. Weeks since your eyes truly opened to see the scabbing scar at the top of your deflated abdomen. Future pregnancy was unlikely, the Maester had said. The damage done internally was far too great.

Prince Aelon Targaryen’s ashes were placed into the Great Sept of Baelor mere days after you had opened your eyes. The funeral was private as was your wish, just your immediate family attending. The whole of King’s Landing, as well as the surrounding kingdoms had learned of the tragic events that took place. Your grandsire made sure to spin it in such a way so as to garner as much sympathy and take as much support away from Rhaenyra as he possibly could. If you could’ve snapped your grandsire’s neck with your bare hands at that very moment, you would have.

Your son was dead before he could draw his first breath and your grandsire all but pounced on the opportunity in front of him. You looked him in the eyes as he spoke at that council meeting and knew then that Aerraxys would char the meat from his bones sooner rather than later. You’d make sure of it. Aemond had squeezed your leg in comfort from his seat to your left. Your time will come, he said without saying a single word.

As the days passed, the tendrils of madness had begun to seep into your mind. You were changed, this you knew. Sorrow, resentment, and wretched fury that only continued to grow filled your being at every waking moment. A truly dangerous combination of a woman scorned.

The torn and sore muscles of your abdomen screamed as you slowly pulled yourself up Aerraxys’ flank and to your saddle. The beast gave you a few moments to right yourself before he expertly traversed through the pitch black caverns beneath King’s Landing until he reached the opening within the cliffs above the shores on the eastern side of the city. Tears filled your eyes as you flew through the blue skies of King’s Landing. Aerraxys let out a mighty screech as he too felt the traumatic emotions that were barreling through you.

Aemond was waiting for you when you returned to the pits. As you crept out of the darkness with the torch in your hand, you encountered him in place of your newly appointed Knight. Aemond’s face was severe when he saw the struggle you tried to hide due to the pain in your belly from your overexertion.

“You should be resting,” Aemond reprimanded with worry as he met you halfway. You tossed your torch into the water barrel at the mouth of the tunnel to extinguish the flame. The candles surrounding Balerion the Black Dread’s skull illuminated the room in an intimate glow, casting enough light for the both of you. Aemond was quick to brace you, kissing the crown of your head softly.

“Resting?” You replied with a scoff, pulling back to look at him. Aemond took a good look at you as he held you at arm’s length. Your violet eyes were bloodshot, rimmed in red and taupe shadows from countless sleepless nights. Your hair, once taken care of in intricate braids, was let loose to knot in the wind. Your lips were perpetually chapped, your skin just mildly more colorful than when he saw you laying on your deathbed. Your eyes were the most alarming thing to Aemond, though. More so, the hollow look they held. Aemond brought a calloused hand up to rest upon your cheek, his thumb rubbing just under your eye to try and comfort you.

“You need your strength,” He pleaded softly, the pinched severity dropping from his features with a sigh. Aemond’s other hand came to rest gently upon your stomach as it once did, though he was mindful of the still healing wound. “Pushing yourself will not make this easier. You have not been cleared by the maesters to fly. I cannot lose you to recklessness. I’ve caused enough strife through my own for the both of us,” A heavy frown pulled at your features as you pushed his hands away and turned to look at the remains of Balerion. You did not catch the initial hurt that crossed Aemond’s features as you turned from him.

“A maester’s permission,” You spat. “I do not need a maester to tell me what I can and cannot do, Aemond. I do not need a maester to tell me to lay in bed, alone, to think of what has happened over! and over! and over! without mercy with my only thought a silent prayer for the Stranger to take me and spare me of the madness that grows within me!” You turned your head to Aemond with tears in your eyes and whispered, “You do not understand,”

“I do not understand?” He questions in the common tongue, “Weeks I have come to you, begging for your eyes to open. Weeks I have come to you, begging your forgiveness. Weeks I have come to you, begging you to speak so that I may hear your voice just once more in this wretched life. Weeks I have waited for you return to me, to know that you were still here. My heart aches for you!” He shouted in agony. The timbre of his voice as he shouted his confessions startled you.

“My heart bleeds,” He pounded against his chest with a fist, “for Aelon!” He took long strides over to grasp you by the shoulders. He held you so tightly you could not escape his grasp regardless of how much you fought against him.

“Do not think you are suffering alone,” He spat, though it was in pain and not malice. “Though I only carry the mental scars, I pray you never have to witness me as I have you, bleeding and broken upon your death bed, the Stranger creeping along the shadows! As I have witnessed my child shrouded upon the table of the Silent Sisters!” His voice was a desperate plea for you to hear as he tried to shake sense into you.

“What am I to do,” You started lowly, your voice gaining traction as you continued. “While this family does nothing?” You screamed in madness as you looked up at Aemond. Your words nearly mirrored those he spat at his grandsire during your initial recovery. Each word felt like an arrow to his chest, notched and let loose by his own hand. “Are we to wait until they strike again?” Aemond’s chest heaved, but his grasp did not wain as you struggled against him. “Wait until our nieces and nephews are slain too?” Aemond’s sharp eye narrowed as he backed you up until your back hit the stone wall roughly. He looked down at you as if you were a wild animal, ready to take a bite out of his throat at any moment. The rage you held, though not misplaced, was something Aemond had never witnessed from you. The thought made his chest tighten.

“If burning the entirety of Westros to the ground was the wise thing to do, it would have been done, dear wife!” His hand returned to your face, though it was not loving. Aemond’s rough grasp on your chin was demanding. He wanted you to listen whether you wanted to hear what he had to say or not. You trembled beneath his grasp, hands clinging to his jerkin with tight fists. “Had sieging upon Dragonstone been the wise thing to do, it would have been done!” Aemond’s face came within an inch of yours, “Do not think me weak or uncaring for not laying waste to the Seven Kingdoms because if I had the choice there would be nothing left to speak of!” His voice echoed off of the walls and down the caverns.

You both stared at each other, chests panting, until your resolve finally crumbled. Your head dropped with a strangled sob and Aemond’s grip on you loosened to pull you to his chest. His hands buried themselves in your dirty hair as he held you with everything he had. Your arms wrapped around his chest, squeezing with all your might to let him know just how badly you were hurting. Both of his hands moved to cup your cheeks to pull you back just enough to see his face. Tear tracks reflected in the glowing light.

“They will pay dearly.” Aemond spoke softly, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. “Through fire and blood, they will repay what they have taken. And then, we shall take more and more until there is nothing left of them. I promise you this, until my last breath, my love.”

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