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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 months

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A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [5.9K]

THE TIMELINE

"Oh no, you know you know I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dying, For someone I could die for, someone I could try for Fall apart and cry for, go 'head, risk my life for."

-Someone I Could Die For by Lewis Capaldi

II. ROME, ITALY: 49 BC

The roar that came from the bowels of the Colosseum never became easier to hear.

The noise seemed to make the city shake, the streets empty, the market stalls abandoned in favour of bloodshed. The games took place in the summer, when the skies were an endless blue and there were no clouds to tamper down the climbing heat. The sun bore down on the sandy pit of the enormous Amphitheatre and the seats were filled, the doors that had already been closed still surrounded by regretful stragglers who were forced to listen to the chaos from outside of the walls.

Fourteen men had died already, three from the jaws of the lions, two from the bears and eleven from the swords of other imprisoned slaves. The cheering from the crowd made your stomach curl. The floor of the stage was covered in red, the sand streaked with spilled blood and the animals that were bullied back into their cages had their jaws tinted pink.

It wasn’t a joyous occasion, no matter how many people celebrated in the name of their emperor. The leader of Rome was sitting mere seats away from you, dressed in ruby robes that were slung like a cloak over his white toga and his laurel crown glinted with golden beads that sat tucked into the olive wreaths. He was drunk on wine and violence, and your father sat next to him in the royal box, ever eager to please as he clinked his chalice against his kings.

Being the daughter of Rome’s most beloved senator certainly had its positives. You were dressed just as finely as the royalty around you, the fabric that was made to fit your frame swept to the floor and only yesterday, the emperor’s cousin had gifted you a necklace made of the finest gold, inset with glittering emeralds, pretty enough for a princess.

The same cousin smiled at you from across the row, each seat in the royal box made from plush velvet, the high backs ornate and cushioned, unlike the stone carved benches the rest of the civilians were sitting on. You smile back, uneasy but polite, and your father nodded approvingly.

You were expected to marry, you knew that much. You were already considered too old to be unwed and you knew the rest of the court whispered about how you would now struggle to bear a child. But the man that was expected to be your husband wasn’t who you loved. He wasn’t unkind, he wasn’t cruel - not like you’d heard men could be. The girls in the kitchen would tell you stories of how their husband made demands. Shouting each night for their meals, their baths, how their shirts weren’t stitched right, how their beds would lay cold because their wives were too tired.

Some men visited the bath houses, you knew that much. Seeking out a lupa for the night, the ladies that were called she-wolves, with their painted lips and robes that showed so much skin. Some men decided that they didn’t need to listen to their wives at all, you were once told, horror etched on your face. Some men took what they thought they owned.

So no, the emperor’s cousin seemed kind enough. But you weren’t in love with him. You weren’t sure who you were in love with. A dream, perhaps. One that kept returning to you from a young, young age. A dream about a different town, one you’d never been to before. But in your sleep, it felt like home. White buildings and green gardens with tall, tall trees and pretty, ornate gazebos made of stone on the edges of shallow ponds. You were by the sea there, a blue-green ocean that seemed so calm.

Sometimes monsters came, the marble statues that guarded the city came to life and turned your dream into a nightmare. There was always fire and fury, storm clouds and too big waves and a man with skin the colour of death would try and take your hand. But even when the dream turned bad, there was always someone else.

A man, with a blurry face and a mess of almost too long hair. It hid his eyes from you and you could never make out too many details but you burned when you looked at him, you could weep when he touched you. Sometimes he led you through the burning town, his hand clasping your own as you both tried to run and run and run.

Other times, you lay in a bed with him, skin bare and your head on his chest as he murmured the sweetest poetry to you, words that made your heart race. Your dream was encased in white linen sheets, a hazy, soft light that always made it look like early morning and when the man’s lips met yours, you always woke up.

Him. You loved him.

You hadn’t been in love before, but whenever you dreamed of the stranger, you were sure that must have been what love felt like.

“Have some grapes, darling,” your thoughts were interrupted by your father as he thrust a plate of fruit and cheese under your nose.

But the fifteenth gladiator was being dragged through the gates by the armpits, a clawed hammer still sticking out from his chest and your insides turned over at the idea of eating such sweet treats as blood poured from the men in front of you. The emperor’s box was almost nauseatingly close to the fights.

You shook your head before you remembered your manners, smiling politely and murmuring, “I’m quite alright, thank you.” You blew out a breath, shaky and faint.

From your other side, one of the young girls who had been gifted to you on your sixteenth birthday waved a giant fan. A large peacock feather, a huge plume of colours that merely wafted the too warm air back and forth but you smiled your thanks at your lady in waiting, a pretty girl who’d turned into a prettier young woman. She was small and lithe, angular in the face with curls that came to her sharp jawbone and she smiled back.

Nancy, as she’d introduced herself to you a week after she’d arrived at your fathers house, from the Wheeler family of Liguria. She didn’t like the gladiator fights anymore than you did, always murmuring about the rights of the animals and how inhumane it was later in the night as she drew you your bath.

“—from Verona,” your father was saying with a mouth full of provolone. “One of their best, so they say, His Majesty simply had to have him.”

You blinked, frowning in confusion at your fathers words. You hadn’t been paying attention in the slightest and nothing you’d caught made any sense. “Sorry?” You grimaced apologetically and took a few pomegranate seeds from the plate of food in apology for your rudeness. “Who is from Verona?”

Your father rolled his eyes, a sure sign that you’d be lectured in his study later for your lack of respect. “The next gladiator, child.” He gestured to the stage where the soldiers were locking the gates to the tigers, each big cat growling with menace when the men came too close to the bars. “They say he’s unbeatable. Our Highness offered a more than generous helping of coin for his papers but Verona’s general didn’t seem to want to part with him.”

You frowned again. The crowd seemed to be aware of this man and his presence, murmuring and shifting in their seats in anticipation. “If that is the case,” you prodded. “Then how is he here? If the gladiators… owner—” the word left a terribly bitter taste in your mouth and you felt heavy with guilt when Nancy’s fan brushed your shoulder. “If his owner didn’t want to sell him?”

Your father snorted, an unattractive sound that made Nancy wince beside you. “No one tells the emperor of Rome ‘no’, dearest.” Your father shrugged. “The gladiator cannot be owned, if his owner is dead.”

Bloodshed. Always bloodshed.

A man came from the east side gates with chains around his ankles and wrists. You couldn’t quite see him for your seat, not yet, but the crowd above and around you roared, eager for the final fight to begin. The man already looked beaten and tired as soldiers stepped forward to unlock his manacles and you sat forward in your seat for the first time since you entered the Colosseum that day.

He had messy hair, dark brown and hanging just past his chin. It was already damp looking, matted and dirty from being kept god knows where as the emperor's new toy. He was shirtless, his body lean but corded with muscle. He had wide shoulders and a lithe waist, powerful thighs and skin that was tanned from the sun, a sure sign he spent too much time outside, training hard in the Italian heat.

As he moved closer to the middle of the stage, you saw the marks on his body, leftover scars and new slices in his flesh that still looked viciously red. The crowd got louder as a sword was thrown at his feet, a large, heavy looking thing with a bronze handle. Some cheered for the new warrior, hoping for some excitement, while others jeered and booed, already too attached to their darling reigning champion.

The gladiator picked up his sword and the crowd became wilder still, but he gave them no mind. He didn’t put on a show like some of the others, he didn’t flex his muscles or raise his weapon like it was already a prize. His leather loincloth was a deep wine colour, the tan leather pleats looking far from newly made and the material was already streaked with blood and dirt before his first opponent arrived.

Your heart felt heavy for him, as it did for all the others who were forced into the Colosseum - prisoners, slaves and animals alike. You watched the gladiator flex his wrist, testing the weight of his weapon just as the gates in the west cranked open.

Rome’s current champion strode out from the shadows and into the bright sun, his bare chest glinting with sweat and Hargrove held his hands aloft, grinning as the crowds went insane. He beat his chest, his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and when he was handed his own sword, he wasted no time in running towards the new fighter, the steel blade glinting.

You gasped, moving closer still to the edge of your seat and you couldn’t find it in you to bear much mind to the looks your father and Nancy shot you. It wasn’t like you to take such an interest in the sport, never mind be so heavily invested. You didn’t like to watch the wounded, preferring to close your eyes when the screams began, hiding cowardly behind Nancy’s fan when the blood turned the sandy stage pink and red.

But this new gladiator, he was fast.

He dove at the last second, dodging the tip of Hargrove’s blade and he rolled towards the section where you sat. Dust kicked up from the move, his sword tearing into the wreaths and sashes that hung from the Emperor’s box. You grasped the edge of the wooden frame, peering over the side and down to the stage, hoping to not see blood already.

Instead you found the gladiator looking back up at you, his sword still in his grasp and when his eyes met yours, they widened. Something like recognition hurtled through you, a feeling that sucked the breath from your lungs and you felt dizzy, like lightning itself had struck you from the sky. You thought the man perhaps felt the same, a frown on his face telling you that he felt just as confused as you did.

But before you could consider where on earth you could have possibly seen his face before, Hargrove attacked again, bringing his blade down to where the gladiator's shoulder should have been, if he hadn’t rolled once again.

You were on your feet now, the stares of your father be damned. Your eyes were wide, your heart beating far too fast, like you yourself were on the stage, being hunted for sport. Wood splintered into the space under your nails as you watched the man run, his muscles pumping, his eyes narrowed.

“Darling, are you quite alright?” Your father placed a hand on your arm, more confused than concerned.

“Yes, I just— yes.” You cleared your throat and sat down again, albeit back to the edge of your chair. You could feel the rest of the royal party staring at you. “Where did you say the man was brought from? The new gladiator?”

“Harrington?” One of the Emperor’s councilmen interjected. He pointed a pudgy finger at the brown haired gladiator, who was now swinging his sword with as much power as Hargrove. “Steven Harrington of Verona, best of his breed I heard. His general didn’t take too kindly to the King’s offering and well— you know what happens when his Highness is made to feel upset.”

The metallic clink of the swords filled the arena as everyone held their breaths. Not many had lasted this long against Hargrove before.

“Rumour has it that he didn’t take too kindly to his general being beheaded. Took six men to get him into the back of the cart, even more to make him train. He’s been refusing food all week.”

The idea of it made you feel unwell, a sickly, creeping kind of pain curling around each of your ribs and suddenly you were starving, just as much as you were sure the man would be. But still, I didn’t seem to make him move any slower, it didn’t hinder him in bringing his sword down any harder.

But strangely, every time the new gladiator was struck, every time his knees hit the raw sand, every time he got close enough for you to see him suck in a gasping breath— you felt it too.

It was a battle like you’d never seen before, more vicious than the others from that day, a showdown under the blazing heat of the high sun. No tiger seemed as powerful as Steven Harrington of Verona did. There was something animalistic in the way he moved, all power and lean muscle, a steely glint in his brown eyes that you didn’t dare look away from. He moved too quickly for Hargrove’s blade, dodging and diving as he flung up sand, blinding his opponent and slicing at his legs. Each move was a blur, the stage bleeding with fresh red, the blonde gladiator on his knees.

But Hargrove was ruthless, grappling with the newcomer until they were both wrestling in the dust cloud and the crowd went insane, people chanted and stomped their feet, the amphitheatre shaking down to its very bones. The imperial box quaked with the energy, but truly, you weren’t present enough to feel it.

Your eyes never left Steven’s fighting figure.

The swords seemed to be forgotten, the steel blades rusted with blood, both fresh and new, and they lay in the sand. Fists flew, knees pressed to chests to keep the other down and it was brutal, it was harsh, it was deadly.

You wanted to vomit. You feared you might.

You wondered what would happen if you leapt from your chair, if you let your skirts get torn and bloodied in the mess of the stage, if you threw yourself down onto the sand and begged for Hargrove to take his hands away from the new gladiator's throat.

Would you be punished? Beaten? Locked away? Killed?

You weren’t sure but somehow, all the options felt worth it. You couldn’t watch this man die before you. Not when it felt like you’d already witnessed his death before.

But Steven wrestled himself out of Hargrove’s hold, twisting and tumbling whilst he gasped, one hand clutching at his reddened neck and the other grappling for his blade. He swung it through the air, arching wide, his wounded shoulder ripping with effort it took but the sword landed where the warrior intended it to.

Silence settled over the colosseum, the air still enough for you to hear the surviving champion heave out gasping, heavy breaths. There was blood on his hands, his chest, his face.

His right eye was already bruising, red and lilac coming to the surface of his skin like fresh blooms in spring. His shoulder was a mess, his right leg causing him to buckle slightly as he rose to his feet.

The man turned, jaw slack, his sword falling limply to the ground once more, his opponent still and at his feet. His eyes found yours and time stilled, at least, to you. The crowd erupted, an explosion in its own right, the entirety of Rome cheering for their new champion.

A man you were sure you already loved.

By the time the fight had ended, you felt beaten and bruised. There were no marks on your skin, no blood seeping through your gown, but something inside of you hurt all the same. It felt like something was clawing at your heart, a memory that was banging on the front of your skull, screaming at you to remember.

When the guards dragged the gladiator from Hargrove’s limp figure, he dropped his sword to the sand and spat a mouthful of blood towards the ground at the royal pit. The Emperor merely chuckled as others around you gasped and before you could even hear your fathers protests, you were on your feet.

Steven Harrington was shackled once more, the metal chains clinking around his hands and feet. And as he was led away back into the arches, the gears of gates making an awful protesting noise, his eyes found yours once more.

A burning gaze, too intense to look away from and you could’ve sworn on the gods, on the stars above, that something inside of you tugged sharply. Like the pull of a string, tied in a bow between your ribcage, urging you forward.

Telling you to go.

So you did.

You gathered your skirts in your hands and made your way to the exit of the box, too focused to hear your fathers objections until the guards at the doorway halted you with their spears. The wooden stalks crossed themselves over your chest and you froze, the string tied to your heart pulling tighter and tighter and tighter—

The Emperor was staring at you, with cold eyes and a smile that wasn’t really a smile. He spoke to your father, not you. “Where, my dear senator, is your lovely daughter running off to?” The king turned back to you, brows raised. “Doesn’t she know that more wine will be served soon? My cousin is looking forward to her company.”

Your father stared at you, a stricken expression on his aged face because everyone in the royal box could read between the lines of the Emperor.

You cleared your throat, eyes still trained on the sharp metal points of the spears that were very much in your face. “Forgive me, father - your highness - I was merely hoping to get some fresh air.”

“The sight of all that blood makes her rather delicate,” your father agreed and the crowd of councilmen, generals and their wives tittered in their jewels. “She isn’t one for conflict.”

The Emperor stared at the side of your face, something you could feel despite bowing your head in his presence. You stared at the floor and waited, heart racing.

The royal tsked. “What a pity,” he declared but he waved a hand, each finger heavy with golden rings, and his soldiers stepped aside. “Be back in time for the parade, child, you have company to entertain.”

The Emperor’s cousin leered at you, his wine glass empty, his lips stained ruby but none of it mattered right now, not when you were taking off once more, skirts dragging across the dust and sand, your chest heaving as you tried to navigate your way through the crowd that was already dispersing.

More guards, heavily armoured and with their swords drawn, were too preoccupied with a fight that had broken out between the arches, two lower class men arguing over a coin they found on the ground. Taking your chance, you moved with your head down, your face hidden as you slipped through a door that was normally carefully watched.

The heavy wood slammed shut behind you, the sunlight swallowed whole. Burning torches lit the narrow corridor, a maze of them leading you underneath the Colosseum. The hypogeum was almost damp as you tried to navigate its many walkways, a gasp leaving your throat as you took a wrong turn and ended up face to face with the iron bars that separated you from the animals.

A huge tiger growled at you, bloodied teeth bared in a snarl, the stench of raw meat and faeces hanging in the cool air. You backed away, eyes flickering from cage to cage, each one filled with another poor creature. Lions, bears, a rhinoceros and its offspring, and beyond them, an even larger cell holding prisoners. They all stared at you, men and animals alike, but nothing was spoken.

You backed away, unable to breath, turning on your heel and walking quickly enough to spot the familiar grey robes of the healers used after the battles. You followed, your steps light, and watched him enter a small room. Between the door opening and closing, you spotted the gladiator perched on a wooden table, his head bent low and his face hidden behind his damp hair.

You weren’t sure what possessed you, but before you barged into the room too, both men staring at you from the table where the healer held a ragged cloth to the gladiator’s shoulder.

“Miss, you have no need here,” the healer announced, his voice strict and cold. He narrowed his eyes as he gestured to the door. “This is no place for—”

“My father sent me.” It was a lie, of course. A bold and bare faced one at that. But you stood a little taller and lifted your chin, the emerald necklace at your throat shining in the low light that came from the small fireplace in the corner. “The senate has questions I’ve been asked to deliver. I shall not leave without the appropriate answers.”

On the mantle, beside bottles of acids and other medicinal vials, sat a small statue of the goddess Veratis. Her marble eyes seemed to judge you and your lies and you swallowed down the bitter taste it left on your tongue. But looking at the man - this stranger from Verona - the need to speak to him, to be alone with him, was overwhelming you to the point of senselessness.

The trouble you could be in if you were to be caught in your lie… or worse, down in the hypogeum. This was no place for a woman of your standing, never mind to be alone with a gladiator, both of you unspoken for. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“If we may have some time alone?” You added with more authority than you should have held. “Unless you’d prefer that my father leave the Emperor’s side to ensure his orders are fulfilled?”

The healer sighed but placed down his tools. He flashed you a smile that was all crooked teeth, more bite than kindness, but he made his way to the door. “That won’t be necessary, My Lady,” he told you and he left, closing the wooden door behind him.

The silence was a deafening thing. The crackle of the fire was still there, the distant roar of some poor, wounded animal, but whatever was held between the two of you took on a life of its own. It seemed to suck the rest of the world into it until there was nothing left but you and this man. He was staring at you still, brown eyes wide and so familiar, looking as confused as you felt as you stared right back.

It felt too easy to take a step forward, but the warrior flinched. Your next was slower, softer, more cautious. Your hand found the rag that the healer had once held, what little water it had been soaked in was cold, the material harsh. It didn’t take you long to find a new cloth in one of the drawers of the apothecary table and you took your time to warm some fresh water over the hearth.

Honestly, you didn’t know too much about medicine, only the basics that your father’s head servant had taught you as a young child. You found the small bottle of alcohol with ease, plucking it from the shelf and adding it to the warm water before soaking the new rag.

You held it up in offering to the man, still far enough from you that his dirty hair hid most of his face. His tanned chest was streaked with sweat and dust, marred with old cuts and fresher wounds from Hargrove’s weapon, but for the most part, he seemed okay.

“Can I?”

The gladiator lifted his head then, his hair falling away from his cheeks and you took in a sharp breath at the sight of his face. He was handsome, painstakingly so, but over and above all else, he was someone you were sure you knew.

The man nodded, just once, lips pressed together and as you came closer, his nostrils flared and his large hands gripped the edge of the table. His eyes raced across your features, recognition coming to the surface and before he could ask the questions that were clawing at his throat, you lifted the cloth and pressed it to the cut on his shoulder.

He hissed, teeth bared and you frowned, hushing him softly, apologies murmured just as quiet. “I’m sorry,” you told him and gods, he knew you meant it. “I need the alcohol to soak the wound.”

Your heart stuttered when he let you, shoulders tight and back ramrod straight, but his eyes were on your face the entire time you worked. “You’re not a healer,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

His voice rung through you, a deep timber that was hoarse and scratchy, no doubt from refusing to speak since his capture. You hoped he’d been drinking enough water.

You shook your head as you pulled away, dipping the bloodied cloth back into the bucket. “No, I’m not,” you confirmed.

Another swipe at his skin had him jerking in response but the blood and dirt was finally clear of the cut. It would need stitches, you were almost sure of it, but your skills started and finished at the basics.

“Then why are you here?” The gladiator’s eyes were trained on your necklace, a sure fire way to recognise nobility and you were overcome with the urge to rip it from your throat. “Why did you follow me?” He spoke like he already knew the answer.

You were hesitant about it, but you couldn’t stop your hand from lifting to his neck, fingertips brushing two beauty marks on his skin. They felt electric under your touch and you were impossibly warmer now, despite the old cell lacking the heat from the summer above.

“I feel like I know you,” you whispered. Your voice cracked with an emotion you didn’t quite know the name of. “I feel like I’ve mourned you.”

The gladiator looked back at you from behind his damp hair, the long strands matted with his and his enemies blood. He didn’t look as concerned as he should have been at your strange words. In fact, he leaned into your touch, lashes fluttering at the sensation.

“What an odd thing to say to someone who hasn’t died,” he answered quietly. But his gaze roamed over your features and something about being so close to him felt cosmic, it felt like a catastrophe waiting to happen. “I think I’ve met you before,” the gladiator whispered. He sounded reverent now, his own hand shaking as he brought it to your face.

He cupped your jaw, your chin, his rough fingertips trailing over your soft skin and when his thumb dragged across your bottom lip, you gasped and pressed closer.

“I think I meet you when I sleep,” he said and he frowned at his own words, at how confusing he must’ve sounded. “Every night, when I close my eyes. You’re in a garden and then you’re in my arms.”

Flashes of a bed came to mind, white linen sheets and too much bare skin. A man’s chest, tanned and muscled from hard labour, your hands that roamed the expanse of his back. You remembered how he kissed you in your dreams, with a longing so intense it could waken the gods.

Like he had enough love for you that he could end the world.

You could only nod. His thumb was still pushed to your bottom lip, your mouth parted as if you were waiting and his stare was so intense you felt warmer than you had in the stadium above.

Who was this stranger?

And why did it feel like something inside of you was being stitched back together by the sheer sight of him? His touch felt healing, it felt like home. Like it was only made for you to feel. Like he was made only for you.

Above, something boomed. Loud enough to be heard underneath the hypogeum, over the roars of the unsettled animals. If you had been outside, you would’ve witnessed the blue sky turning grey, shades of moody lavender and navy, storm clouds rolling across Rome from seemingly nowhere.

Thunder rumbled, threatening noise, something that made you and the man move closer to each other, like you both knew you were in danger.

That you knew something bad was coming.

“I don’t understand,” you said, eyes blurring. You weren’t sure why you were crying but Steve didn’t seem to question it. He merely swiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks. “You’re a stranger— we’ve never— we’ve never met.”

Despite your words, the gladiator moved closer, standing from his seat on the wooden table to lean his forehead against your own. Your eyes slipped closed, nose bumping his. He smelled like metal, like blood and dirt and sweat but underneath there was something like fire there, like molten iron, like lavender fields and fresh cotton. Like a daydream, like something you weren’t sure was real.

His bottom lip touched your top one, only just, only barely. A whisper of a kiss, a small insight of something that could’ve been, of something that maybe once was.

Thunder rolled again, louder than before, as if it was right above you both. Even over the din of the crowds above, you could hear the heavy patter of rain that was now flooding the colosseum, the stage soaked. Another warning, something you’d seen before in a dream just before it turned to a nightmare.

“I was meant to find you,” Steve murmured. He had your face cradled in his hands, an overwhelmingly gentle touch despite the dried blood under his fingernails. His voice grew in urgency then, like he knew something was coming. Someone. “I was meant to come here. I can feel it. I understand now.”

“Someone once told me you’d come back,” you suddenly remembered, your voice eager, your eyes wide at the memory. “I don’t know— was it you? From before? From—”

From another life, you wanted to say.

How ridiculous those words were, how silly, how stupid. But there wasn’t any other way to explain. Logic didn’t seem to exist when everything you felt from this touch of this stranger led you to believe that somehow, someway, you’d spend a lifetime together.

Like you were supposed to spend this one with him too. And it didn’t seem long enough, decades wouldn’t make up for the time you’d lost searching for him, for this stranger who only came to you in your sleep. But he was very real now, solid flesh and bone underneath your own hands, brown eyes that seemed warmer than the Italian summer.

You didn’t want to let him go.

“In here, my King,” a voice interrupted. The door was open and the healer had returned, a cold look on his already stern face. The Emperor was behind him, ruby robes collecting dirt from the old floor. Four soldiers flanked him. “I have every reason to believe the Lady sold me lies, Your Highness.”

It happened too quick. Too fast.

The Emperor studied you, Steve’s hands still on your face as you stood too close, ready to kiss, ready to fulfil something neither of you were sure of. It felt catalytic.

“Seize him,” was all the Emperor said, one lazy flick of his wrist sending all four guards at you both.

There was too much movement in the tiny room, bottles of medicinal wares clattering to the ground and smashing at your feet. The table groaned as Steve was shoved into it, his own reactions too slow from his injuries. He grunted and reached for you too late, his hand slipping from your own, fingers barely touching, as he was shoved at from either side.

One soldier shoved the butt of his sword into Steve’s wounded soldier, the other bringing his armoured knee into his bare stomach. The gladiator doubled over, a gasp leaving his chest before he fell to his knees on the stone floor.

“Stop this!” You yelled, urging forward, trying your best to throw yourself into the mix of it all but someone’s arms - another soldier - caught your round the middle. “Unhand him! Your Highness - please - he hasn’t done any wrong, please—”

The Emperor just looked at you blankly before he picked at the jewels around your neck. He tutted, as if it were a shame, a waste. You could hear the shackles being placed back on the man, the low groan he gave as the metal was tightened around his sore wrists.

“He won,” you whispered, your voice low and choked. You were ready to beg. “Please, he won. He doesn’t deserve this—”

“I don’t like anyone else playing with my toys,” the Emperor interrupted. He said it like he was discussing what to have for lunch. “And my dear cousin doesn’t like anyone playing with his.” He motioned to the guards once more. “Take her back to her seat, where you make sure she stays. This isn’t any place for a Lady,” he told you mournfully.

You didn’t get to see what happened to the gladiator as you were escorted out of the room. But you did hear his yells when the door slammed shut, the dull thuds of impact that you were sure were on his already bruised and broken body. You hadn’t even told him your name, or that you dreamt of him too. That during your worst night terrors, he was the one that saved you.

When you reached the imperial box once more, your skirts dirtied from the sand, your face tear stricken, you felt broken. Like you’d been snapped in half, like someone had found that wound Steve had stitched up and pulled it apart again the seams. Like someone had ripped something important from you, half of your heart, perhaps.

You didn’t even notice that it had stopped raining. The skies were blue once more, the sun shining, the only evidence of the sudden storm were the drops of rain that had soaked into the pillow on your chair.

Steve was gone and the thunder was too.

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seravphs · 11 months

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — KNIGHT! GOJO x PRINCESS! FEM READER

Gojo has devoted his entire life to protecting you as your dedicated guard. A greater force is conspiring to keep you apart.

wc — 3.7k

tags — royal au, childhood friends, forbidden love, protective Gojo, sneaking around/flouting social etiquette, period drama-esque tension between repressed princess and rakish knight, mutually possessive, title from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

part 1 of the hand which holds the knife

Everyone knew Satoru Gojo was supposed to be yours.

You claimed him the day you knighted him. He wore your colors and answered to your demands. The physical evidence of your ownership was all over him, the way someone would mark a well loved pet. Even the neck of his jacket carried your embroidery like a collar. To anyone with eyes, he was your adored guard dog.

When all of your memories blur into one stream of consciousness, the day you knighted him remains clear. You remember everything, including your father stealing him out from under you.

You were the only one who truly thought he was ever going to be yours. It was part of the promise you had sworn to each other as children, playing princess and the guard with wooden swords and flower crowns.

Looking back, you can see the gears of court machinations turning. It was no simple coincidence that the only heir to House Gojo ended up in close proximity to you, any more than any other of your introductions to sons of highborn houses.

Gojo has no interest in pretending to be a prince. It was boring for him to be trapped in restricting uniforms complete with epaulets. He found more pleasure in protecting you from danger while you preened in your gilded cage, none the wiser through his efforts. Safe and unaware, the way he liked it. You would never have to know how dangerous the world was if he simply destroyed everything in your path before it got to you.

You didn’t understand the way the adults looked at the two of you. All you knew was that you couldn’t bear to be apart from him. You rose each morning looking for him, and went to bed waiting for the minute you’d be reunited again. He was your whole world, your one and only friend. It was his hand that guided you through childhood adventures. He was the sword and shield that had cut down kidnappers and serpents for you.

The first wedge in your relationship comes with his twelfth birthday.

You chase his back through the years, watching it broaden in front of your eyes. His body changes. His voice drops. The first time you hear it after the pitchy squeaks of puberty clear from his throat, you feel the sickening wrench of something in your stomach. It had never mattered before that Gojo was a man, potentially your betrothed.

Now it burns you to look at him. He became gorgeous while you weren’t looking, all long willowy limbs and snow white hair. The women of the court have started looking at him now. They call him the beautiful dragon, after his house crest.

Even though you know reasonably that you can do nothing about this, really, you have no right to, that galls you. You’re a princess. You’re used to being able to deal with things that upset you with little more than a nod to Gojo. But he can’t solve issues that he’s the root of.

The only way to show everyone that Gojo’s devotion belongs to you is to tie him to your side. At twelve, he’s already the strongest squire in the entire kingdom. Better than most knights, even. It’s a clear path to being the greatest knight of his time, throughout all of history, even. He already promised to be your sword when you were children. All you have to do is wait.

Gojo trains and you begin to learn the extent of your royal responsibilities. Study etiquette. Marry well. Become a dutiful wife. Give the king heirs.

Gojo becomes Lord Gojo. He calls you princess now. Although part of you rebels at the idea that he would ever call you anything other than your name, another part of you can’t help the queasy feeling you get when he says your title, low and soft. Like he means it for your ears only. Like princess is just another way of showing how much of him is yours.

Gojo is not usually a proud man because he doesn’t have to be. His abilities speak for himself. But he’s cocky to a fault. He knows the extent of his capabilities, which means he won’t capitulate to anyone. Why would he?

When it comes to you, however, he bends his neck and accepts the collar willingly. The strongest can only be tamed by what he allows to tame him and it’s you, it’s always been you.

Perhaps that’s why things turn out the way they do on the day you knight him.

Or, as you find out later, your father knights him.

It was the day after your sixteenth birthday. Gojo himself had turned seventeen three months and six days before. It was strangely old for a boy of his caliber. He was so talented he could’ve been the youngest knight in the realm, but no one could make Gojo do something he didn’t want to do.

There was no shame in it, either. Everyone knew Gojo was too talented and well-connected for it to be anything other than his own choice. The only heir of House Gojo, he was destined to become a knight even if he did nothing to earn it. And he had done much to earn it.

Winning wars single handedly tended to do that. There were already legends blooming from the battlefield by the time he came home and tossed the unlucky enemy commander’s head at the king’s feat. His bow wasn’t nearly low or respectful enough to be addressed to the king, but he had been lighter-hearted back then, more willing to forgive.

Especially for Gojo, who had cut a killing swathe through the ranks of the opposing army so ruthlessly they began to call him a god of death.

Gojo kneels at your feet, his white head still high. He’s a little too tall for you, even at this angle. Lord Commander Yaga clears his throat. Gojo looks up through the wisps of hair that have escaped to obscure his eyes. They’re piercing, an attractively violent blue.

“I’m sorry,” he says, so low no one else could’ve heard the two of you even if you hadn’t been standing alone on the podium in front of the king’s throne. “Am I too tall for you now, princess?”

“Don’t tease,” you whisper back, flustered despite yourself. The pommel of the sword is clammy in your grip. You’re scared to drop it and accidentally take a finger off with it.

You’re taking too long. It’s making you anxious. You’re distinctly aware of your father’s stare boring into your back. You’ve been sheltered since you were young by your father’s paranoia, but he’s recently begun letting you apply yourself more to your royal duties. You can’t give him any reason to doubt you.

Gojo dips a little lower.

With this change in angle, you can place the flat of the blade on each of his shoulders. It’s your father’s sword, too large and unwieldy in your hands. Standing over Gojo is a strange experience. It’s uncomfortable looking down on someone who’s been taller than you for all your life.

You wish he would stop looking at you like that. His gaze is searching. You feel naked underneath it, even with layers of dresses on. When he says his vows, it feels intimate, like he’s speaking them to you. For you.

Gojo rises, shaking his hair out of his eyes like a shaggy dog. Like this, you’re reminded suddenly of how strong he is. His shoulders are broad underneath his silver armor. Lean muscle cords his legs. There’s an easy, effortless grace to the way he moves - the confidence of a man who has never been bested in his entire life.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. He’s still standing too close. If it were any other man, your father would have demanded he be whipped by now, but Gojo has always gotten away with things no one could. He ducks his head so he can speak directly into your ear - dangerous, even for him. He says his piece fast. “I’ll see you in your rooms, my lady.”

Then he pulls back.

There are thunderclouds gathering across the king’s face, but when you shake your head, your father relents. He smiles and kisses your temple as you climb up the steps of the platform of his throne to return the sword to him.

Years later, you learn that the moment you leave the throne room, your shoulders sure with the knowledge that Gojo is finally secure in your grasp, your father takes up the sword you had held and knights him. Princesses have no authority to confer knighthood. Only kings.

You know your father means well. He loves you. You’re all he has left. If Gojo pushed for your hand to be one that he swears loyalty to first, then your father would have been happy to comply either way. You just wish you would’ve known that it meant nothing.

There’s a sharp rap on your door, followed by two short, one long. A code you had devised a long time ago. You pull open the door and Gojo all but falls into your room. He’s pressed up against you, front to front as he closes the door behind him, tumbling you into your bed.

“Hi, princess,” he says, his breath warm against your neck. You squirm in his hold, feeling heat rush through your veins. It’s getting harder and harder to hide the way he affects you, but you don’t want anything to change between the two of you. Though sometimes, you swear Gojo likes using your title so much precisely because he knows how you react to it.

“We have to stop doing this,” you tell him, like you tell him every time. “It’s inappropriate.”

He groans and pushes away from you. You mourn the loss of contact. “Come on, don’t make me do this again. Who cares if it’s inappropriate? Who says?”

“Dame Zenin thinks we’re too close.”

“Dame Zenin is an idiot,” Gojo says. “You know she only says that because she wants to get rid of me so you’ll look at Naoya. As if you would ever, even if I was gone.”

“Still.”

Gojo grabs your chin in his hand. “You are a princess and I am the only heir to House Gojo. We bow to no one, understand? What right do mice have to judge dragons?”

He’s the dragon, you think. Your crest is the rose. You exist to be judged. That’s the role of a princess.

Gojo sprawls out on your bed. He’s so tall he takes up more than half of it, even though your bed was built to be more than twice your size. His eyes are shut, his long white lashes soft. He looks gentle in repose, almost like a lamb with his coloring.

He’s beautiful. He always is. You want to touch, to hold, to claim. You want to press your ear against his chest and steal the thunderous beat of his heart for your own. You want to press your rouged lips to his neck and collarbones, to mark his body with a muted rose.

Instead, you sit stiff, prim and proper.

He opens his eyes. “Come here,” he says, his arm reaching for you. You let him pull you closer.

As always, he has to reach out first. You can’t allow yourself to take what you want. It’s not in your nature, the way you were raised.

You bury your face into the space between his neck and his shoulder.

“There we go,” he coos. Your face burns with the condescension of it, the way he treats you like an animal that has to be carefully coaxed closer. But he’s not wrong, and that’s why you let him pet you into submission, gently stroking your sides as he tangles his legs with yours.

You were never so affected by him as children. Somewhere along the way, Gojo had become unmanageable to you, and you don’t know what to do about it.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs against your hair. “Where are you going off to in that pretty head of yours?”

“I’m with you,” you whisper against his neck. “I’m always here.”

You’ve spoiled him, you think. When you were a child, you didn’t know any better. Gojo was just Gojo. Letting him stay by your side even as you got older was an indulgence that he now pushes the limits of. He’s never cared about propriety.

“You have to go back to your room now,” you whisper reluctantly. You’re always the more cautious one of your duo. It’s been too long. Someone will become suspicious. For once, you wish you could just let go of your worries, but someone has to check Gojo. If both of you just did whatever you wanted, it’d be the ruin of your houses. This is how it has to be: Gojo pushes and you pull back.

The dim light of the dying candles make his blue eyes appear black. “Give me something of yours first,” he says.

You know what he’s asking for. You climb up from the bed and go into your dresser to search, turning up one of your handkerchiefs. It bears the colors of your house and your careful embroidery.

He kneels at your feet.

“Stop,” you say, trying to pull away.

Gojo presses a kiss to your hand. His lips are soft against the skin of your hand, temptation incarnate. Your fingers tremble lightly in his grasp, torn between wanting to seize him and wanting to run away. The enormity of your desire for him terrifies you. If you ever let him in for one second, you can see how easy your descent would be.

“I’m yours, princess. Don’t forget it.”

With that, he ties your favor around his wrist and finally leaves you to your room, panting like you’d run through the halls. No matter how old you get, Gojo always leads in your interactions. He plays with you, enjoying the way he can make you react to him.

It’s normal for a princess to visit the training yard, you try to convince yourself the next day. There’s nothing strange about stopping by while you’re on your afternoon walk. After all, you should keep abreast of everything within your castle.

Gojo stands in the center of the yard. He’s demonstrating one of his self created drills, a complicated set of maneuvers only he can pull off. In short, he’s showing off while pretending like he’s doing the class a favor by trying to teach them something.

Lord Commander Yaga notices you the moment you set foot in the yard. You should expect it. After all, it’s his territory.

“Attention,” he bellows. “The princess is here.”

Gojo perks up and finishes his final set of movements even faster. He throws his sword carelessly to the side, leaving a young squire scrambling to catch the priceless weapon as he strides towards you.

He’s a little sweaty. You want to wrap your arms around him anyways, but you restrain yourself.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” you say.

Gojo grins at you. It’s a sharp thing, his smile, hungry and wolfish. “Not at all. I was just thinking of you, my lady.”

You tilt your head at him curiously.

Around you, the men are scrambling to line up into neat little rows.

“I’m picking a squire,” Gojo says. “Would you like to make the decision for me?”

It’s a question that shocks you. You whirl to look at him again, see if he’s joking like usual, but he seems perfectly serious. “I don’t know anything about knighthood,” you tell him the truth.

He moves closer. You’re tempted to step back immediately, but you don’t. You don’t want a sign of discomfort to be misinterpreted and used against him. Besides, you relish the proximity. Seeing Gojo in public feels like dancing on blades. The adrenaline terrifies you, but you can’t stop wanting more of it.

“You may not, but you know people. I trust your judgement.”

A cursory scan of the boys in front of you reveals little. They’re all stiff and proper, their backs as straight as they can make them. Some stand with their arms glued to their sides, others fidget with their swords. Every single one of them is eager for the chance to be acknowledged by the princess. They’re equally hopeful for the chance to squire for the greatest knight in the kingdom.

None of them catch your eye on the first or second passes.

Only on the third, a boy with pink hair smiles at you. It’s such a small gesture. But for a boy who had looked just like everyone else at first, the toothy smile splits his features. It opens him up. He looks kind.

You gesture him forward.

Lord Commander Yaga nods approvingly. “Itadori is a good one, Your Royal Highness. He’s one of the best in this batch. Naturally strong, but just as hardworking.”

“See,” Gojo says. “I knew you would choose well.”

He touches your hand briefly, slipping a white scrap of paper inside your closed fist before he grabs Itadori by the shoulder and hauls him off for further training. Although disappointed, the other squires still look starstruck to be in his presence, though Yaga disperses them all to train themselves soon enough.

In elegant cursive, Gojo has written a time and place.

You shouldn’t go.

You can’t risk it.

All eyes are on you and Gojo as it is. People already suspect the two of you of something unsavory. Courtly love is one thing, but you and Gojo are too close for an unmarried man and a woman. As a princess, your sole purpose is to marry well and bring alliances to your house. You can’t risk damaging your reputation.

But every stolen encounter with Gojo steals your breath away. You sneak through the halls, quiet and empty.

A hand slaps over your mouth before you can scream as someone tugs you into a dark corridor.

You kick and lash out, forgetting everything Gojo has taught you in favor of blind violence.

“Shh,” comes a voice in your ear. “It’s just me.”

You bite him.

He hisses and pulls back, shaking out his hand. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Why would you do that? You scared me!”

“You’re not careful enough, princess. There was a maid coming up on your left that you hadn’t even noticed.”

You sigh and lean into him. You can’t help it.

He laughs. “Are you that happy to see me?”

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll show you exactly how happy I am.”

“Come on,” he tugs you out towards the gardens. It’s dangerous, but you follow him anyway. Being with Gojo is so threatening not despite his strength, but because of it. You rely on him too easily, trusting him to see you safely through any peril. It’s easy to relax when he’s with you, his presence the promise of security.

You expect him to tell you why he called you here, but he’s silent when he tugs you down on the bench next to him.

“Gojo?”

“Here,” he says, opening his hands. A single crushed violet sits on his palm. You laugh, picking it up and raising to your eye. It’s all the more fragrant because it has been mangled, the delicate petals bruised.

Gojo’s mouth lifts in a smile, too. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t realize.”

“You really know how to win a girl’s heart,” you tease.

“Hopefully I know how to win over her father’s, too.”

You freeze.

“I’m sorry. I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to ask your father to be your dedicated knight tomorrow. Do I have your permission?”

You hesitate, worrying your lip with your teeth, but Gojo understands. Years of watching after you, bandaging your scrapes that you refuse to cry over or avenging your honor after you pretend your pride hasn’t been hurt has taught him a lot. He can see right through you. You never need to hide when you’re with him.

“It’s alright,” he says. “We can wait.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to be my guard,” you say in a small voice. “I just-”

“I know,” he says. “But I’m the strongest. Who else would your father ask to protect you but me?”

“Do you think he’ll say yes?”

Gojo looks at you seriously. “I’ll get down on both knees and beg him if I have to.”

“Don’t do that,” you gasp.

“I don’t care,” he says. “You’re what’s most important to me. More than pride, more than honor. Can I ask your father for you?”

You look at the crushed violet in your hand.

Who else but Gojo?

You press the flower back into his palm. “I trust you to do what’s right.”

His eyes soften. He leans closer.

“Gojo,” comes a voice. “What are you doing in the gardens this late at night?”

You stiffen. The owner of the voice is drawing closer.

“Do you trust me?” Gojo asks, as cool and collected as ever.

You nod, not trusting your voice not to give you away. He cups your face in his hands and ever so delicately presses a light kiss to your cheek, tilting his head towards you.

“Stop,” he tells the man behind you. “Don’t come any closer. You’ll scare her.”

“A new plaything?” Asks the Lord Commander. “I’m not so scary, am I?”

Gojo notices you tremble harder. He lifts a hand to the back of your head and presses it gently towards his shoulder, obscuring your face even further. “Come here, darling,” he murmurs. “That’s right, what a good little thing,” he says as you press yourself into him. He pulls you over his lap, your legs straddling his waist as he runs his hand up and down your back. “Keep your head down,” he whispers to you. You tuck your face farther into the crook of his neck.

Louder, he responds to Yaga. “The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard is a terrifying man, or so I’ve heard.”

“Just escort her to her room when you’re done,” Yaga says gruffly. “I don’t need to tell you to be a gentleman, do I?”

“No, sir,” Gojo says cheerfully.

In hindsight, you’re still not sure if Yaga recognized you or not. On one hand, he’s known you since you were a child. He watched, a silent guard, as your father raised you. On the other hand, he’s never brought it up to you.

The only other reason you suspect he realized who you really were was Gojo’s induction into the kingsguard the very next day.

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

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eddie-van-munson · 3 months

Text

The Princess Bride (Farmhand!Eddie Munson x Princess!Reader)

***********

Warnings: Mentions of Blood (Nothing Graphic), Kissing, One Subtle Allusion to Smut, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn...I think that's it?

Summary: You've been best friends with the stable boy since childhood, but when a suitor comes from across the sea to ask for your hand in marriage, you're forced to finally confront your feelings for him.

A/N: I hope y'all like this! I've had this in my drafts for literally over a year, but people seemed interested when I asked, so here it is! Please, Please, Please leave a comment! It will keep me writing!

Six Years Old

Your earliest memory of him was from the stream.

His head was a mess of wild brown curls, so thick they nearly covered his eyes, and his pants had been rolled up past his knees. You'd been sitting in the gardens, ignoring your tutor's endless lesson on etiquette, when you spotted him through the clearing. He wobbled as he waded further, jumping forward suddenly as he tried to catch a fish with his hands. You had to hide your giggle with a polite cough, lest you be scolded.

The boy heard you, though. He stared at you as you obediently walked along the bank behind a man with a large nose.

You made eye contact with him, and as soon as he noticed he'd won your attention, it became a game. Suddenly, he was pulling funny faces and splashing around the creek like a giant. He held your gaze all the while, flashing you a two-front-toothless grin when you finally fell into a fit of giggles.

You'd had to recite forty lines that afternoon because of him, but it was well worth it to share a laugh as he mucked about in the water.

***********

Six Years Old

The next time you saw the boy, you'd fallen ill with fever. It'd been a few months since the stream, and you almost didn't recognize him as he plopped a bundle of healing herbs down on your bedside table.

"You don't look like a Princess." He crossed his arms before him as he eyed you suspiciously. "You're awfully pale…And you're not even wearing a crown or a dress or anything."

"I'm sick, you knob." You frowned, "No one wears a crown to bed."

He hummed, sticking up his nose. "I thought Princesses had to be grown-ups."

"I'll be queen when I'm a grown up." You announced, bossily. "And you'll have to do everything I say, or I'll send you to jail."

He scoffed, "Not if I'm the King! The Queen has to do what the King says!"

You rolled your eyes, "Well, you can't be King."

"Yes, I can! Haven't you ever read King Arthur?" He pointed, brows raising. "I just have to find an enchanted sword and pull it out of a stone. Then I'll be the King, and I'll send you to jail."

Your cheeks went pink as you argued, "King Arthur isn't even real!"

"Yes, he is! And I'll be just like him! King Edward the First!" You giggled, and the boy flipped around from where he'd started strutting around the room, proudly. "What?"

"Edward is a funny name."

As wildly offended as the boy was by this comment, he had to hide the smile that crept to his face at the sound of your hoarse laughter. "It is not!"

"Yes, it is! Who's ever heard of a King called Ed? King Eddie!" You held your stomach, falling into another fit of giggles.

He turned from you indignantly, "Fine! Stay here all alone with your smelly herbs, then! I don't need any silly ole' princess!"

"No!" You croaked, sitting up in bed. "Don't go. It's so boring up here. I can hardly stand it."

He sighed, putting a hand on his hip, and thought for a moment. "Only because you'll have me beheaded if I don't."

***********

Ten Years Old

"Oh goodness…You've gotten mud on your dress!"

Your mother fussed over the little blue dress you were wearing, kneeling beside you to get a better look at the damage. Splotches of brown had been smeared over your front. Even your hair had a few streaks of dirt.

"I got in a mud fight with Eddie." You informed her, as if the mess was perfectly justified by this.

She chuckled, "I see. It looks like he may have won this time, hm?" She gave your cheek a gentle pinch, making your nose scrunch.

"No, he didn't!" You turned, pointing at your friend. He dragged his feet behind you, looking defeated.

Your mother burst into pretty laughter at the sight of him, resting a hand on her stomach. "Oh lamb…come here."

The poor boy was absolutely caked in dirt. Not an inch of him was left unscathed. His wild curls were sopping with heavy mud, and you couldn't even see the embarrassed flush on his pouty face. He looked like he'd rolled around in the pig pen.

The queen tutted affectionately, smirking. "Oh what am I going to do with you two?"

***********

Thirteen Years Old

"Do you think he'll be alright?" Tears welled in your eyes as you sat in the windowsill in your room, watching Eddie as he walked quietly by himself in the distant fields, below. "I don't like seeing him cry."

"He'll be alright, love." Your mother cooed, taking a seat beside you. "I know it's hard to see him in pain, but the poor dear's lost his mother. It might take some time for him to feel like himself again."

You sniffled, holding your knees. The words trembled when you spoke again. "He'll be sent away, won't he? He won't be allowed to stay at the palace anymore."

The Queen frowned, stroking your hair. "Why do you say that?"

"His mother worked in the laundry. That's why he's lived here so long. Without her, he-" You trailed off, voice cracking as you gave a soft sob.

"Oh, silly girl." She chuckled softly as she dried your tears. "You think we'd throw Eddie out all on his own?"

Your brow furrowed, confused.

"Eddie's a strong boy, sweetheart. He works very hard in the stables and takes good care of the horses. He holds his own…and even if he didn't, he's family. We'd never send him away."

Your whole demeanor relaxed, "You really mean it?"

Your mother smiled, "Of course."

Still, your eyes didn't leave him. You sighed, "He's so sad...He's sad and I don't know how to fix it.

"I wish we could fix it for him, darling, but that's not how these things work. You can't take away that hurt. You just have to let him feel it." She straightened her dress as she stood, giving your hand a loving squeeze. "But that doesn't mean he couldn't use a friend."

***********

Fourteen Years Old

"I didn't know Princesses were allowed to climb trees." Eddie's grin was stained sweet and red, his legs crossed over a branch lazily as you plucked another strawberry from the bushel you'd collected that morning.

Your etiquette teachers would be appalled if they could see you now, wearing little more than a chemise in the summer heat as you straddled a thick tree branch. Your feet were bare and dirty where they hung in the breeze. You smirked, "They are if nobody sees them."

Eddie laughed, and it was such a clear sweet sound that you wished you could keep it tucked inside a locket. You sighed, longing to freeze time and keep things just the way they were forever.

You relaxed against a branch, "I've got my whole life to do what royalty is supposed to do. I've got to do fun things while I can still get away with it."

Eddie chuckled, "Maybe I'm a bad influence on you, after all.

You frowned, "Did someone say that to you?"

He shrugged, unbothered. "The maids whisper it. They say a young lady shouldn't be left alone with a young man." He put on his best 'prim' voice, making you giggle. "I'm a threat to your innocence!"

You held your stomach, laughing. "A threat to my innocence? That's horrible!"

He grinned, "You're telling me!"

The breeze rustled the leaves in the tree as you lounged, breathing in the sweet summer air.

Eddie had strawberry juice on his lips. For the first time, the tiny, ant-sized thought of kissing it away crawled into your brain. You squished the ant.

A bad influence, indeed.

***********

Fifteen Years Old

"Tag!"

Eddie sprang up from the corner of the barn, sprinting after you as you ran off into the fields.

You lost him quickly, cutting down and into the gardens. The morning dew was cool as the grass tickled your bare feet, and you nearly slipped as you ran over the stone path. A gloved hand grabbed your elbow to steady you. You turned to see a member of the palace guard; his brows furrowed. "There you are, Princess. Your Mother-"

It all happened so quickly. Eddie ran through the bushes, a playful grin tugging his lips, and grabbed you from behind, "I've got you!" He yelled, drowning out your giggles.

Before you realized what was happening, the guard ripped you from his hold, tossing you aside. Eddie was thrown onto the stone path, his temple hitting hard against the tile. Distantly, he heard you shriek. His vision was fuzzy and starry when he felt the weight of the guard pin him down, a drawn sword shoved against his throat. "You shall not touch her!”

"Stop! Stop it!' You grabbed the guard's arm, But he threw you back down. Eddie choked your name.

"Stay back!" The guard barked at you, pressing harder against the blade. Eddie could feel blood trickling from his head. He was trembling, eyes closed tight. Still, the guard yelled in his face, “Who are you? Hands by your side!”

"He's my friend!" You screamed hoarsely.

"Get off of him this instant!"

You'd never been so happy to hear your mother's voice in your life. The guard dropped his sword at the sight of her rushing towards him. Immediately, his face drained pale as a ghost. "Y-Your majesty!"

"Get off of the boy, for god sakes, he's a child! Get off!" The man clambered off of Eddie as your mother knelt beside him, fussing over him dotingly, "Oh sweetheart, your head…You're shaking like a leaf…"

He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. The queen turned to the guard as you pitifully crawled over to your friend, pushing his curls back off of his forehead. "I'm sorry I'm sorry-"

The guard searched for an explanation, "Your majesty, I thought the boy was-"

"I know what you thought!" She snapped, sternly. She was well aware of the whispers surrounding yours and Eddie's friendship. Your mother's lips were pursed, cheeks red. You'd never seen her like that before in your life. "It gave you no right to hold a weapon to that child's throat!"

"Your highness, I-"

Your mother ignored the guard, turning back to you. "Help me get him inside." You nodded obediently as she squeezed Eddie's shaking hand, "I'll send for a doctor to check your head, darling."

Eddie nodded, dizzily.

You sat with him later that night when the doctor had gone and his head had cleared. The mark on his forehead would scar, no doubt, but it had been well tended, and any concussion he suffered was minor. This knowledge, of course, did nothing to soothe his nasty headache.

"You're not a very good sport, you know." He groaned as you took his hand, smirking. "Siccing the palace guards on me just because I tagged you?" He tutted, "What a sore loser."

***********

Sixteen Years Old

"You have to tell!" You ran after Eddie as he hauled a sack of oats through the gardens to the stable.

He ignored you, holding his nose high. "No, I don't. I don't have to tell you everything just because you're a princess."

You crossed your arms, "You have to tell me because I'm your best friend, you knob. Best friends don't keep secrets!"

"Sure, they do. You mean to tell me you've never kept a secret from me?"

You groaned, "That's different! You have to tell me if you fancy someone!"

Eddie sighed, turning to face you, and dropped the sack of oats. "Why do you want to know so bad?"

You blushed, stammering. "I…I want to help you confess your love!"

Eddie laughed, "What a lie! You just want to tease me!"

"Oh, Come on!" You pouted, putting your hands on his shoulders. If you tell me who it is, I'll tell you a secret, too."

"Tempting." He sighed, picking up the sack again and throwing it over his shoulder. "But no."

***********

Eighteen Years Old

"You've got to keep it down…"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as he guided you towards the stables. "Why?"

He laughed, "If I told you why, then it wouldn't be a surprise."

He smirked when you groaned, reaching for the latch on the barn door. “You know I don't like surpris-..."

You went silent as he led you inside slowly, revealing a soft colored mare, and below her, her newborn foal.

"Oh!" You gasped, a smile creeping to your face. You stepped forward, wanting to approach the baby, but Eddie took your arm, gently pulling you back.

"You've got to be careful...the mare's protective of her. I nearly got kicked in the teeth this morning." He chuckled, enjoying the amazement in your eyes as you watched the mother and baby interact.

"She's beautiful." You mumbled, grinning.

Eddie couldn't help but smile, "She's strong too..." He paused, breath fanning your neck as he spoke just loud enough for you to hear. "She'll make a good riding horse, one day."

You met his brown eyed gaze, biting your lip shyly as he nudged your arm with his elbow.

You could feel him admiring you.

You liked it.

***********

Nineteen Years Old

"Oh, Eddie. He was horrible…You wouldn't have been able to stop laughing!"

Eddie clutched his stomach, laying back against the grass as he toyed with a wildflower. "That's because it's funny!"

Your fingers fumbled with the ends of your hair, untangling the intricate hairstyle it's been tied up in. "It's not so funny when it's you!"

Eddie grinned, looking starry eyed, "It really just fell off of his head?"

"During dinner!" You exclaimed. Eddie fell into another fit of laughter. "Right onto his plate in front of everyone!"

Your friend sighed, wiping his happy tears as he sat up to gather a handful of clovers. "I can't believe he wore an honest to God wig. The poor lamb."

You laughed at his faux sympathy, watching his hands as he wove together stems.

He looked so different from the little boy you'd befriended as a child. His wild curls had grown just past his shoulders now, his bangs often covering the scar on his temple. His arms and back were beautiful, muscles sloping gently beneath his skin, and while he was a hint more bronze than he had been as a boy, his freckles remained. His nose and his dimples had never changed in the slightest, and those big brown eyes reassured you that no matter how much Eddie had grown up, he'd always be that silly little boy, deep down. He'd always be your Eddie.

"But what's the verdict?" He chuckled, "You never said. Is he the one?"

You groaned, "You're mocking my pain."

"I am not!" He fought a smirk. "I didn't want to assume. Maybe he was a wonderful conversationalist."

You giggled, yawning. "I wouldn't know. I didn't catch a word he said after his hair went into his soup.

Eddie gave you a fond smile, laying on his elbow beside you, "Here you are, princess. A crown."

Your heart felt oddly achey as he draped a handmade crown of wildflowers over your head. You smiled, affection in your eyes.

Your throat was tight when you spoke, "You're better than any prince, Eddie Munson."

His cheeks flushed faintly. "Well, I don't know about that…" He tapped your nose playfully. "Most princes don't smell like a barn."

***********

Twenty Years Old

"Eddie, darling!" Your mother had called to him as he cut through the gardens back to the stable. His brows raised when he turned to find the Queen accompanied by you and the King. A man Eddie had never seen before held your arm, an unreadable expression on your face. Eddie bristled.

"Your Majesties." Eddie nodded his head politely as the group approached, his muscles stiff with wariness.

Your father gave a proud smile, gesturing to the stranger on your arm. "Son, let us Introduce you to Prince Carver the Fourth: Heir to the Throne of Hawkins."

"An honor to meet you, Your Highness." Again, Eddie bowed his head. He'd never seen someone that looked so stiff. The two of you would have fun joking about it, later.

Prince Carver was older than you, and by the looks of him, he'd never been outside a day in his life. Every last one of his blonde hairs had been tediously placed, as if he'd been sculpted out of clay, and his boots were perfectly polished black leather. The blonde eyed Eddie with disdain, crinkling his nose at the sight of his work clothes. "Yes, I'm sure."

Eddie fought an eye roll. Another suitor, he assumed. The Royals were only being polite by offering him a tour, seeing as he'd travelled so far only to be rejected.

The Queen stepped towards him, glancing at the prince. "Eddie has become a very dear friend to our daughter, Prince Carver. Perhaps he would make a nice addition to your staff. He's served us so well in our stables."

Confusion was visible in Eddie's face. An addition to his staff? What was going on? He looked to you for help, but your eyes were cast down into the grass.

Prince Carver cleared his throat, "Unfortunately, we aren't lacking any farmhands at the moment, but you need not worry about the princess, your highness. She'll find much companionship in Hawkins, once we are wed."

Eddie felt his blood go cold. Absolutely frigid.

Once we are wed. Once we are wed. Once we are wed.

His mouth opened to say something, but he couldn't find a single word. He was desperate to look you in the eyes, but his gaze was only met by a small shimmer on your left hand. An engagement ring.

"Please excuse me, Your Majesties."

****

Eddie hadn't cried like this since his mother died.

He hadn't felt the blow of such terrible loss since he'd been orphaned.

He sat alone in the barn on a stool, tears rolling down his cheeks as he gently stroked his fingers through the mane of the foal he'd surprised you with two years ago.

It was a pretty horse…full grown now and patterned with soft brown spots across her back. You'd named her "Sweetheart" after hearing Eddie call her that.

Come're, Sweetheart.

Here you go, Sweetheart.

Good job, Sweetheart…That's it.

Pain shot through his chest at the realization that the horse would probably get to go with you to your new home.

But not Eddie. Eddie would be left behind.

He clenched his jaw, eyes burning as he buried his fists in his curls and tugged. He was angry. He couldn't help but feel angry. It wasn't fair. His whole heart was being shipped off to God knows where, and there wasn't a word he could say about it.

It wasn't your fault. You were a princess. Your hand in marriage was a pawn in a game of political chess. It had been since the beginning. Both of you knew this. You always had. So why weren't the two of you happy that this inevitable union was one that would lead the country to thrive?

Eddie took a deep breath, relaxing his hands from his hair and rubbing tears from his face.

You'd daydreamed with Eddie before. Lots of times. It was always the same thing.

I wish we could just run off and live in the woods, Eds. Just you and me. We could build a little cottage beside a stream. That way, we could swim in the summertime. You could finally teach me to fish, too.

Is that what he'd been expecting? Had he hoped, deep down, that he'd somehow end up in that cottage after all, spending summer days with you by a stream?

Maybe. Or maybe he'd just wanted you.

He'd dreamt up hundreds of different futures for himself. There were countless paths he'd wandered down curiously in his head, over the years. Some were outlandish and fantastic…some were more modest. As much as they varied from day to day, he was realizing now that his hopes for the future had always held something in common.

He'd always had you.

****

The next week seemed never ending.

Eddie didn't see you once. You were avoiding him. That much was obvious.

Before the proposal, you made a habit of visiting Sweetheart at least once every day. You liked to brush her as you talked with Eddie, twisting braids into her coarse hair. She was spoiled rotten, no doubt, but that didn't leave the horse feeling any less deprived of attention with the sudden loss of your quality time. She'd gotten fussy over the week, whinnying and pacing in her stall. She'd even started kicking again, when she was feeling particularly agitated.

Still, you made no appearance at the stable. Eddie was surprised, however, to look over the gate one evening to find Prince Carver walking swiftly through the grass.

"Your highness." Eddie nodded, spotting the green apple in the man's hand. "Have you come to feed the horses?"

"Certainly not." Carver scoffed, "I've come on behalf of the Princess. I find it inappropriate for her, as a lady, to be spending time in the stables.

I've reassured her that I'll take it upon myself to fulfill any required visits with Sugarplum."

Eddie frowned, " Forgive me Your Highness, but I think you might be thinking of Sweetheart."

The man scoffed, slapping the apple down in Eddie's hand before storming off.

"Whatever the damned thing's name is."

Eddie swallowed hard, calling after him. "Would you like me to show you how to feed her, Prince Carver?"

The man laughed cruelly, "Heavens no. That's your job, is it not?"

**********

"What on earth are you-! Edward Munson!" You gasped, immediately dipping over the stone ledge of your window to reach for him. He laughed, flashing you a boyish grin as he took your hand, pulling himself up and over the sill.

Christ, you'll crack your skull one day!" You muttered, the both of you giving way to the effort and falling to the floor with a thump.

"For the present my skull remains intact." He reassured, giving a faux bow of his head.

You snorted, plucking dead leaves and briars from his thick dark curls. "What on earth put it in your head to climb all the way-"

Eddie caught your hand, his eyes landing on your engagement ring. His thumb brushed over its stone as your heart sank into your belly.

"Oh."

Eddie studied the ring for a moment, taking in its details. There was a long silence. Finally, you spoke.

"It's a dreadfully heavy thing." You pulled it off, placing it on your bedside table. "It catches on my gown, anyways."

A knowing smile crept to Eddie's lips. He sat in the silence for a moment before reaching into his pocket.

A small wooden ring was produced, painted delicately along the band with tiny white flowers. He slipped it onto your marriage finger. "How's that one?"

You were breathless. "It..it's..."

It was perfect. It was the most beautiful ring you'd ever seen, though you couldn't find the words to say so.

Eddie's thumb brushes over the flowers, "I carved that for you when we were sixteen."

Tears welled in your eyes.

"I had it in my mind to propose to you then. The gardener stopped me when he discovered my plan." He gave a sad chuckle. A comfortable silence hung between you. Eddie took your hand, humming. "Would you have said yes?"

"Eddie..." A tear rolled down your cheek, only to be brushed away carefully by his ever-gentle hand. You gave a sad laugh, your thumb stroking over his wrist. "You're not being fair."

"Maybe not." He whispered, "But any man should be damned if he saw you and didn't want to keep you."

"It's cruel." Your voice wavered with emotion. "You know I've loved you since we were children...nothing can be done about it, Eddie."

"Nothing can be done about it?" Eddie gave a humorless laugh, "You're going to be Queen. Everything can be done about it."

"What would you have me do?" Your brow furrowed. "Tell my father to end our alliance with Hawkins?"

"Yes! Hawkins only seeks to use us for our resources. Forest Hills is better off without their partnership."

You swallowed thickly. The cicadas sang their response from the Glenside below. Again, Eddie wiped your tears.

"Love is not something to be kept only for common folk. Your father will understand that. So will your kingdom."

Something in you crumbled under his gaze. You drew closer, letting him envelope you in his arms. He held you for a long time, stroking your back, sweetly.

"I spoke to your mother." He cooed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. Your head tilted back; eyes wide as you stared up at him.

"Did you?"

"Yes." His eyes were so warm and brown. You had admired them many times before this, but never quite so closely before. "I knew I was to ask for your hand...I couldn’t very well ask for your father's blessing, so I felt your mother's would be just as valuable. To us, at least."

You smiled, your forehead resting against his. "What did she say?"

Eddie chuckled at the memory, "She pinched my cheek red. I wish you could've seen it. She cried and held my hand...told me she'd always known I would ask her one day."

You gave a watery laugh, your fingers lacing tightly with his.

"She said she didn’t know if it was possible for me to make you mine, but that nothing would make her happier."

There was a long silence. Eddie cradled your face, "Do you feel the same, little Princess?" Your pretty eyes fluttered at his whisper. "Do you love me the way I love you?"

"How could you even ask?"

Eddie chuckled, "Because I've done nothing but profess my feelings for you tonight, and now I'd like to hear you do the same."

You chuckled, your smile fading with thought.

"I knew...I knew I loved you about five summers ago." Eddie smiled fondly, his cheeks going pink. "We practically lived outside then...the world seemed so bright and warm and I didn't realize then that it was all because of you." You reached up, carding her fingers through his messy hair. "The sun turned your curls golden on the edges-"

Before you could finish your sentence, he was kissing you. He was soft and warm and strong, holding you close as you melted for one another. Eddie laughed, breathless, when you parted. "I'm afraid I win, then. I've loved you far longer than that."

You laughed brightly as he kissed you again, working his way down your jaw to the column of your throat. "When?" You breathed, whimpering as he nipped at the crook of your neck.

"It's hard to say." He moaned softly as you coaxed him back up to your lips, your hands lacing in his hair. "All I know is that I've never loved you more than I do right now."

Another tear rolled down his love's cheek. He kissed it away.

"But why these tears, now? Am I really that terrible?"

You gave a watery laugh. "No. Not at all I...I just..." You gave a little sob. "I want to marry you. I want to be your bride and keep you always, but I can't-"

"Marry me, then. Right now."

You frowned, tucking a strand of his curls behind his ear. "What?"

Eddie thumbed your ring as he caught your hand. "Do we not have a ring? A gown?" He swallows thickly, eyes darting between your night clothes and the mattress beside you. "A marriage bed?"

Slowly, You stood, guiding Eddie to stand before you. "We...we have to make a vow"

"What kind of vow? I've never been to a wedding."

You stared up at him, eyes brimming with love. "S-Something about.... For richer and for poorer. Through sickness and in health. From each sun to each moon."

"May I write my own?"

A tear rolled down your cheek as you nodded.

He looked down at your hands, so soft and perfect in his rough ones. "I wish I could tell you that as my wife, you will want for nothing. I wish I could make you flowery promises about how you won't have a care in the world...but since I can't make you those promises, I'll make you the ones I can."

He knelt before you, gazing up into your eyes.

"I promise to you that no matter how hot the summer's day, I'll always climb to the highest branches to find you perfect, sun-spotted apples."

You giggled, a grin splitting your cheeks.

"I promise to let you spoil your horse as badly as you wish. Never again will I deprive her of a single sugar cube."

Another giggle. Eddie kissed your knuckles.

"I promise to kiss you...often and abundantly...until you can't bear to kiss me even once more."

Eddie grinned at your blush.

"I can't build you castles, but I promise you a home. I promise you food to eat and sturdy walls to keep you warm. I promise you children to nurse and adore."

Eddie paused, heart fluttering.

"And I promise you love. The same love for you that I've held long since before I even knew what I was feeling."

His voice wavers.

"I promise that at the end of our lives, I will still feel it."

Eddie clasped your hand with his, "So, Princess. If you'll have me...then with this ring, I thee wed."

You repeated his words, falling to your knees to embrace him. Eddie caught you in his arms as he stood, peppering kisses to your nose, then your cheeks, and finally, your lips.

His thumb brushed your new ring, gently. "I can't tell you how it feels to see you wearing it." He gave a watery laugh. "It's been sitting on my nightstand for four years now."

"I wish I could wear it always..."

"Why can't you?" He pulled back to meet your eyes.

Your expression sunk, "I'm afraid I'm still scheduled to be wed tomorrow morning."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous." He hummed. "You think I'd allow another man to marry my wife?"

"Eddie..." He scooped you up, laying you gently upon your mattress before sitting beside you. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid tomorrow."

He chuckled as you combed through his curls with your fingers. "When have I ever been known to do stupid things?"

"I mean it. You remember what happened the last time someone thought you were a threat to my innocence. It would kill me to see you hurt." Your fingertips grazed the scar on his temple, stiffening at the memory of his head hitting stone.

There was a long silence as Eddie gazed at the ring. He kissed each of your fingertips slowly. "Do you trust me?"

"More than anything."

Eddie smiled at this, holding your hand to his heart, "Then don't worry."

You gave a hesitant smile. Eddie cradled your body against his, gently combing through your hair.

"We must leave tonight." He whispered. "Disappear into the woods. If we rode as far as we could on Sweetheart, it would be nearly impossible for them to find us by the time morning came. It would be difficult, but we'd be free."

Immediately, you tensed. "Eddie, no. He could have you killed if they found us."

"Then you'd better hold me awfully tight for as long as you can, my love."

**********

You woke to the sound of water rushing beside you. You laid upon a bed of moss; a thick blanket tucked around you. You felt shade cover you as a figure knelt as your side. A hand on your head, pushing your bangs back lovingly. You stretched and groaned in response, not wishing to leave behind the warmth of your blanket, and kept your eyes closed.

"What a shame." Eddie cooed with a smirk, seeing right through your fib. "My little wife is simply too weak and exhausted to carry on. I suppose I must leave her behind..."

Your eyes flew open, taking his bait. "Leave her behind!?"

Eddie laughed brightly, pulling you into a smiley kiss. You were beginning to think nothing in the world felt better than kissing him.

Eddie's nose nudged against yours as he hummed passively. "Did you know you talk in your sleep?"

Your jaw dropped, "I do not, Eddie Munson."

He giggled, "You most certainly do, Mrs. Munson. We had a whole conversation whilst you slept."

"What about, pray tell?"

Eddie laid on his back beside her, letting her rest against his chest as he tucked his arms behind his head. "How handsome I am."

You smirked, rolling your eyes as you kissed him. The sun was warm and the cool earth beneath you felt like silk beneath your skin.

"I feel like I could do anything I wanted out here. No one could stop me."

"You could." Eddie smirked with another peck. "But I'm afraid we must keep traveling, my love. We still have a long way to go."

"How far are we going?

He tucked hair behind your ear, "So far they'll never find you. So far that it will be impossible for them to take you from me."

You nodded, curling in against him.

"And once we have finally traveled far enough..." Eddie grinned down at you. "I shall build you our cottage by the stream."

***********

@ali-r3n

@stephanie-nicks76

@penandpage

@the-local-pendeja

@blindbisexualgoose

@eddiemunsonsgf2

@panickedpanko

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie the freak munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munsen x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munsen #Eddie x reader #eddie imagine

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kimhargreeves · 8 months

Text

Saved Again-Sanji x Fem Reader (One Piece Netflix)

Summary: You've been Luffy's friend for years. Being the first member to join Luffy's crew, together they are off to become pirates,.later on a certain chef has his eyes on you. And a fond memory of you and a boy after a shipwreck comes to mind when arriving at the Baratie.

(A/N: I'm so excited for the One Piece live action do I decided to write this!! I'll start on a Part 2 once the series is released. I absolutely love Sanji and he's my favorite of the Straw Hats. I relate to him a lot too since I was training to become a chef as well…anyways the one shot might be slightly changed once I watch the series.)

(A/N: Oh and also the reader is often confused as a boy but Nami and Sanji know she's a girl.)

"That's why I'm gonna be king of the pirates!!" Luffy exclaimed enthusiastically, even though we were in the middle of nowhere.

I turned around and frowned looking at him being too cheery and loud as usual. "Can you be any louder?' I glare before pulling my head out of the small boat we were in and I continued to throw up out into the ocean.

I heard a hum coming from Luffy and saw him tilting his head a bit. "Are you sure you're okay?"

This is the downside of wanting to become a pirate and sail across the Grand Line. Well, not many people get sea sick and start to pour their guts out.

I wipe the sweat off my forehead and sighed. "If only Coby didn't accept in becoming a Marine. He would've maybe given me some of the medicine he was carrying."

"He did offer some yet you said you'd be alright without it." Luffy reminds me making me groan.

"Don't make me throw up on you." I warn.

"Will you two shut up already?" I glared and looked back at the green haired man who I forgot had joined us.

"Huh? Why don't you make me, Zoro? Our friend here might be dying." Luffy said patting my back a bit too rough.

Zoro looked at us with a bored expression on his face and went back to closing his eyes. "You guys are insufferable, would've been nicer if I was still tied up."

I point and glared at him. "You should be thankful that we saved your ass."

"Luffy was the one who did. You're too weak to save anyone anyway, kid."

"I'm not a kid! I'm older than you think believe it or not!!" I shout getting defensive and forgetting that I had be throwing up.

"Then why are you acting like a kid?!"

"Guys will you stop arguing for once?" Luffy said stepping between us and calming Zoro as well when we saw an island up ahead.

Idiots are they really dumb and don't know I am secretly a girl. The reason why I like to crossdress if for fun, but mostly because I've seen the way pirates who are men are more respected.

I once had cut my hair short but decided to let it grow and use a wig instead, besides being in disguise had helped me with stealing from people.

Luffy with his devil fruit power stretched all the way until his feet hit the sand and he looked around in enthusiasm.

"Wow this island seems so cool! But why is it so quiet?!" He asked loudly.

"Maybe this is an island inhabited with ghosts." I muttered and heard Zoro scoff and began to grab his swords when the boat hit the sand below us.

Zoro jumped off of the boat and began to follow Luffy. "Hey, (Y/N). Are you coming or staying?"

I raised my head and tilted my head looking at Luffy. "You guys can go on ahead. I'll catch up with you."

He nodded and I saw both guys beginning to walk further into the island. Slowly I got up on my feet and jumped out of the boat as well. I was deep in my thoughts imagining what it will be like to travel across the world and get to know other famous pirates.

Luffy's dream has always been to become king of the pirates and his number 1 person he's always looked up to was Shanks, maybe Gold D. Roger in second place.

As for me..I really don't have a dream. I've just been following Luffy around. I don't have a family. Shanks was the one who raised me along with Luffy, I came along later in the picture and don't have any memories of my past, only a few glimpses here and there but maybe it's just me reliving someone else's dream.

"So he's also a devil fruit user?"

I stopped walking and ran to hide behind a building and I looked over and saw a group of pirates, my eyes were set on the one between all of them. Buggy the clown. I've seen his Wanted poster.. wait!

My eyes widened and then I glared when I spotted Luffy in a cage. Are you serious?! He got caught..huh? I looked and saw someone else with them too, a red headed girl.

Where is Zoro anyways?

I frowned even more when I saw he and Luffy were caught. God damn it. It's up to me now, now all I gotta do is find out if this girl is an enemy of ally.

I got out of my hiding place and prepared to face the gang of pirate clowns…

"Hang on!!"

Someone shouted and tried to reach for my hands but I was pulled away by the harsh tides of the sea. My eyes and lungs began to sting, I felt like it was the end for me. Just a few minutes ago I was with my family, are they dead? Will I die as well and meet them again?

I couldn't swim so I felt myself sinking lower into the dark cold sea. I wanted to cry but couldn't and right when I was ready accept my death I felt someone grab onto me and I was being pulled up again.

I gasped along with the person who had saved me. A man about the same age as my dad saved me, I continued to gasp and began to cough up the salty water I had in my lungs.

The sky was dark with clouds covering the sky, it was heavily raining with thunder.

"Don't die just yet kid! Hold onto this." The man exclaimed.

The man could swim with ease and he had placed me on top of a wooden piece of what I assumed was part of the ship that had exploded. I looked to my right and saw a boy my age, with blonde hair and green eyes, his eyes seemed scared as well.

Are we the only survivors?

My answer was clear the more we got away from the shipwreck and landed on an island. The man easily picked us up and placed us on his shoulder, but the more he continued to walk the more I felt he was struggling, it wasn't until we made it inside a cave that I realized he lost his leg.

I was about to comment on it but didn't when the man seemed angry at something. The boy and I exchanged looks and didn't say a word, we only saw the man lighting up a small fire place as we continued to hear thunder and lightning.

I don't know who this man is, this boy surely isn't his son…mom..dad…my eyes began to sting and I began to cry out loudly with tears running down my face along with a runny nose.

The man didn't say anything and the little boy seemed to stiffen and I saw a few tears forming in his eyes as well and he began to silently cry…

By the next morning the man, the pirate who saved us said he wanted to be alone so he left the boy and I a large bag of food. "We refuse to eat this because you're a pirate and pirates are bad people!!" The boy had shouted earlier.

The man said almost nothing and left me alone with the boy. The boy and I looked at each other and we both didn't say a word about the man.

"Umm do you think we can make a boat somehow and leave the island?" I quietly asked nervous and shy to ask this stranger for help.

"Does it look like we have a way out of this island?! The boy shouted glaring at me. "What would a girl know about sailing anyways?"

I began to cry again and I did the first thing that came to my mind, and I had punched him. "All I want is to see my parents again!"

The boy seemed surprised by my action and began to hold onto his swollen cheek. "H-hey don't cry. You're gonna make me cry again!"

It was too late. He was crying again….

It had been many days until the three of us were rescued. An odd boat with some friendly men were the one who saved us, the man who rescued the boys and us took the boy in as his own in a way, and he was about to send me off to live a normal life with someone who was willing to raise me.

The man somehow got a nice dress for me to wear, as a last send-off he had done a dessert for me. A strawberry cake I came to love at first bite.

He along with the men on the ship all were outside ready to say their goodbyes to me. I even saw a man or two begin to cry.

"I always wanted a small girl."

"You can't even feed yourself properly how are you supposed to raise a kid." I heard one of them say to another.

"You ready, kid?" I heard the man ask making me turn to look at him. I shook my head and the man sighed and patted my head once. "You'll soon understand why I'm sending you off. You'll have a proper life."

My eyes wandered over to the man and over to the small boy I was saved with. The boy stiffened when I looked at him, and I saw his pale cheeks turn to a pink color.

"I-I…" I didn't know exactly what to say, that's until he spoke up.

"I d-do hope you enjoyed the cake I made with help! Next time if we meet again I'll bake you a whole lot more..also…if we meet again I'll make you my wife!!" He exclaimed.

The men behind the boy groaned and one of them lightly hit his head. "That's no way of a send-off!"

I shyly smiled at all of them and the boy….

"Usopp!! Nami!! Are we there yet?!"

"How many times do we have to say, no!!"

I squinted my eyes when I opened them. "That was a strange dream." I muttered to myself and glared at the three who woke me up.

Few days have gone by since he fought Buggy and his crew along with a few more pirates. Usopp was the new crew member. He's a bit odd and a scaredy cat but he means well. If it wasn't for him. Luffy wouldn't have his new and proper ship, officially presenting himself as a pirate.

The sailing ship was huge and fitted with us do well. Luffy named it the Going Merry. A fitting name for a ship.

I looked to my left and saw Zoro fast asleep, I felt envious that he could sleep through this much talking and noise. I made sure my wig was still in place and I got up to join Nami up front. At least it's nice to have another girl around.

"So…you don't have trouble with sharing a room filled with guys?" I asked and saw Nami giving me an odd bur serious look.

"No?" She squinted her eyes looking at me and looked back at the tides.

Weird…It's a shame I can't talk about girl things with her.

Luffy said he was searching for the last member to our team. Luffy is Captain, we have a navigator..well kinda that being Nami, the main fighter being Zoro, Usopp as the sniper and I fix anything on the ship

Since none of us are cooks. Luffy suggested on finding a chef. I offered to be the one to fill everyone's stomach, but everything I cook always ends up burnt.

The rest of us began to get things done on the ship until a fight began with another ship and the Going Merry crashed into a ship. My mouth fell open when we crashed and accidently directed a cannon ball into the ship that wasn't even attacking us.

"Crap…Luffy!" I shouted and saw him smiling shamefully.

All of us walked closer to the deck and saw the great damage the other ship received. "We better head in there and talk to the person in charge. And you are going to apologize." I said grabbing onto Luffy's straw hat and he quickly grabbed it back and placed it on his head.

He said nothing and began to follow us. We got onto the other ship and read the ships name, The Baratie.

I looked around and this seemed familiar. "You okay?" Nami stopped and asked glancing back at me.

"Yeah.. everything's fine." I said still looking around and ran over to her side and began to follow the rest of the crew.

We all entered the ship and wow was it beautiful and extremely fancy. "Wow..this is something else. It doesn't feel like we're in the middle of the sea." I said in awe and stared around.

Everything looked so expensive. I saw people around sharing their meals and couples smiling at each other and drinking fancy wine. Not to mention the smell, I wonder how the food must taste!

I was practically drooling when I saw a huge meal in a table. Nami had grabbed the back of my clothes and dragged me away from a couple who was staring at me weirded out.

"Get a hold of yourself, (Y/N)." Nami muttered and went to sit down on an empty table.

I nodded at myself then went back to checking the place out. This seems so familiar…I started to walk around and peeked over and saw many chefs cooking the meals and they seemed to make it so easy.

"I have an order for a large plate of seafood rice, potato pallie and medium sized bowl of sea pork soup. I need it done in less than 10 minutes!" My mouth began to water even more.

"All have it done in 5." Someone said on the other side with a British accent.

"(Y/N)!" Someone hissed my name and I quickly went over to sit next to Nami and Zoro. Luffy came in as well while we sat down and patiently waited to talk to someone.

I had excused myself after waiting for a bit and went to the bathroom. When I returned I saw Nami still sitting down and she raised an eyebrow looking not pleased when a man began walking towards her.

I felt my heart race when I saw a tall figure standing just a few inches away from her. A handsome man with blonde hair with one of his eyes being a bit hidden by it. He was wearing a dark suit with a blue and white striped shirt under it with a black tie and matching dress pants.

"Would the lady like something sweet?" I saw a smirk spread across his face and Nami just stared at him and rolled her eyes.

Who is he?? And does he know Nami? The man was clearly flirting with her.

"You gotta be joking." I heard Nami ssy. She then turned to look at me.

I didn't know what to do or say. I simply stared at her confused then looked to see the man look at me, he glanced for a second then once again and was now looking directly at me. He immediately walked away from Nami and began to walk towards me.

I began to take a few steps back and I gasped when he took hold of my hand with both of his hands and saw him get down on one knee.

"You are the most gorgeous being I've laid my eyes on. A sight no other I've come across in the Grand Line.."

Thank goodness Nami couldn't listen but it was quiet clear to anyone that this man was flirting with me.

"Y-You've got it all wrong!" I said trying to pull back and felt my cheeks turning red. I can't let anyone know at the moment that I was crossdressing as a guy!!

"I'm never wrong. My eyes never fail when I see a beautiful lady as yourself."

If I weren't in this situation I would be falling on my knees. He's so cute and handsome! My lips began to quiver and I felt my entire body freeze. I've never met a man who shameless at flirting with a stranger.

The man rose up to his feet now towering me and smiling down at me. "I-I…"

He smiled and Introduced himself. "My name is Sanji."

#netflix #anime #one piece #one piece netflix #one piece live action #vinsmoke sanji #one piece sanji #sanji x reader #one piece x reader #taz skylar #one piece netflix x reader

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ghouljams · 2 months

Note

In honor of the holiday dearest to tumblr, the ides of March, can King! König get another attempt on his life? Poor guy is probably bored

Oh my god of course, how silly of me to neglect him like this. Have a couple assassination attempts.

You wake up before König does, a light sleeper by practice not by nature. You yank yourself out of his firm gasp to sit up at the first odd noise, and you think that's what rouses him more than anything else. More than the knife poised over him, or the shadow clad assassin that hovers beside the bed. You stare at them as your king blearily pushes himself into wakefulness. Just enough to grab the assassin's wrist and jerk it to the side with a sickening snap.

The knife falls with a pained whimper, grabbed tight by König and flipped clumsily in his tired hand to be forced into the side of the assassin's neck. König yanks the knife free of its ghastly lodgings and blood spurts over his hand. The assassin pitifully grasping at the wound as he collapses back, crimson painting every direction he turns. König tosses the knife into his chest, it sticks with a solid thunk, as the man writhes.

You're gathered back into your king's arms with a tired grumble, and dragged down to the mattress. König is wet with blood, the drip of it smearing the pillow as you shudder at the slick gurgling coming from the side of the bed. König seems unbothered, his breathing even and regular, his hands gripping you with the same possessive tightness he had before your sleep was interrupted. Your heart hammers in your chest. You don't sleep.

König pauses what he was saying, staring down at his cup with rapt attention. You sip your own wine with a raised brow. His eyes grow darker, hungrier, the longer he stares. Redder, you think, he gets this glow to his eyes, murderous and blood tinged, when he's particularly excited. You glance at the servants in the room, all of them standing at rigid attention. He's already standing when your eyes grace him again. You settle your cup on the table and blink at the discolored metal. Ah.

You fish through your pockets for your charcoal, and eye the unfortunate soul still holding the wine pitcher. Actually as far as poisons go, you're finding this one rather mild. You lick the last drops of wine off your lips and decide on another sip. It can't do any more damage than it's already doing, and focusing on this is easier than focusing on the awful crunch of bone against bone.

Your stomach turns, you're unsure if it's the arsenic or the knowledge that König has no sword on him, and yet you can still hear the visceral squelch of blood. You hazard a peak in his direction and catch the raise of his fist, blood dripping from his knuckles into the concave remains of the wine-bearer's face. König, for all his frenzied glee, has a stillness about him that unnerves you. His body poised to put all its power into every beat of his fist against the bloodied pulp he's already reduced the would-be assassin to.

You raise a hand for König's aid and he's beside you without fanfare. You swallow and settle your cup on the table, breaking off charcoal from the stick you carry. "Would you find out who else touched the wine?" You ask, polite and collected to hide the way your bones are starting to shake, "and order some vervain in hot water." The man bows and disappears as quickly as he'd shown himself.

You chew your dose of charcoal, force yourself to swallow the sludge before you turn your attention to the king. His heaving shoulders and blood splattered clothes prickle like ice over your skin, exciting and terrifying in the same breath. You wonder sometimes if these attempts on his life aren't without good reason.

You don't know why the fuck you're here, except that König asked you to be and you didn't have an excuse quick enough. The kingdom is airing their grievances, mostly the general populace complaining about uneven roads, crops dying, taxes still being too high. There's always too much that König would have no hope of solving, but through divine right has to listen to. You're only here to ask about moving your perennials to a different bed. You didn't think you'd have to go through such a demeaning process just to do something you were going to do anyway.

You think König gets a kick out of seeing you bow in front of other people.

Not that you get a chance to. The relatively tedious and boring display interrupted by the flash of knives and the death grunts of several guards. The instant panic that the collapse of the king's protectors sends through the crowd leads to a stampede towards the chamber doors. It's the sort of atmosphere you know König relishes, pulling a sword from the guard nearest him and thrusting it through the nearest assassin's middle. He rips the sword skyward, stopped only by the man's sternum. Though you suspect even that wouldn't have stopped König if another hadn't lunged for him.

You're pushed by the crowd, but you hardly feel it, too focused on the draw of König's sword through the air, the way it slices through a man's neck and turns to pierce his chest. There is a madness to the way König moves, nothing short of joy spreading through him as he turns and brings the sword down hard between another man's eyes. Three lives ripped away without a scratch on him.

He holds his sword as his side, rolls his shoulders as he eyes the last assassin, baiting the man into action. You watch, with your breath held, as the man darts forward and plunges his knife into the meat of König's stomach. Your heart hammers against your ribs, anxiety twisting your stomach as König drops his sword.

Two big hands fix themselves on either side of the man's head, and twist sharply to one side. You may be the only person in the room to head the snap of it, to see the jolt of death's motion through the body before it goes limp, held aloft only by the king's hands. Your breath catches in your throat as König tosses him to the side and tugs the knife from his stomach.

It's hard to tell which red is from the blood, and which is from his usual clothes. You don't try to identify either one, frozen where you stand as König turns and walks out of the room. People file past you, still pushing and shoving in a panic. A servant grips your arm, your eyes still fixed on the throne.

"The king is asking for you," they tell you.

"Right-" You mutter, before you can shake yourself awake, "right, yes, of course." You swallow, pull your wits about you, and offer them a smile. "Lead the way."

There are many reasons you cannot be queen, a lack of affection for the king isn't one of them.

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #call of duty #konig x reader #oc: liebling #king!König #medieval au #tw violence #tw murder #let the man be an animal

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aemonds-sapphire · 1 year

Text

Riding Dragons

Summary: Aemond wishes for you to meet Vhagar, but ends up showing you that riding two dragons is far better than riding just one.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW. Cumplay. Dry humping. Pussy slide. Aemond is very needy.

A/N: This is rather long, but bear with me. I got carried away and had to end it in a blast. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 4k

“Parading your whore, brother?”

Prince Aegon voiced his mocking tone as he crossed paths with you, effectively sending chills down your spine.

One might assume that years of service to House Targaryen and Princess Helaena bore enough weight to warrant the respect from the King’s firstborn son.

But what Prince Aegon lacked in manners and honour, he certainly made up in disregard of others.

You voiced no complaint. In truth, responding to such accusation would just trigger the future King, and you fully intended on keeping your head attached to the rest of your body for many years to come.

Prince Aemond paced calmly in front of you, paying no mind to his brother’s remark.

That, undoubtedly, merely served to entice Aegon as he charged once more. “I will take your silence as admission.”

Aemond’s feet came to a halt.

“You must be referring to yourself, brother,” he said, turning to face him.

Aegon’s obnoxious laugh was now heard from a distance as he hurriedly made his way up a flight of stairs. As expected. He was a fool, but not to the extent of believing he could take overtake his younger brother should things escalate.

“Me? I don’t parade my whores.”

“Precisely,” Aemond replied as coldly as humanely possible, one hand resting atop the pommel of his sword as a silent warning. “You have whores. I do not.”

“Perhaps you should,” he called out from the balcony. “Indulge in the pleasures of life, brother. People wouldn’t think of you as so… tedious.”

“I don’t give a shit about what people think, least of all you,” Aemond’s grip on the hilt was such his knuckles turned white. “Now leave us be as you proceed to disgrace the name of this family even more with your irresponsible deeds.”

“Be a proper lady-in-waiting, will you?” Aegon’s head turned to face you, laughing. “Use what you have between your legs to please my brother.”

In half a heartbeat, Aemond had drawn his sword and was striding hastily to meet Aegon.

“Prince Aemond.”

Ser Criston Cole had entered the courtyard, flanked by two members of the Kingsguard.

He was no stranger to Aegon and Aemond’s recurring conflicts, and as he owed his allegiance to their mother, Queen Alicent, it was his imperative duty to prevent bloodshed between her two sons.

Aemond stood motionless, glaring up at his brother who waved his hand teasingly.

The way you saw it, Aegon was purely fortunate that Ser Criston had showed up before Aemond got to him.

Sheathing his sword back into place, Aemond motioned for you to follow him, and you promptly picked up the pace to join his side.

“Do enjoy yourselves!” Aegon’s taunt was faintly heard behind as both of you exited through a massive wooden door.

Finally out of sight, you heaved a deep sigh that didn’t go unnoticed by Aemond.

"Do you think Aegon knows about us?"

Aemond's face hardened. "You give him too much credit."

He'd often said the only thing Aegon had going for him was his name. But unlike their ancestor, he was no conqueror.

“Pay no mind to that fool,” he said, guiding you through the road that led to Dragonpit.

“Of course, Prince Aemond.”

He turned his head to you, studying your face for a moment. “Drop the formalities.”

Easier said than done.

But you welcomed his request.

Prince Aemond had a questionable reputation across all of King’s Landing. He wasn’t particularly charismatic, avoided entering tourneys even though he was an esteemed fighter, and, most importantly, he wasn’t next in line to the throne.

But to you, all of that was trivial.

He had taken a liking to you over the last few months.

Even so, you had been conditioned early on in life that a woman in your position could not hope for much.

Having exchanged intimacies with the Prince had done wonders to your ego, but, deep down, you knew it was but a fleeting occurrence.

No one knew of this, and you intended to keep it that way. Prince Aegon’s earlier suggestion made you wonder whether or not he had his suspicions, or if it was simply him trying to get a reaction out of his brother.

Obviously, you wished that you could have Aemond groaning for you whenever possible. Yes, you found bliss in being pressed against a wall while having Aemond Targaryen relentlessly grinding into you through your dress. The stolen kisses and touches under dinner tables. It was all very enticing and you ended up realising over time that you craved his undivided attention.

You had long lost your dignity to another man before coming to court, and it often crossed your mind what was preventing Aemond from fully taking you.

Perhaps he didn’t find you that alluring. Maybe he’d find release elsewhere with far more enticing women.

Or perhaps he was waiting for the right time.

You fancied the latter possibility better, but couldn’t deceive yourself into thinking these encounters would ever be more fruitful.

After all, you were but a modest lady-in-waiting.

He rode the largest dragon alive.

You two were not the same.

“What’s on your mind?” Aemond shook you from your thoughts as you approached the steps leading up to Dragonpit.

“That maybe I’ll regret this,” you let out a nervous chuckle.

“It’s an honour to be in the presence of a dragon such as Vhagar,” he said pleasantly. “She has been flying these skies for a long, long time.”

You’d seen princess Helaena’s dragon, Dreamfyre, up close several times already. However, Vhagar would rarely make a descent into King’s Landing unless to meet her rider as she had outgrown Dragonpit.

Aemond took pride in having bonded with her. He had proved many that he was worthy of being named a dragonrider.

As you reached the top of the wide steps, two dragonkeepers walked in your direction.

Aemond lifted one hand and they exchanged greetings in High Valyrian. He proceeded to remove his swordbelt, handing it to them.

It was very much clear that they deeply respected the young prince.

“Vhagar jāhor sagon kesīr aderī,” the older one said to Aemond.

The younger dragonkeeper cleared his throat and turned to face you. “Vhagar will be here soon.”

You offered a warm smile as he so kindly translated the information.

Aemond was now facing you, examining the length of your body with his eye.

“You will need gloves,” he said, grazing your attire with curious hands. “This cloak is too thin. Riding in this wind will have you freeze in no time.”

“Princess Helaena lent me her gloves, but I forgot to bring them,” you admitted as his fingers removed the pin that held the cloak around you.

Being this close to Aemond was sure to have your heart thumping hard, but you knew better than to transpire how much you yearned for his touch.

The two men beside you simply stood still, in silence, their faces not revealing whatever thoughts they might have on the current situation.

Aemond’s touch lingered when he inspected your attire, making sure you were decent enough to withstand the flight.

“You’ll have my cloak and gloves, then,” he finally spoke.

You shook your head immediately. “I cannot accept, Prince Aemond.”

“It’s not up for debate,” he smiled briefly.

He handed you his large gloves, but took it upon himself to swing the cloak around your body, enveloping you in his warmth.

You swallowed hard.

Having his fingers on you immediately set a wave of chills to spread across your skin.

And he’d noticed.

“You’re flushed,” his voice was but a whisper and he leaned closer. “It makes me want to devour you.”

But before you could begin to process his words, a sudden movement of air had your eyes flutter shit as you , held on to the cloak tightly securing it around you.

Through half-lidded eyes you were able to make out the outline of a massive pair of wings attached to the long body of Vhagar, whose size tripled by the time she made the full descent onto the ground of Dragonpit.

You were visibly shaking, rooted in place as the majestic animal’s roar tore the air like thunderstorm.

Both dragonkeepers rushed to her, reciting a few words in High Valyrian in the hopes of reining her in.

However, they did not share the bond Aemond shared with her.

“Are you ready?”

“No!”

Aemond furrowed his brows, taking your hand in his. “You have to trust me.”

Apprehension took a hold of you, and you struggled to keep up with Aemond’s pace.

“What if she attacks me?” You blurted out, immediately regretting having spoken such words.

“Well, that will depend.”

You kept getting closer and closer to Vhagar.

The urge to tug at his hand to have him let go of you was overwhelming you. “On what?”

Aemond came to a halt and placed both hands on your shoulders.

“Do you wish to hurt me?”

“No!” You immediately said, feeling slightly insulted that he would even utter such nonsense.

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

He gave you a gentle encouraging squeeze before turning to meet his esteemed companion whose nostrils flared loudly with impatience.

Patting the scaled neck, Aemond brought your hand to meet his. "Lykirī, Vhagar... lykirī," he whispered soothingly as if speaking to a lover.

The hardened skin beneath your gloved hand rumbled lightly, causing you to jolt back, but Aemond ensured you would not break contact.

You had no way of understanding whether or not the old dragon was pleased to have your touch, but considering you were still in one piece, relief soon washed over you.

Vhagar lowered her body just enough him to haul himself up onto the saddle with elegance that only years of practice could grant.

"Give me your hand."

He tossed the reins to you, and you tried your best to mimic his climb up the dragon. It was no easy feat, and Vhagar nearly had you slip and fall if not for Aemond's commands.

"Dohaerās, Vhagar!" his voice was now firm as he leaned to the side, extending one arm to pull you up. "Lykirī, Vhagar..."

By the time you managed to swing your leg over the saddle, your entire body trembled from the thrilling experience. Aemond wrapped one arm around your waist after adjusting your cloak, securing you close to him.

"Grip this," he breathed in your ear, guiding you to wrap your fingers on the two horns that sprung upright the saddle. "Hold on tight."

He then tugged at the reins and voiced, "Sōvēs."

Vhagar extended both wings and with a force that could tear down entire cities, she took the the sky, whipping the air around, and leaving behind a hurricane of dust that nearly knocked down the two dragonkeepers standing in close proximity.

You felt Aemond's arm around you tighten lightly, and you couldn't help but to be crushed into his body as the wind weighed you down.

Vhagar struggled to regain balance when Aemond jerked the reins to have her fly parallel to King's Landing. You took the opportunity to gaze at the city down below as, with each swing of her wings, it turned into nothing but a conglomerate of colours that you couldn't make out in the distance.

Not long after, you heard Aemond laughing loudly, the sound muffled by the grazing wind.

Even though you tried your best to enjoy this novelty, it was hard to do so as your insides were being hurled around, and you feared you'd be sick.

"Aemond... I..."

Another chuckle from him. "I know the feeling. Try to keep it down."

He was thoroughly enjoying this, but you couldn't share the sentiment, and were extremely grateful once you felt the massive beast you sat on plunged into a steep descent towards a nearby mountain top.

Freezing air licked at your skin and you could only thank the gods that Aemond had the strength to keep you in place, because you were definitely not suited for this.

Vhagar sank steadily until her hind legs came into contact with a flat plane of rock.

You were hurled forward from the impact nearly spilled the contents of your stomach right there and then.

"Can we go back by foot..."

Aemond dropped his arm from around you and pressed an unexpected kiss to the back of your head, drawing a smile from you.

“You did well.”

Vhagar, on the other hand, had made it evident that she was growing impatient with low growls rumbling across her body, causing mild earthquakes beneath you.

Aemond took notice and was slid down the saddle, landing perfectly on both feet. “We overstayed our welcome.”

“What…”

The old dragon ruffled its scales rapidly, shooting concern into your veins.

“Lykirī, Vhagar…” Aemond calmly whispered, patting her neck.

Even though it did cause some of her restlessness to waver, you said as panic took over, “Can I come down now?”

Aemond nodded, raising both arms. “Jump.”

You hesitated for a moment, but placed your trust on him. Swinging your leg over the saddle, you leapt down into his embrace with a loud yelp.

Strong hands absorbed the impact as he carefully lowered you until your feet touched the ground.

Your heart fluttered once more. Over the course of the last months, you’d lost count of the many times Aemond Targaryen was able to bring you comfort.

Before you could make the most of the proximity, Vhagar broke the silence with a massive roar that had the ground shake violently as she hurled her massive wings into the sky, mustering powerful whirlwinds that enveloped both of you.

The mighty beast soared higher and higher, until she was barely detectable against the beaming sun.

“Is she upset?”

Aemond was still glaring into the clear Summer sky. “Dragons are not ours to order around. Bending their will to ours is challenging.”

You weren’t sure of what to say, so you merely listened to what he had to say.

“Allowing me to be her rider is an honour unmatched,” he said, pride coating his words.

Who would have suspected that Prince Aemond who was dragonless until his 10th name day, would one day claim the largest dragon alive in Westoros.

You looked ahead where the rocky hillside subdued into a a patch of meadow, right by a precipice.

Cautious steps brought you near the edge across the soft rug of grass, as you overlooked the breathtaking scenery sprawling in waves of green and yellow as far as the eye could see. To your right, stood King’s Landing, tainting your vision, suddenly feeling out of place as Blackwater Bay edged its borders.

Wonder nearly left you speechless. “Beautiful.”

Suddenly, you felt Aemond standing behind you. “Yes. Yes, you are,” he whispered, pressing hot lips to the side of you neck.

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls you bring here.”

He chuckled into your skin. “Not idly do I allow others to ride my dragon.”

Aemond unclasped the cloak, letting it pool around your feet.

“Why me, then?” you asked abruptly, shivering as the cool breeze circled you.

Expert fingers tugged the fabric covering your shoulder, allowing his lips to caress you.

“We both agree on what this is,” he mumbled, bringing his hand to undo the buttons of your shirt.

“And what is this, my prince?” you had to bite back a gasp once he jerked the fabric open, exposing your breasts.

Aemond paused and watched as the coolness effectively hardened your nipples.

“Bliss,” he purred sweetly, fingers gently caressing your breasts. “You have such a hold on me.

You scoffed. "Then why do you not desire me?"

He moved your hand in between the two of you, granting you access to his hardened cock.

And just like that, your knees trembled when he rolled into your touch. "Do not dare question my desire for you."

As much as you'd love to trust his words, you wanted to further press this matter.

You gently caressed him through his pants. "You will eat me... kiss me... lick me... but you won't..." a gentle squeeze earning the most enticing moan you had ever heard from him. "... fuck me."

His jaw was resting on your shoulder as he eagerly sped up his thrusts.

"If I do that... I won't be able to go back," he groaned, yearning for your touch. "I will have to claim you."

The rawness of it had you clenching around nothing, nearly groaning at how alluring he could be.

"Please do."

Aemond removed your shirt, suckling gently at each nipple before moving to your riding pants, which he quickly removed, combining them into a pile nearby.

You stood completely naked in front of him.

Even though pleasure had been clouding your judgement, you said, "We're going to do it here?"

He was kneeling in front of you, looking up to meet your gaze, and that's when you knew you were doomed.

"Ride me," he whispered seductively, sitting on the pile of clothes he'd previously tossed to the ground.

You caressed his handsome face, letting your fingers linger on his eyepatch. "Remove your coat, then."

But Aemond aimed to please at all times, and not only did he remove the leather coat but also the shirt underneath, exposing his bare torso. Short and thin silver hair ran down his navel, disappearing inside his leather pants.

He'd always be able to take your breath away with how captivating he was. All of him.

And he was yours for the taking.

You approached him and planted a single kiss on one perky nipple before wrapping your lips around it. Aemond flinched lightly when you grazed your teeth in between suckles.

He brought his thumb to caress your cheek as you sucked on him eagerly.

"You do love using your mouth, don't you?"

Humming and setting your eyes on him, you bit down gently, earning a gasp from the young prince.

Aemond chuckled, pushing you off him, only to drop to the group, sitting on soft surface.

"Come."

He leaned back, propping himself up on both elbows, set on keeping his pants on.

You did as told, and straddled him.

Reflexively, you started gliding your folds along his covered cock, yearning for more and more friction.

"Now, my sweet lady..." he said in a dangerously low voice. "Lean back."

Your voice cracked. "What?"

Aemond held a mischievous grin. "Lean back."

"Why?"

You brought your hands to rest on his muscular chest for support.

"Do as I say," he insisted, his eye fixed on you. "You will enjoy it."

Truth be told, you had no doubt that you would, which was why you settled for doing exactly as told, leaning back and gripping his thighs with both hands to keep your balance.

Aemond took his sweet time admiring your body, from top to bottom, only to have his eye linger on your folds.

"Let me see it."

The way his words came out in such a velvety delight had your heartbeat quicken as a gush of wetness poured out of you as your pussy involuntarily clenched.

Having such a handsome man literally at your mercy felt more empowering than you have ever expected.

You felt his cock twitch underneath you when you had your other hand release the grip on his thigh to join your other. Once two of your fingers had spread your folds, a low growl came from his throat and his hips jerked up.

"So swollen..." he said, licking his lips in pure hunger. "And wet..."

You did’t need to look down to come to that same conclusion; you could feel the fabric of his sweatpants drenched in all of your wetness. Realizing that this was turning you on far more than intended, you locked your two fingers in a v shape and began sliding them along your folds, barely stroking your clit.

That was enough to get a more fiery reaction from him.

Aemond had one hand tugging at the waistband of his pants to relief some pressure on his cock.

"Aemond..." you started, stopping your fingers from moving. "What are you—"

He bit his lower lip for a second, as if pondering his next move. Then his gorgeous face met yours.

"Just keep them parted."

And just like that, he jerked his hand forward, pressing the two fingers against your clit. The sudden pressure caused you to jolt slightly as you removed your own hand, feeling your pussy lips clamping down on his digits.

"Just like that..." you heard Aemond’s voice come out in heavy pants.

He kept alternating the pressure with which he teased your clit, drawing the most erratic moans from you as sticky sounds started to fill the air around you. Your hands had to grip his thighs tightly to keep yourself steady as each stroke threatened to throw you off balance.

After a few more seconds of intense stimulation, he removed his fingers from your grip.

Nothing in the world could have prepared you for what you witnessed next: the Aemond Targaryen brought the dripping digits to his lips, drinking in your wetness.

He moaned, his hips swaying up and down as you saw him free his cock from his pants, strings of precum spilling onto his lower abdomen. "Delicious..."

"Gods..." you breathed, not believing how much more alluring this man had become before your eyes.

His eye fluttered shut for a brief moment. "You need to taste this."

Heat rushed to your cheeks at his offering. "Aemond..."

He released the his fingers from his mouth and brought downwards to your folds once more, dragging them along your slit to gather a decent amount of wetness. Once he was satisfied with it, he propped himself up with on his elbow.

"Open."

You immediately parted your lips, feeling his fingers slide slowly inside your mouth.

Locking your eyes with his, you enveloped them with your tongue to taste the yourself.

A sudden hiss left his lips as he felt your folds dragging along his length.

He mumbled impatiently. "Ride me."

Even though your mind was hazy from pleasure, you managed to comply with his request and eagerly positioned yourself on his tip.

But then you realised something else. "I think you're... too big."

Aemond's hips jerked up lightly and he groaned as your wetness slid down his length in beads.

"I'll guide you."

It had been quite a long since you had had let a man take you fully, and you worried you wouldn't be able to accommodate his size.

But feeling the tip pressed at your entrance was enough to persuade you.

He gripped your waist with both hands.

"Look down."

Your eyes left his beautiful face only to be met with the mouthwatering sight of his veiny cock slowly being swallowed. The initial stretch had you flinching momentarily, and Aemond halted.

"Set the pace," he huffed, clearly struggling to overcome the pleasure that having your tight walls around him had sparked. "I... can't... you're too tight..."

You could sense he wouldn't last much longer, but were determined to have him balls deep inside you.

Mustering all the courage within you, you sank further, having to bite down on your lip so hard you almost drew blood blood.

Aemond, on the other hand, had his uncovered eye fixed on his cock as it faded inside you.

Your legs hurt from the strain of keeping the balance and steady pace, and once your walls engulfed all of him, you watched in marvel as Aemond brought one hand to up in a fist, sinking his teeth into it with a muffled groaned.

He no longer dared to look at you, shutting his eyes in sheer concentration.

"I want to move..." you moaned teasingly, giving his cock a few trying squeezes.

He shook his head, teeth digging ever deeper into his own skin.

The moment you lifted your hips to have him slide off, he suddenly came to sit upright, gripping your waist and removing you from his cock altogether.

"Already so close, prince Aemond?" you taunted as he dropped onto his back once more.

He frowned deeply, face flushed. "You're too tight... you feel too good."

His words of praise only intensified your hunger for more, so you kept grinding your bare pussy and milking more and more precum from his soaked cock. In no time, a few more beads of clear liquid started to slide down his sides from the constant rhythmic sway of your hips.

"My turn," you let out, bringing your fingers to collect some droplets on his lower abdomen.

Aemond's mouth fell open in utter surprise, eye following your every move. You wrapped your tongue around your digits, tasting the warm liquid. He raised his hips reflexively and let out a couple of deep moans, dragging you along his cock with renewed hunger.

"Want to taste?" You moaned, feeling the familiar coil deep within you tightening from all the stimulation.

You brought your fingers down to his skin once more and coated them, extending your hand to his lips.

"Go on, Prince Aemond," you cooed teasingly. "Taste yourself."

He darted his tongue out, welcoming his own precum that dripped from you. Your hips faltered for a second as your foggy brain focused on the erotic sight in front of you. He greedily sucked on them in between moans and swirls, never breaking eye contact with you.

If not for the overwhelming need for release, you would have done it again, but instead you resumed your strokes along his cock, thankful that his strong hands were able to keep your pace from faltering.

“I'm too close...” he warned in a low tone.

You tried to restrain your moans, but his hips jerking up worked wonderfully to magnify your own delight. “Wait... I’m almost there...”

Your body pressed down against his in a desperate attempt to reach your high. His ripped abdomen flexed with each from you and his hands tightened so hard against your hips that you were sure a few marks would stain your skin afterwards.

“Adere kostilus... faster..." he commanded in between hisses.

The steady pace you both had been able to set completely broke down into ragged jerks of his hips as your folds kept coating him in your wetness. A few more wet sounds and tugs proved to be too overwhelming to dragonrider, causing a guttural growl to escape his gaping mouth.

His body started quivering from intense pleasure as hot spurts of cum shot from his cock, glazing his flushed and sweaty torso with strings of creamy liquid. The turf of silver hair that spread from his navel towards the base oh his cock was completely drenched in a mixture of cum, sweat and precum.

Soon after, Aemond grunted in utmost bliss, sliding one hand to your backside and giving it a loud smack. “Ride me harder...”

Feeling his cock twitch in between your folds and his impressive echoes of pleasure was the last incentive you needed to get pushed over the edge. You plunged into a loud cry that only intensified with each roll of your hips and brush of your clit along his throbbing cock.

“You’re mine... you’re mine... iksā ñuhon,” he mumbled mindlessly.

Your breasts bounced lightly with the rest of your body, and with a few more slaps from his hand on your ass cheek, you came to a stop, clenching around nothing in waves of pleasure. It was too much, and you leaned forward, digging your nails on his slick abdomen, desperate for something to ground you as you peaked high.

You felt both your legs begin violently shake, and that’s when he gripped both your thighs with his both hands to keep you in place

“That’s it...,” he praised sweetly, massaging your quivering thighs as you regained your senses. “You did so well.”

He hand slid up to grip your arms, helping you regain your balance. You felt beads o sweat drip down your neck and back.

"How does it feel to ride a dragon?"

"I should have you dead for being this irresistible, Prince Aemond," you said in between ragged breaths.

"Nēdyssy zaldrīzī senusy daor." Aemond's lips curled up. "Brave men do not kill dragons, they ride them."

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #hotd smut #aemond x you

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forbidden-sunlight · 1 year

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Can I have a yandere Poseidon with a Muichiro reader?

With him reacting that reader was able to give him a fatal injury?

warning: violence, ooc, muichiro!fem!reader.

Poseidon refused to believe that a mortal soul could have the strength and the reputation to stand in the audience chamber of Hades’ palace, let alone a swordswoman even be granted permission to be by his side as a guard.

Like him, Hades is the very definition of a king: one without supporters and no need for scheming. He fought alone against the Titans during the Gigantomachy, and ruled over the underworld without so much as batting an eyelid whenever a crisis emerged. So why? The tyrant of the ocean thought irked. So why in the world would my brother need someone like that when we gods are already the definition of perfection?

Yes, it is a terrible thing that the Bifrost had been destroyed by the wretched human Nostradamus, but surely another god could more easily protect the gates between Helheim and Valhalla than an organization that had been created to exterminate demons?

No. He refused to believe it. Hades was much smarter than this. And he will prove it, in a duel. He raised his trident and challenged the spacey-eyed human…who didn’t even seem to be listening at all.

“I refuse.” The mortal said bluntly. “Lord Hades has not given permission to have a duel in his own audience chamber, nor would he ever do so because it would be a pain to clean up afterwards. The servants would get mad too. My blade is to be drawn against demons, not a god. And I happen to like my position, so…I’m not gonna. I’m respectfully declining.”

“[First Name], we have discussed this already,” Hades said stonily. “Watch your tongue around my guests.” The mortal immediately went silent, [Eye Color] orbs gazing off into the distance.

The lord of the underworld sighed. “Apologies, little brother, she can be a bit -”

“She has disrespected the ones who are superior to her in every way.” Poseidon growled, pointing the tip of his trident at her sinewy frame. “And she will pay for that insult with her life. Or she will prove herself worthy of standing by your side, right here, and I will forgive these transgressions against us.”

“It is Lord Hades’ decision to entrust me with the responsibility of looking after the Bifrost.” [First Name] said. “I refuse to waste my energy -”

‘[First Name], do it. Now.”

“Fine.”

Poseidon watched as the tiny mortal dressed from head to toe in black descended down the steps of the dias, unsheathing her sword with a push of her thumb. “Try to land a lethal hit on me. Refrain from using any attacks that could damage the audience chamber.” She said, ignoring the icy frown on Poseidon’s face, daring to look at him with that spaced-out, bored expression. Poseidon got into position, raising his trident to the level of his eyes and waited for the human to strike.

And she did. Not once, but twice; the hilt of her sword rammed into his solar plexus, then she elbowed him in the chin. Quickly regaining his balance, Poseidon thrusted his trident forward, aiming at the center of her body. She sidestepped and rammed her sword into his right side, ribbons of crimson flowing through the cut.

Hades was, of course, furious and glared at her icily. She just blinked, shrugging her shoulders before sheathing the sword back into its teal scabbard.

“He wanted me to prove that I was capable of doing my job, and I have done so. He’s a god anyway, that wound will heal quickly. He promised that anything I did would be forgiven, so it worked out in the end. If that is all, may I go? It’s about time for the rotation of shift change at the Bifrost. I need to make sure everything is secure.”

Hades sighed tiredly, waving her off with a flick of his hand. Poseidon watched in stunned silence as she bowed deeply to him, gliding across the floor and out of the audience chamber, shutting the massive door behind her. The black lacquered scabbard of her sword shimmered a dark blue beneath the chandelier’s light, if only for a brief moment.

Although his older brother was profusely apologizing and making promises to properly discipline the Demon Slayer, Hades’ words did not reach Poseidon’s ears. Curiosity, desire, and excitement thrummed in his blood even as it continued to seep onto the floor.

He wanted her. He needed her in his court beneath the ocean waves, to hear her silver tongue and bask in her loyalty towards him, to obey his orders without question. She is…perfection.

Surely Hades did not need her any longer if there are other Demon Slayers to take up the mantle of protecting the Bifrost, yes?

#forbidden sunlight #yandere x reader #record of ragnarok x reader #snv poseidon #ror poseidon #request #yandere shuumatsu no valkyrie #record of ragnarok #poseidon x reader #yandere poseidon #muichiro!reader #yandere male #snv x reader

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aimbutmiss · 3 months

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Mihawk was surprised when Crocodile came up to him with the idea of Cross Guild, which was surprising in itself, because it took a lot to get such reaction out of the stoic man. Mihawk's initial reaction was to assume Crocodile had finally gone mad after his fall from grace. But it didn't take him long to see the full picture. Buggy's debt and the sheer amount of men who adored him in his crew...he could be used easily and efficiently. But Mihawk didn't care about all that. He wasn't a businessman like Crocodile, he didn't care about money or power like him. But despite this, he still agreed. There were two main reasons why he did so:

1- He was bored. With Zoro and Perona gone, he was left on his own on his dreary island. (No offence to the humandrills, but they weren't exactly good company) At first he was quite happy about his situation, he did value his solidarity after all. However, that bliss didn't last very long. He quickly found his usual routine to be repetitive and dreadful, more and more as the days passed. Losing his warlord status right after triggered a fuse in his mind. He could do anything he wanted (not that the government ever got in the way of him doing as he pleased) but he realised that he didn't know what it was that he wanted. Crocodile's offer reminded him of the offhand conversations he used to have with Shanks at dirty bars, which brings us to the second point:

2- He was very intrigued by Buggy. Shanks babbled a lot after he had a bit too much to drink, more than usual at least. But he would still have some level of awareness no matter how drunk he was, never letting his guard completely down. This was not the case with Mihawk. They were close friends, something even more at some point, so Shanks felt comfortable enough to open the dam holding back his words around him. Mihawk appreciated this, not only because it was a huge show of trust, but also because of how entertaining his stories were. Stories about wars and victories, the Pirate King and Dark King Rayleigh... It was all so intriguing. But everything somehow always circled back around to one man: Buggy. Mihawk had never heard of him before, but if Shanks' words were to go by he must have been truly exceptional. Shanks used to have this lovesick look on his face whenever he talked about his old friend, sometimes even straight up sobbing in front of him. This man, who was on Gold Roger's crew and made Shanks fall head over heels in love, perplexed Mihawk. How could such a man exist, hiding his existence for so long? Oh, how he longed to meet him.

Unfortunately for Mihawk, their first meeting didn't go according to plan. Marineford was a mess. He wasn't very interested in the government's goals, he just wanted to see how far straw hat would go. That boy's potential shone so bright, it didn't surprise him one bit that red hair also saw it. What he didn't expect at all though, was to run into the Buggy from Shanks' stories, who was being used like a human shield by straw hat. So, it didn't phase Mihawk one bit when his sword cut straight through the man but he quickly put himself back together. The blue hair, the red nose, this couldn't possibly be anyone else. Mihawk had a certain image of Buggy in his mind, but that all shattered at one look at this man-baby in front of him. There was no way this was the man Shanks was praising left and right, right? Or perhaps, Shanks' stories were always tinted with rose coloured glasses and very far from the truth. How disappointing. But still, something didn't sit well in Mihawk's mind. There must have been some amount of truth to the words he heard. He wanted to see more, but unfortunately didn't have the opportunity to catch the clown again, with Shanks arriving and all. Yet here it was, two years later, Crocodile was handing him a second chance on a silver platter. He simply couldn't refuse.

And so, he agreed to playing house with Crocodile. It was obvious why the man had reached out to him instead of, literally anyone else. Mihawk was strong. He had a strong hold on the use of haki, which the other man lacked. He could easily protect them while Crocodile ran the business part of things. They would work well together, covering each other's weak points. The more obvious reason though, was the fact that Mihawk happened to be one of the very few people Crocodile got along with. That man had a habit of making enemies of everyone he came across, which was not surprising considering he wasn't very likable. But that never bothered Mihawk, he did like a challenge.

The more he got to know Buggy, the more he hated the man, which was not what he was going for at all. He tried his best to see any good traits in him, but repeatedly failed to do so. The man was like a soggy, wet mop, who cried at any chance. He was way too easy to push around, and Mihawk kept doing it because the damn clown was so annoying. His voice, his mannerisms all got on his nerves. This was it, giving up was the only choice. There was no way this clown had any redeemable quality. Shanks was just more insane than he initially thought, whatever. It was just wasted time, and he wouldn't waste any more of it.

Just as he had decided on his departure from Cross Guild and had mentally prepared himself to clash with Crocodile (which he really didn't want to do, he actually liked the man) fate decided this was not the end. All the stalking he did payed off as slowly, he started seeing the clown in a new light. It was the small things at first. The man clearly cared for his crew, and it was almost sweet. He'd always put aside time to train in acrobatics with Cabaji, and to groom Richie with Mohji. He and Alvida had tea time together, giving the woman her much needed gossip time. He was more silent with his closer confidants, he let them do the talking while he listened. He let Cabaji teach him new moves, to help him out when he struggled. He laughed at Mohji's horrible jokes. And it wasn't that boisterous clown laugh, oh no, it was much more...quiet. Yet somehow more vibrant. It was genuine. He let Alvida paint his nails, and let Richie lick his face even when it got red and irritated. He was usually known for his grand gestures as the "genius jester", but he showed his love much more subtly to his friends. It was almost refreshing to see the difference. Almost like the usual Buggy was a performance, a show. And Mihawk was finally seeing the backstage.

Then, one day, he ran into him in the library. He was in his colourful pyjamas, hair tied into a bun and no clown makeup to cover his face. No makeup. One look into his sea green eyes and Mihawk finally started to understand what Shanks must have been thinking. This man was beautiful. And he was holding one of his favourite books.

"D-do you want me to leave? Because I totally can! I'll be out of here in a jiffy-"

"No need. You may stay."

Mihawk didn't know what came over him, but he walked over to the other man. "I quite enjoyed that one. Which chapter are you on?"

And just like that, their unofficial book club started. Buggy was a lot more clever than he let on. Mihawk quite enjoyed listening to his opinions about the books they read. One day, it stopped just being books. They'd talk about anything and everything. Mihawk hated to admit it, but this was exactly what he was missing on Kuraigana: companionship. He felt comfortable with Buggy, and it felt way too easy to fall into a routine with him. Buggy was knowledgeable on a lot of things. He knew chemistry and physics, spending a lot of time in his workshop working on his bombs. He was also a stellar navigator. Clearly his apprenticeship under Roger hadn't been for nothing like it seemed. And when he spoke of old tales, he wouldn't smile like Shanks did. His eyes were carrying sadness and sorrow Mihawk couldn't comprehend. How fascinating, that the same experiences can bring completely different emotions to different people.

When he wanted to try to see Buggy more from red hair's perspective, his goal wasn't falling in love. But that's exactly what happened. It happened all too quickly. He got back into his farming and cooking hobby, because now he felt he had a reason to settle down on Karai Bari. A lot of his cooking ended up on Buggy's plate. Unintentionally, at first, but it made the clown so happy that Mihawk didn't have it in himself to stop. If anything, he started to spend a lot more time in the kitchen. And the escalation of their relationship wasn't one sided, Buggy had also started feeling more comfortable around him. (Which definitely didn't make Mihawk fill with warmth) He started asking things of him like "Can you brush my hair?" "Can you watch me perform this trick?" and Mihawk found that he was losing his ability to say no at an alarming rate. He was falling for the man. He took that revelation with grace, he wasn't the type to deny his feelings, unlike a certain someone. (Crocodile's denial of his feelings for Buggy is a whole other story that was happening consecutively to all this) And as he watched Buggy polish Yoru with careful hands and focused eyes, he found it all too easy to understand Shanks. No wonder this man had an army of men following him, willing to do anything he said. Buggy the Clown was dangerous, and he just added Mihawk's name to his long list of victims.

Mihawk's mouth curved upwards as he took the shiny sword from a smiling Buggy. He found that just this once, he didn't mind being a victim at all.

#is this my longest post??? maybe #im so normal #i got possessed i think #one piece #buggy the clown #red haired shanks #cross guild #dracule mihawk #sir crocodile #buggy pirates #buggy x mihawk #bughawk #I JUST CHECKED THIS IS 1.7K WORDS WHAT #my writing

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mokulule · 3 months

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Almanac - Chapter 4

DP x DC Dead on Main First | Masterpost Note: I made a new masterpost to subscribe to over on my new blog where I organize my writing @mokus-invenstory. Links on the other chapters have been updated, I will still notify on the old post with updates.

Chapter 4 - October 21-22nd, Orinoids Meteor Shower

Training with Fright Knight was an experience.

Jason was no stranger to harsh training regimes, but it seemed like Fright Knight truly had no other duties to attend to. And maybe that was what ghosts did? Find the one thing they were good at and then do it for all eternity? It was exhausting, unrelenting.

Every day he went to the kitchen to find a plate of breakfast ready, thankfully it wasn’t the same thing every day. He wondered if it was courtesy of the Lunch Lady, but he never saw anyone else and the cupboards and pantry were empty.

The mystery of who and how human food came to be here itched at him but as long as the magical castle felt reluctant to even let him get to the kitchen in the first place (he’d yet to walk a path quite the same there) it was something he would have to leave unexplored.

He ate and then as he was done as if summoned Fright Knight would collect him and drill him until he dropped.

The knight treated Jason as if he’d never held a sword before starting basic at stance and simple attacks repeated ad nauseum, with the occasional cardio and strength building exercises. While Jason preferred guns, hand to hand combat and occasionally knives, it wasn’t the first time he’d fought with a longer bladed weapon. His general training meant he could pick up most weapons and use them successfully so he thought it was rather unfair - not that he was fool enough to raise that opinion, this wasn’t the first stern training master he’d served under.

And arguably he didn’t have much experience with medieval style broadswords. So he sucked it up and did as ordered.

There were no breaks throughout the day, no more food. You’d think it was a form of torture that he didn’t get to eat more than breakfast, but Jason, while he got tired, never got hungry throughout the day. Apparently he got the rest of his needs covered through energy diffusion or some shit - assuming he’d understood the king correctly.

His waking moments were repetitive, but he was not bored as such. Not that he was enjoying himself either, but he was busy, occupied. Training and learning new skills were never a waste - he had to tell himself that. But when he laid in the barren room, which he still considered his prison, in those short moments before exhausted sleep claimed him, horror creeped in; horror that this would be the rest of his life.

Another day another drill.

The weight of the practice sword in his hand felt as familiar as breathing after 9 days of non stop practice.

“You are becoming complacent,” Fright Knights voice boomed as always from everywhere at once despite him clearly looming right in from of him.

Jason tilted his head regarding the knight for a moment. He wondered how much sass he could get away with.

“Well you could give me a challenge instead of this,” he returned evenly.

Somehow Jason had the distinct feeling the knight was smiling unseen in the darkness under the helmet.

“Very well,” his voice rumbled like a storm in the distance, setting all of Jason senses alert at the coming threat. His grip tightened on the practice sword.

The knight turned and flew over to set aside the neon green sword he carried at his side in favor of a practice sword in the weapons rack by the wall. For the first time since Jason had seen the knight kneel before his king, his feet touched ground.

He stalked towards Jason, a weight and realness to him now as the armored shoes clanged against the cobblestone. The hair at the back of Jason’s neck stood on end as the air charged with his approach. Every instinct in his body told him to be afraid. Someone with less combat experience might have frozen, Jason picked his guard up and turned so he made a smaller target.

The cobblestone knocked his breath out and his sword clattered across the stones. His ears rang and he could already feel his left eye swelling from where it had met an armored fist. Above him a couple of shooting stars shot across the clear sky in rapid succession before the Knight stepped close. He loomed above Jason and for one horrifying moment Jason thought he would ram the practice sword through him, blunt tip and all.

Instead the knight held out a hand.

Jason wet his dry lips and took the hand. He was pulled unceremoniously to his feet.

“Did you notice what I did?”

Not only did Jason notice that twist Fright Knight had done that had sent his sword flying, he very much felt the way he socked him in the face.

“Yes.” Jason had not expected he’d be dueling something like a fucking Kryptonian, nobody that size had the right to be so fast. The trick to fighting Kryptonians and people of that speed class was more in anticipating their moves rather than reacting to them, and more importantly coming prepared with something to incapacitate them with. Jason had no clue what might be Fright Knight’s weakness, probably wouldn’t be so easy as to laugh at him.

The knight nodded at his response.

“Good, now to counter.”

He then walked Jason through no less than five possible counters, to what was apparently a rather risky move he’d done - had he been alive at least. The counters were well and good, but as long as Jason had no way to counter the speed, the knight could repeat the move at his leisure.

Not that Jason pointed that out. No, Jason practiced dutifully and found himself seeing the stars multiple times that day. He got very well acquainted with the cobblestone. On the seventh meeting with the ground, he thought he saw a glimpse of light from a window high above the courtyard. He could have sworn it was the king watching, but as he got back to his feet and looked back up the light was gone. Maybe it had just been a reflection, a trick of the light from one of the many shooting stars.

Still, reminded of why he was here, his mood soured. Yes, Jason had put himself in this situation, but he’d expected to die for his sacrifice - and maybe that would have been too easy an out, but he’d certainly not expected to be discarded, like the unwanted possession he apparently was.

Resentment curled in his gut. Poor little king never wanting to have been summoned having to take Jason as payment. It was clearly such an ordeal.

Jason snarled getting back to his feet and for the first time he went on the attack. Fright Knight seemed amused, which only egged him on. Jason reached for the All-Blades but of course they didn’t manifest, because in this stupid place not even someone named fucking Fright Knight counted as true evil.

He let Jason wear himself out, disarmed him again, and punched him hilt first in the stomach. Jason crumpled over the practice sword and slid down to his knees, gasping for breath.

The knight considered him for a moment, waiting to see if he would get up again. When he didn’t, he made a minute shake of his head.

“You have spirit, but your mortal trappings do you no favors.”

Jason couldn’t help laughing at that. What was he supposed to do? Apologize for being alive?

“Blame your king.”

Oo o oO

That night Jason dreamt of Gotham, or more specifically of Crime Alley. Dick was patrolling in Jason’s absence, but he didn’t know the Alley like Jason did. He didn’t know of the small shadowed nook in that building that made for a perfect hidey hole. He didn’t see the gun pointed at him, didn’t move until the shot rent the air.

Jason sat up in bed gasping and shaking.

It was a dream, it was a stupid dream. He fumbled automatically for his phone, before he remembered, there was no way to make sure. He was stuck in the realm of the dead. It was a dream, he firmly reminded himself.

Still he shook and couldn��t bring himself to go back to sleep. Dick’s shocked face haunted him whenever he closed his eyes.

Gingerly he stepped out of bed. Clearly the order to keep Jason alive hadn’t kept the knight from beating him to hell and back. A particularly spectacular bruise mottled the side of his torso in purples and blues. From the twinging pain with every breath there was probably a few bent or broken ribs underneath that.

He walked to the bathroom, where he’d hung his clothes to dry after washing them in the sink. He reached out to touch them to find them cold and damp, a testament to how little sleep he’d managed. He shivered at just the thought of pulling them on, but he didn’t exactly have anything else to wear.

He couldn’t go back to sleep. He needed to move. That gun had been aimed for Dick’s head. It was just a dream, he reminded himself sternly. He needed to pull himself together.

Taking a deep breath he reached for his underwear first, pulling it on with a grimace. Disgusting was not a strong enough word, he thought grimly. He was cold and miserable by the time he’d finished dressing and trapped his damp socks in his boots and tied them.

Dressed, he left the room for the hallways, expecting the castle to give him a good walk around as usual - expect he’d barely walked down two hallways until a door revealed the kitchen. There was a cup sitting on the table in front of his usual place. Curious he walked over to pick up the steaming mug, he put it up to his nose and sniffed it. His eyebrows rose in surprise - hot cocoa.

He glanced around and like always saw no sign of the presence of anyone but himself. He took a sip and amended his earlier assessment with a hum of pleasure, this rich taste could only be hot chocolate. It sat warm in his belly and he found some of the restless energy leaving him. He sat down and allowed himself to relax. He held the cup with both hands and let the warmth seep into his fingers with a sigh.

Maybe the castle didn’t entirely hate him after all.

He sipped slowly, savoring the treat. The hot chocolate was good, it wasn’t quite Alfred’s but-

A wave of homesickness overtook him and he slumped forward in grief. Maybe Jason would manage to escape some day, but Alfred was not exactly young anymore. People died suddenly sometimes, even when they seemed healthy.

Jason wasn’t there anymore. He couldn’t check on his family. Not Alfred, not Dick (it was just a nightmare!) or anyone. A mocking laughter haunted him as if from a distance, a memory wanting to drown him. He clenched his fits tight, he wasn’t back there. He was here, property of the ghost king, safe.

Unlike everyone else.

The Joker was still in Gotham. Still alive despite everything, a threat to everyone and Jason was useless.

He was a fucking idiot. He’d sacrificed himself willingly, but he hadn’t expected to have to live with the choice.

Did that make him a coward too? On top of everything?

He stood. He couldn’t sit here. He had to move. Before he knew it he was walking through hallways, uncaring where they took him. Left, right, nothing mattered. He just had to move. He didn’t know how long it he walked until he found himself, breathing heavily, in front of a stairwell. There was something familiar about it. His eyes were drawn to the path down. He’d never chosen to go down before. There was something down there. He took a step forward.

“Jason.”

He froze and spun around at the echoey voice. It felt like all the breath left his body, sucked into the gravity of the king.

Toxic green eyes flicked from Jason to the stairwell. Dark brows drew together in a frown, and the shadows suddenly seemed darker, deeper, like places you could fall into and disappear never to be seen again.

He floated closer. The pressure increased. Jason locked his knees to keep standing. There was a siren blaring in his mind, a scream lasting an eternity. Cold fingers touched his swollen eye soothingly and Jason gasped, a quiet little intake of breath into his burning lungs.

He wanted to move away. He wanted to lean into it. He wanted- He did nothing.

The gloved tips of fingers became the flat of a palm cradling the side of his face oh so gentle. Jason felt wetness in his eyes and blinked. He couldn’t handle gentle right now. His skin tingled and the swelling fell. The king looked at him, green eyes sad.

“Are you okay?”

Was he okay!? Jason ripped away, fury finally breaking the spell.

“The Hell I am!” In his mind Dick’s shocked face, a second from being shot flashed, “my family could be hurt right now, dying-“ a crowbar dragged across a concrete floor, a terrible laughter skittered across his senses, and every hair stood on end- “tortured.”

Jason took a step forward into the king’s space, snarled, “and I can do nothing!” into his shocked face. Playing at innocence, as if Jason’s words were a surprise. As if he didn’t know exactly what he’d done. He had changed the wording, acting like he’d done Jason a great favor. He chose to keep him here, useless, powerless.

He stepped back. Looked at the king with anger gone cold. “Killing me would have been a mercy.”

Jason braced himself for the worst. He’d said his piece. He expected an explosion, a onesided fight, for his brain to melt out his ears, something other than the hollow eyed gaze only vaguely looking in his direction.

The lights flickered and finally the king seemed somewhat present in his body. He looked at Jason with the most neutral face in existence.

“I shall relieve you of my presence, goodnight.”

He flew casually over to the staircase and went up. It was only then Jason snapped out of it.

No! How dare he!

He ran after him, but of course he was gone. The cursed castle made sure of it. Jason wanted a fight and he would not even give him that! He punched the wall with a frustrated scream that cut off into a sob.

“Shit.” He rubbed angrily at his eyes. He was fucking pathetic. Couldn’t even pick a fight right.

Oo o oO

Fright Knight found him in the practice yard, doing drills, sweaty and shaking from exhaustion.

“You are pathetic human, sit down before you fall down.”

Jason glared. “No.”

The knight promptly pushed him down on his ass. “Do not test me. I was tasked to keep you alive. Drink.”

A bottle of water was shoved into his hands.

Mulishly Jason did as he was told. It was only when he’d taken the first sip he realized just how thirsty he was and he had to force himself not to just chug the entire bottle in one go.

Fright Knight watched him with that detached disgust he had for mortal weaknesses, like the need for sleep or in this case sustenance. He was a fucking annoying, stuck up bastard, but-

“Why are you not evil?” Jason asked in frustration, too emotionally worn to consider whether that was a smart question to ask. If he had been evil, Jason could give him a proper fight. Let the knight try to phase through the All-blades.

When no response of any kind came, he looked up. It seemed he had rendered the knight speechless.

Slowly hesitantly the knight finally spoke, “You speak as if you’d prefer that I was evil, yet I was led to believe you are aligned with so called heroes.”

Jason scoffed and looked away. “Not a hero.”

Fright Knight floated down to sit crosslegged in front of Jason, his glowing green sword drawn and resting across his knees.

“I am the spirit of fear itself, I am neither good nor evil, I just am.”

Jason barked a short chuckle, of fucking course. Then, he explained the concept of the All-Blades to the knight; flaming magical blades fueled by the soul and blood of the wielder, only able to be summoned in the presence of true evil. The knight in turn looked very intrigued.

“I would have liked to match my Soul-Shredder to your All-Blades. A glorious bout that would have been…” the knight said wistfully.

“Soul-Shredder is the name of your sword?”

“Indeed,” Fright Knight chuckled maliciously in a way that ran cold down Jason’s back, an effect that was done on purpose judging by the greedy glow in his gaze. Jason felt fairly certain he feed on fear.

The knight raised the green blade between them and turned it to let Jason see every facet with obvious passion. “One cut from Soul-Shredder will land you in a dimension of your worst nightmare.”

Jason’s breath caught in his throat. No. He refused to think about it. He forced a half choked laugh, “and you claim not to be evil.”

The knight looked thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe if we had met in the previous king’s rule, we could have had a proper match.”

Jason frowned in confusion. “Why would who the King is matter to your nature?”

“Because human,” Fright Knight began, green eyes boring into Jason, “the King is the most important soul in the Realms. His nature affects the very air from which we get our energy.”

“Pariah’s reign was a dark time,” there was an almost nostalgic tone to his voice as he continued, “he sought to conquer, control and enslave and I was his loyal servant, as is my duty as a knight. But Pariah was so bad that having no king at all was a better option than him, and he was sealed away by the Ancients, even if it left the Realms stagnant and disconnected.”

He paused for a moment to let that knowledge sink in.

“Our Phantom is a king who never wanted to rule, and has actively avoided it. It has been amusing to see him grow into the role.”

“And as long a he doesn’t grow into a power hungry despot he will always be better than the last?” Jason asked bitterly.

The knight barked out delighted laughter at that.

“Make no mistake, mortal, Phantom is a good king now, but he is young, still changeable by nature. These years are crucial. But should the worst happen and my king become a despot, as you put it?”

Fright Knight shrugged carelessly. “I will merely do as I have always done and that is to serve my king. I am the spirit of fear after all. It is only my concern now because my king wishes to avoid that fate.”

Leather creaked as the knight tightened the hold on his blade. He looked straight at Jason. Despite no mouth being visible, Jason had the distinct feeling the knight was grinning.

“We may yet have our bout someday.”

And that was chapter 4... nobody is really in a good place here? Except Fright Knight, he's having fun.

Comments are much appreciated <3

You can subscribe to the masterpost for updates.

#almanac #dp x dc #dead on main #warning for bad coping mechanisms #Jason is really not in a good headspace #neither is Danny #but he's not our pov character currently

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cryptotheism · 1 year

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The prince, beautiful for a six-foot clam, was freezing and starving. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was ever fair.

He cursed his father. He cursed his sisters. He cursed the pools of freezing muck and he cursed the film of saline moss that covered them. He lost count of how many times he had sunk his legs into freezing pools. His belly was empty, and his legs were numb with the cold. Bastards, he thought. Bastard bastards bastards. He kicked another small shelled creature into a wall. He didn’t deserve any of this. He had prepared.

Everything. He had packed everything into that catamaran, and now it was gone, smashed to the bottom of the interlocain by the autodefenses. Clothes, tools, bedroll, tent, rations -the goddamn rations- even the books. All he had was the boots, the leather pants, the billowy linen shirt with the gold buttons, his sword belt, and a nearly-empty sword.

Now he was cold, and hungry, and he couldn't sleep because of the cold and the hunger. He had tried to eat the weeds, but the taste made him retch. He tried to eat the small shelled things, but they were full of so many little bones. Bastards, he thought. They never thought he would actually do it. They never thought he would just pick up and run. He was glad, in a way, that his family couldn’t see him now. He could picture it. His father, bored and disappointed. His sister’s smug grin. His mother, full of pity. Poor Marin. Always poor Marin. It wasn’t fair. The city didn’t call them. It called him. It called to him alone. That little voice, deep into the night, calling him north, calling him here. Something wanted him here…wherever here was.

Here was Teleth Avaris, tomb-city to the old gods. Specifically, here was a shore battery on the south wall that had largely collapsed into the sea. Even in the cities heyday, it would have been a gray place devoid of honor or beauty. Titanic guns rusted on their mounts, eaten by the salt-sea air. The old concrete had been licked smooth by the waves, and the whole place sagged into the water like a great stone and rebar hammock. Tide pools formed in potholes dug by the impact of old kinetic shells. Moss and lichens and barnacles clung to every surface, trapping moisture and thus the cold. To the little shelled creatures and chubby gastropods, it was a banquet, a feast of winter vegetables and fresh fjord insects. To the prince, it was a palace of discomfort, the seat of some rude foreign king who decorated only in tapestries and carpets of wet, rotting, sponge. The prince attempted to kick another small shelled thing, but slipped on a patch of slimy lichen, nearly losing his footing. The prince chuckled to himself. You know what? Good. Maybe father would send Lunine in after him, and she would end up at the bottom of the interlocian, her and that goddamn bodyguard. Maybe this could be a good thing. If he could escape from this carbonsteel dung heap, he would be a hero. Lone survivor. A legend. Father would... No, who cared what father thought. Father would be forced to give him the reigns. If he escaped. If he survived. This was a win-win.

He could escape. Of course he could escape. He had read books on survival. Even books on survival in the teleths. Everyone always said he was intelligent, and he was. A tiny part of him was giddy at the idea of playing shaft-diver. He had always adored shaft divers. Every young man adored shaft divers. Yes! That's what he would do. It was all coming together. All he had to do was recall every piece of information he could remember about shaft-diving, every story, every book, every wayward tale, and he would survive. His stomach groaned.

The prince drew himself up, puffing out his chest with newfound confidence. Yes. It was all coming together. He seized a rock, a nice sturdy one, and scraped off the lichens with his hands. It was a disgusting sensation, but the prince reveled in his newfound rustic aplomb. No, he thought. It had always been there. He was emerging from his chrysalis. He crouched low, surveying his environment for danger. He focused his eyes on a chubby little gastropod, and began to stalk, creeping toward his prey like some huntress-witch from the glowing swamp. Toe to heel. Yes. By the gods it was working. Yes. He was doing it. He was actually doing it. Three meters. Two meters. One. He raised the rock.

As he brought the rock down, his foot slid out from under him, sending him toppling sideways. His elbow plunged through a bed of moss and into another freezing pool. The chubby gastropod hopped up, skittering away as fast as its tentacles could carry it. The rock caught it by two of its legs. In a herculean feat of hunting prowess, the prince lunged, sprawling upon his belly to slam the rock down on the gastropod again. The hit connected, breaking the shell with a satisfying thwack.

The prince, giddy with adrenaline and hunger, seized the thing in his hands. He peeled off his mouthplate, and tore into the mass. Almost immediately he recoiled as bits of shell tore into the spaces between his teeth. He plucked and spat out the shards, and remembered something about the little gastropods. He began to tear off tentacles. The texture was disgusting, leathery sheathes and overwhelmingly fatty meat with veins like gamey dental floss. The prince, in his starving delirium, found them delicious. He laughed and wept as he ate, mad with adrenaline, splayed out on his belly in the freezing muck. Success. Victory. A conquering.

The shaft diver, who had been observing all of this from a nearby boulder, watched on with an expression of mild horror, mercantile opportunity, and ill-advised lust. He descended from his perch as loudly as he could, and strode across the wet ground with purpose. He adjusted his bow tie, and in his most charming voice, the one he reserved for rich marks, said;

"Hey there."

The prince whipped around, bits of tentacle flying from his mouth as he drew himself up to one knee, and then up to both feet. He was met with the sight of a vile little beast. Maybe five feet tall, pink and fleshy, with wide dark eyes flanked by little fins and a row of razor-sharp teeth. No doubt one of the many horrors common to these ruins. The prince drew his weapon, the nanites flashed into place, forming a thin, scalpel-sharp, blade which he leveled at the beast's throat.

"mgie bgeft" he shouted through a mouthful of gastropod, and lunged.

A wristblade extended from beneath the shaft-diver's sleeve. It parried and backstepped with rigged agility. "Hey now! Hey hey hey! Relax! I'm not gonna hurt ya." Said the shaft diver, holding up his palms in a calming gesture. This guy was scared shitless, he needed an angle.

"Hey buddy calm down, its okay, whats your prodigal?" Said the shaft diver.

The prince stared at him, "Prodigal?" He said, clearly still panicking.

Oh boy, thought the shaft diver, this one was real out of his league. "Oh, sorry sorry, I thought you were one of us, said the diver."

The prince stared back, bits of gastropod dripping from his mouth. "One of us?"

Time to lay it on thick. "A shaft diver, dummy. I was watching you stalk that thing, figured you were pro." He paused for dramatic effect, feigning realization. "You're tellin me you're not a diver?"

"No. but I can see how you would make that mistake." Said the prince, swishing the nanoblade away with sudden dignity. "You stand before Marin de Trozier, firstborn and rightful heir to house Trozier."

The shaft diver was all but drooling. He could tell guy was wealthy, but the firstborn of an Atlantean merchant clan? The shaft divers thoughts went into overdrive. Do I bow? No. He's playing shaft diver, let him play the part.

The shaft diver put on his best shaft diver voice, the rough, touch-mad one, like how they sound in teleplays. He was nearly a foot shorter than the prince, but did his best to look rugged and unimpressed. "Am I supposed to be impressed, prettyboy? Want me to curtsy? You're in Teleth Avaris now, you left your titles behind. Like it or not-" He paused for effect. "-you're a shaft diver now."

"Hmph." Said Marin, turning up his nose at the insolence. "Maybe so. You still haven't given me your name. Your 'prodigal' was it?" Marin made mocking quotes as he said the words. The shaft diver shook his head. "Seeing as you've already given me your proper name, there's no need for prodigals." He extended a rigged hand, "You can call me Kip."

Marin returned the gesture, shaking. "Marin."

Kip grinned. Hook, line, and sinker.

This is the first chapter of Emerald Seas. You can read the first draft, and its prequel, here.

#Emerald Seas #Long Post

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mcyt-trios · 6 months

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PROPAGANDA:

Team Zit:

Separate, they are insane. Together, they are even more insane and egg each other on plus bonus funny noises, jokes, and redstone.

Umm my little redstone science freaks teehee <3

Everyone looks at them and assumes that Impulse is the one in control, that he’s the one who’s got his shit together and has to reel the other two in but he isn’t. He really isn’t lmfao. Two redstone geniuses and a mad scientist but when they’re in the same room together all of their collective braincells go fleeing in terror.

Champions of the first season of Hardcore Hermits, even though they were the only team playing without natural regeneration! They're a platonic trio but sometimes joke about each other in a way that's on the edge of what is appropriate for Hermitcraft.

Soup Group:

I love them sm. They go raid a woodland mansion together with stone tools on day 1. They go end-busting with only soup a few days later. They all based practically on top of each other and send messages under the river (or through the ceiling/basement in Gem and Impulse's case). Pearl and Impulse got mad at the king so the three of them started a revolution. Every single meetup involves them drinking suspicious stew that more often than not causes someone to go blind. They share a nether tunnel. Gem got bored and they all had wooden sword fights. They put their faces all over each other's bases. Gem still uses the "Behind You Gem! 2.0" sword that Impulse made her at the beginning of the season. There's so many inside jokes between them. Please, they mean so so so much to me <3

They're neighbours. They're going on soup adventures. They're watching each other die in comedic ways. They're slaying each other with wooden swords. They're teasing each other. They have an elaborate messaging system they never use. Pearl keeps making them blindness soup and then the others complain that she's blinded them again and then they'll do it all again next week. They're silly and goofy and so much fun. I love them.

#mcyt-trios #mcytblr trio bracket #mcyt #polls #round 4

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criminalamnesia · 2 years

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Let’s Stay Here

warnings: fluff, not proofread, targaryen!reader, she/her pronouns used, reader is 18+

summary: having been born the second Targaryen daughter, you were used to being overlooked. however, there was one person who always had his eyes on you.

author’s note: this is purely self indulgent. I am obsessed with Harwin. also fuck house of the dragon I’ve got beef with that show now

When Rhaenyra had been named heir to the iron throne, you had been happy for her. Of course you had– you two were sisters, and although born a few years apart, you were close friends.

But with Rhaenyra’s naming, chaos had followed. Whispers in the halls of the Red Keep; sour looks from disapproving lords; passive aggressive comments from the queen.

Some days you felt as though you would explode if you remained in the castle any longer.

So, logically, you began to sneak out.

It was harmless fun at first; just seeing how long you could go without being noticed. The City Watch was relentless with their nightly patrols, and so it became somewhat of a game to evade them.

Over time, you became more bold. You would wear less to disguise yourself. You would stand closer to watchmen. A few times you even swiped trinkets and food from vendors in the street.

As all things do, however, it eventually became boring. What used to be exhilarating became mundane, and you once again ached for excitement. That excitement came in the form of one Ser Harwin Strong.

You knew who he was; his father was hand of the king, after all. And Harwin was certainly memorable by himself. You and Rhaenyra had whispered about him more than a few times before, but she had never been taken with him– not like you had.

So, when you finally spotted him one night in Flea Bottom, patrolling the streets in his armor, you couldn’t resist the urge to test your luck.

Grinning to yourself, you pulled off the torn cap barely hiding you hair and shoved it into the pocket of your trousers. With silver hair on full display, you started your trek towards Harwin.

He had his back turned to you as he walked down an empty alleyway. You cautiously approached, deciding to just walk past him to see if he would notice.

Your shoulder brushed his armor-clad one as you passed him, and instantly the knight reacted. His hand that had been resting upon the pommel of his sword gripped it, beginning to unsheathe the blade.

You just kept walking, until his startled “Princess?” stopped you.

You turned with a smile, curtsying to the knight. You saw as he tried– and failed– to mask a smile.

“Ser Harwin. Lovely night, is it not?” You spoke as if you were out for a stroll in the gardens at the keep. He shook his head, sheathing his sword and dropping his hand to the side.

“Forgive me, princess, but you shouldn’t be out here. Especially not alone.”

You hummed in agreement, nodding your head. “Would you care to accompany me, then? I’ve grown quite bored by myself. I’m sure you would provide great company.”

“Princess, I cannot– I must take you back your quarters.”

“You mustn’t. I am in need of some fresh air and excitement. My quarters have become quite stuffy as of late.”

He looked at you, and you could tell he was torn between his mischievous spirit and his duty. Deciding to make the choice for him, you took a step back.

“Well, Ser Harwin, I understand you must do your duty and return me to safety. However, I fear that you must catch me first. I hope that armor is lighter than it looks,” you teased before turning and running out of the alley. You could hear him curse and then the clanging of armor as he ran after you.

“Stop!” He called out, causing a few heads to turn as he followed you into a crowded street.

You laughed with glee as you slipped between people, turning your head every so often to catch a glimpse of Harwin’s gold cloak far behind.

As you rounded a corner, you were met with a dead end. You turned to leave, only to be met with the armor of a city watchman once again.

Looking up, you grinned as Harwin scowled.

“Hello again, Ser. It seems you’ve caught me.”

“It seems I have,” he grumbled, reaching for your arm. You willingly gave it to him, watching as his hand grasped your bicep. His grip wasn’t tight– but it certainly wasn’t lax, either.

He began to steer you back towards the castle, and you sighed. You easily could’ve evaded him longer than you had– you’d been doing it for years. However, maybe a part of you had wanted him to catch you.

Harwin had always been kind to you and Rhaenyra. He wasn’t like the other lords at court– he wasn’t fawning over your sister and vying for her hand. He was watching from afar– occasionally up close– and his focus wasn’t on her. It was on you.

“Forgive me if I speak out of turn, Princess,” he begins, and you nod your head absentmindedly. “But I cannot believe that the red keep could be so bad that you have to sneak out every night.”

You stopped, causing Harwin to tug slightly on your arm as he took another step. At your halt, he turned and looked at you with a grin.

“You can’t think you’ve gotten through the streets so safely all these years without help, Princess. I am better at my job than you think.”

“Why haven’t you stopped me before?” You questioned, resuming your walk.

“I have… noticed certain things during my time here. Certain things pertaining to you.”

“You’ve been watching me, then?” You replied, to which he chuckled.

“Everyone watches, Princess. Some more closely than others.”

“So it seems,” you responded. The two of you fell silent as Harwin steered you back towards the keep. It shouldn’t have surprised you that he led you right to the secret passage you had used to get out of the castle.

Smiling sheepishly, you removed your arm from his grasp and turned towards the passage. He bowed, giving you a quick “princess” before turning to head back towards the city streets.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, Ser Harwin.” You called over your shoulder, causing him to stop mid-step. He didn’t turn, but you heard him chuckle as he continued on. You smiled to yourself as you watched him leave for a moment, before turning and slipping into the passage.

—

Your game continued from then on, except you weren’t the only player. You would deliberately search for Harwin, and he would always take you right back to the keep– but you two became closer as time passed. You would drag out your walks to speak to him for just a minute more. He would insist on hiding in the shadows for a moment so he could survey the nearby crowd, only so he could get closer to you in the darkness.

Eventually, you could no longer entertain your nightly trips to the streets of King’s Landing. You were being watched more closely as tensions within the castle rose. It didn’t help that Rhaenyra’s scorned suitors were now turning to you, as their first choice had been wed to Laenor. If they couldn’t have the heir, at least they could still have a Targaryen.

Your father became engrossed in finding you a match– just as he had done for Rhaenyra. Of course, you had already made up your mind on who you wished to wed.

“What are you thinking about?”

Harwin’s rumbling voice broke you from your thoughts of marriage and politics. You smiled as you rolled over in your bed to face the man beside you.

“Marriage,” you replied honestly, closing your eyes as he brushed a strand of silver hair behind your ear.

“Marriage, hm?” He spoke, his hand coming to rest on your cheek. You nodded, your eyes still closed.

“Which lucky lord shall be your husband?” He asked, and you reached your hand up, resting it atop his.

“No decision has been made yet. Perhaps a Lannister? Maybe a Baratheon?”

“You wound me, Princess,” he said, and you giggled as you opened your eyes. He was smiling at you, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Oh, how about a Tully?”

“Truly, you have no heart,” he told you, to which you laughed. You removed his hand from your cheek, intertwining your fingers.

“Of course I wish to wed you, my love. I could not imagine marrying another.”

“The son of the hand and the daughter of the king. I’m sure the king will be thrilled,” Harwin spoke.

“The king will be thrilled to be rid of me,” you replied, shuffling closer to him. “I am a burden keeping him from focusing on his heir.”

“You,” Harwin said, “are no burden. The king is lucky to have a daughter as great as you.”

“Flattery suits you, Ser Harwin,” you giggled. He chuckled and released you hand in favor of reaching over and pulling you into his chest.

“Tell me more of how great I am.”

“That would take years, Princess,” he responded.

“I have plenty of those.”

Harwin chuckled again, a deep and soothing sound to your ears. You rested your head on his chest as he slipped his fingers through your hair.

“Let’s just stay here forever. No eyes watching. No family quarrels. Just us,” you whispered.

“Just us,” he repeated.

#game of thrones #game of thrones fic #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon fic #harwin strong #ser harwin strong #harwin strong x reader #targaryen!reader #targaryen reader #Ser Harwin strong x reader #Harwin strong fic #house of the dragon x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #fluff #Harwin strong fluff #game of thrones fluff

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asumofwords · 9 months

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my babies, this has certainly been a build up, say 98 chapters long? Thank you all so much for your love, and messages, and support, I really hope you enjoy the way I eventually end SF&A. This was originally two shorter chapters, but I decided to combine them together instead. Bold italics are inner thoughts and flash backs as per usual. I have so much more I want to say but won't because you want to read it, and obviously we will talk after!!! Enjoy <3

Chapter 98: Hand Turns Loom, Hen Kasta naejot Zōbrie

When your mother had been crowned, you remember the day clearly.

How all the Lords and Ladies around you, knights, Maesters, maids; all those in her presence bent the knee.

All but Rhaenys.

How the sound of their rustling robes, their shifting pommels of armour, or clanking of their swords filled the air around you.

How your heart had swelled with pride, how deep and pure it had been. How you had felt adoration, devotion, and had no second thought about digging your knee into the ground below, bowing your head to your Queen.

But now, your knees would not budge, not even if you had wanted them to.

They did not bend, or creak, or crack.

They locked.

Refusing to drop down to the stone floor below. Refusing to meet the cold, hard surface, which would no doubt send crawling ice up your knees and body, but not only that, it would be to give in.

To give up.

To bend the knee to a monster.

And you had endured far too much to do that.

Too far to turn back now.

You would not bend the knee to Aegon, and so there you stood, in the throne room, before the Iron Throne, and the Small Council, refusing to kneel.

Refusing to swear him as your King.

Refusing to back down.

Gods be good.

Be on my side.

You could feel the heated gaze of your husband, and yet you did not tear your own away from the man before you, who took slow and calculated steps, each one echoing into the sparse hall as his boots thumped against the stones.

You did not try to move, nor would you have had the chance with the guards behind you, their presence coming closer. The warmth of their bodies behind you made the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end.

His violet eyes bore into your own.

His own flesh and blood.

His niece.

Your uncle.

Someone you had grown up beside. Someone who you had played with, and laughed with, and fought with. Someone who had grown into the monster he was today. And so he stalked towards you, and still you did not kneel.

Aegon, watching your refusal, looked to the guards on either side of you, and nodded.

Dracarys, Lucerys whispered in your mind.

Your knees hit the ground with a resounding crack, pain shooting up the both of them as the guards had grabbed you by each shoulder and forced you to the stone floor. Aemond shifted in your periphery, and you saw Alicent go to him quickly, grabbing his arm to keep him back, and yet you could not take your eyes away from the man who stood before you, hand resting atop the hilt of his sword, Conquerors Crown atop his silver waves.

This was it.

Today the Stranger comes for me.

Aegon smiled down at you as he watched you come to the realisation. And yet still, you made no move to swear yourself to him. No move to call him King. No move to save yourself. And although you had been forced to your knees before him, you had not bent them of your own accord.

“The punishment for a crime like this is death.” Aegon boomed to the chambers, voice echoing off the stone walls, his steps becoming slower as he came closer towards you, "I could have you hanged on the wall, or send you to the butchers block. Perhaps I could even feed you to Sunfyre.”

“Aegon.” Aemond's voice came from behind, clipped and short, held back by the last threads of his resolve.

You let yourself look at your husband, and saw that he had made his way closer, though Alicent still stood in front of him, hand on his chest as an act of a human barricade between her two sons.

Holding him back.

“Silence.” Aegon boomed, “Ser Otto, if Aemond speaks again, have him arrested and taken down to the cells where he can stay until the sentence has been served.”

You had thought to look to Aemond with your eyes for help, to beg for him to come to you, but all you had seen was the same man who had left you the last time you were here.

There was no saving you this time.

Dracarys.

The Small Council remained silent, not even Otto Hightower seemed to think he could talk reason into the King, and so he stood, eyes looking over the top of you at the opposite side of the throne Aemond was.

The King hummed, looking down his nose at you as a wide smile cracked across his pink lips, “Or…" He breathed, "You could take your place at my side as my wife.”

Wife.

Ice ran down your back as you looked at him, your heart beating rapidly in your chest, fingers tingling from the grip the guards had on your shoulders and arms.

It was in that moment, that you knew there was no going back from this.

Dracarys.

“Annul your marriage to my brother in the eyes of the Seven, and I shall take you as my second wife.” He purred, the proposition sounding as though it was a benevolent offering, when all those who were present truly knew the more sinister reasoning behind it, “You may atone for your sins and crimes by birthing me heirs, as is your purpose, whilst also upholding the terms of the treaty. An honour given to you which you don’t deserve.”

You jolted forward, grunting, trying to rip the arms of the guards from you so that you could launch yourself forward. Muscles in your arms burning from the struggle.

You were going to die.

And you would not go down without ripping his throat out with your teeth.

The guards hands tightened further, seams of your gown ripping as you struggled from below. Your eyes flicked momentarily to Aemond again, who looked as though he was fighting a battle of his own, but you knew, deep down you knew, he would do nothing.

As he always had.

And so you kept your eyes on the brother in front of you.

“My Husband-“ You began, venom dripping from your tongue.

“-Is my brother.” Aegon snipped, “And swore himself to me as King. He is bound by duty to the realm, and duty to the Crown. Aemond should be honoured that I would take his wife as my own. You would be wed to a King, not a second son.”

You sneered, trying to throw yourself forward at him, but Aegon did not flinch, and the guards pulled you backwards hastily, knees grazed by the stones below.

“Fuck you.” You hissed, teeth grinding against each other, heat in your cheeks, and blood thumping in your veins.

Dracarys.

The King laughed, head thrown back and violet eyes shut before he locked them back onto you. He smiled appreciatively, eyes roaming down your face, to the tight bodice of your dress and the way your skirts clung to your waist, all the way down to your knees on the stone.

“You are ready to serve me, as you are.” Your eldest uncle turned his head to look back at Aemond, “I will make her a good wife, one that can be tamed. One who will obey and follow orders, and all the while the treaty will be held. I am far more capable of tending to her needs, and a marriage to me is far better than death.”

You swirled your tongue in your mouth before spitting upon Aegon’s leather boots, “I will kill myself before I ever let you touch me again. I will throw myself from the window Helaena did rather than have your monster grow inside of me. And then my family will come you. Fire and blood, they will come. And you will die.”

The pain came before you registered what had happened, the sting spreading across your cheek as your head snapped to the side of the room, eyes trained tearily on the floor.

Alicent was heard in the background, hissing to her younger son, "Stop!"

Your ears rang, and you tasted the coppery tang of blood in your mouth.

You slowly turned your head back to the King, hair having fallen over your face from where it had come loose from your braids. You spat a bloody glob of spit at him again, attempting to aim higher, but the blood merely sprayed towards him and landed at his feet.

Dracarys.

His eyes narrowed, and his lips pulled back into a sneer.

“The Princess must have a weapon on hand. Strip her.” Aegon commanded, eyes jerking towards Ser Cole, who shuffled awkwardly on his feet.

Your head snapped towards the knight, “Touch me, and I will kill you. I’ll fucking kill you, Cole.”

Ser Criston Cole, a man sworn to his King, known as King Maker, stood dumbly as he looked to you and then to the man who commanded him. His tan skin was flushed at his neck, a pinkish purple spreading up from beneath the breastplate he wore, and his piercing eyes darting back and forth in decision.

This was not the first time that Ser Cole had been commanded to act in way that was not in protection of who he was sworn to.

Once before with Alicent.

And now with her son.

The Dowager Queen made quick steps towards you both, “Aegon.” She growled, leaving her younger son behind as her feet echoed on the stone floor, "Stop this madness."

You desperately tried to wriggle out of the guards grip, hissing and grunting, knees digging painfully into the stones as your dress ripped beneath.

A knight came towards Alicent, hand held outwards towards her in preventing her from coming any further, “The treaty, Aegon. Think of how Rhaenyra will react when she hears about this!”

Aegon snapped his head towards his mother, “Fuck the treaty.” He sneered, looking back at Ser Cole, “I command you to strip this traitor, and reveal the weapon she no doubt hides on her person.”

Ser Cole swayed, his long, white cloak grazing against the cold stone floors as he started to slowly approach you, eyes on you with a look of regret. A look of apprehension.

One of pity. One of guilt. One of disgust.

They were going to strip you.

Before all the eyes of the Council.

“You’re a monster.” You hissed, ripping a hand from one of the guards, reaching out to grasp at the King’s robes who stood in front of you, fingertips grazing his breeches.

For the first time, Aegon flinched backwards, and the guards rushed forward again, yanking you backwards and holding your arms behind you as you cussed, and cursed at them all, pain rippling through your arms.

“Kostagon se Jaes' ossēnagon jeme! Kostagon pōnta ivestragī nyke urnēbagon jeme zālagon. Kostagon pōnta tepagon nyke se kustikāne naejot gaomagon ziry nykēla. Jaelan naejot urnēbagon se ōños fade hen aōha qogralbar laesi skori gaoman ziry.”

May the Gods kill you all! May they let me watch you all burn. May they give me the strength to do it myself. I want to watch the light fade from your fucking eyes when I do it.

Aegon leant forward, looking down at you as you struggled, voice quieter now, tutting, “I still remember how wet your cunt had been. How much you bled, and cried. How you called out for my brother. For your father. Kepa!" He mocked you, your stomach roiled and rage nipped at you hotly.

Dracarys.

"I wish it had been me,” He smiled cruelly, “I wish I had taken your maidenhead, like I should have taken it years ago. I should have fucked a bastard into you before you left the Keep.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him, lips curling back in disgust.

Baring your teeth back at him, you pulled at the guards grip, “You are nothing but a worthless, drunken, whoring King, who took naught but a moment until you spilled yourself inside of me. You are the most pathetic excuse for a man."

The King's face rippled with anger, brows drawn as his chest began to heave.

Ser Cole stood to the side, uncertain of what to do, unwilling to move again until commanded, Ser Otto watching with a stoney face, the Small Council shifting on their feet, all the while Alicent stood behind, guard preventing her from moving forward.

The chambers fell still, and Aegon sucked in his cheeks, gathering the spit inside of his mouth, pursing his lips to spit upon you.

A wet warmth landed upon your cheek.

It had been a warm day in Kings Landing.

The small folk had flocked to the beaches, dipping their toes and their clothes into the cold waves, desperate to cool off.

The Red Keep was no different.

Men and women gathered in the shade, or sat in their chambers, fans in hand, whilst servants served them cool cups of ale and wine.

Aegon, being the eldest, had devised a plan to keep cool that day. You were all to hide amongst the secret passageways, the cold stone walls protecting you all from the heat outside, but being the kids that you were, it would not stop you from playing.

“Let the girl get the treats.” Aegon smiled, light leaking into the passageway from the room beside it.

“Why do I have to go to the Kitchens?” You argued, annoyance rolling through you.

Aegon looked to your brothers, and then shortly to Aemond, who all stood in front of you in a line, “Because you’re a girl. One day you’ll be someone’s wife and have to fetch things for your husband. I’m giving you practice.”

Luc and Jace looked at each other, and snickered, though their laughter fell when you gazed at them angrily, “If you want the treats so badly, why don’t you get them. I’m not a maid.” You huffed, folding your arms across your chest.

Aemond shuffled beside his brother, looking down at the dusty floor, scuffing the tip of his shoe into the surface.

Aegon smirked, “You’d be a pretty maid. Mine are all so dull and plain.”

“I’m not going.”

Aegon looked at the three boys beside him, “All in favour for Y/n going to get us treats?” His hand shot up as he loudly proclaimed ‘Aye.’

Jace and Lucerys followed suit, hands lower and voices even lower, their brown eyes refusing to meet yours.

All turned to Aemond, who did not speak, and had raised his violet eyes towards you.

“Come on brother, don’t be a twat.” Aegon chided.

“He’s not a twat, you cunt.” You snipped back.

Aegon laughed, “Come on, niece, play nicely. I’ll even give you a kiss.” Aegon puckered his lips towards you, making kissing noises whilst Jace and Luc scrunched their face in disgust and laughed.

“Leave her alone.” Aemond growled, finally speaking up.

The eldest Prince looked at your two brothers before bursting into laughter, “Sticking up for your love, Aem?”

“Shut up, Aegon.” You snapped.

“Make me.” He grinned, stepping towards you as he pushed you to the ground, you landed on your back with an grunt, staring daggers at Aegon as you jumped up, moving to punch him.

Your eldest uncle was jolted from the side, falling into the narrow walls of the pathway, a cry falling from his lips. His pale hands scrambling to catch himself as he fell into the stone.

Aemond stood, chest heaving as he watched his brother come to the realisation that he had pushed him.

“You little-“

Aegon jumped at Aemond, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar, jerking the younger boy around.

Jace and Luc watched on with wide eyes as you raced forward, "Let go of him!” You screamed.

Aegon’s arm cast out to the side and pushed you to the floor again, your head hitting the stone wall behind you.

You blinked, eyes filling with tears.

Aegon immediately let go of his brother and looked down at you. A tear rolled down your cheek as the back of your head throbbed, a hand coming to rub against the spot of impact.

Aemond raced over to you, kneeling down to check your head.

He turned to his brother, “I’m telling mother.”

Aegon sensing that there was no more fun to be had, spun around and left the secret passage, your brothers following closely behind, casting short glances to you to see if you were okay.

You sniffed, trying to blink away the tears in the shadows, but Aemond didn’t point them out. He came to sit beside you, back against the bricks, and you let your head drop onto his shoulder.

“Your brother is such a dick.”

Aemond sighed in agreement.

The floor of the throne room was cold.

Icy even.

Despite the beams of sun that landed colourfully onto the floor, streaming in through the stained glass windows, the stone would never warm. They would stay the same, icy, coldness that they always had been.

Unforgiving.

And they were just that, unforgiving.

Laid down beneath a tower of melted and twisted metal, made from an unforgiving King. A throne that lacked a soft edge, a show of compassion or kindness, even to those who were seated upon it.

The Iron Throne, for all intents and purposes, was just that.

Unforgiving.

Sharp and cold, made entirely of blades from those who had been conquered, those who had been slain, those who had fallen. And now your family sat atop it. A show of your ancestor, Aegon the First and all of his triumph. All of his power.

All of his mercilessness.

The skin of your cheek felt wet, Lucerys had stopped his whispering, and the world around you was oddly quiet. As though your ears had been stuffed with cotton, the muffled sound of the room around you making it hard to discern what was happening. And yet still, there was this odd feeling that spread around your chest.

Like the stone floors of the Iron Throne chambers, it was cold.

Icy.

They had always been a brilliant violet colour.

Your families legacy paired with the silver locks. And Aegon’s eyes had always been so telling of his moods, just like his brother. Telling of his thoughts, like a window to his inner workings and mechanisms.

It was always so.

They would dance when he was mischievous as a child, and as he got older, they would deepen with unspoken grief and paranoia.

But when Aegon was angry, they would become alight. Seemingly brightened by the flames that would lick him hotly at his cheeks, the colour lightening and eyes having more movement.

It’s how it always was.

And as you looked into Aegon’s eyes, you realised how much they had changed already.

The rage that had been dancing and swaying behind his eyes not a moment before, was now gone. Like a fire that had been snuffed out, a light that had been trampled upon, a lamp that had been extinguished. And now they looked up at you blankly, as you blinked down at them from below.

The noises around you became louder as you continued to stare.

A woman was screaming.

Why was she screaming?

Guards were crying out, men were cursing, and all you could do, was look at the head on the floor in front of your knees, and the blood that slowly leaked from its neck and mouth, seeping into the material of your skirts.

You wished she would stop screaming.

Someone kept saying your name, but you could not tear your eyes from the man below you. His silver waves were tinged with red as the blood spread into his silky strands, his mouth agape, but silent.

Finally silent.

His eyes were what really changed.

They were dull.

Lifeless, and almost grey looking.

Gone.

Aegon’s body was slumped beside it, arms and legs bent at unnatural angles, and blood leaking out onto the cold stones below. The thinner sections of blood had already begun to coagulate, the coldness sucking out any warmth from it and seeping into the porous surface beneath.

Life that spread and was soaked up greedily.

Like so many times before, the stones were fed with the essence of another.

How many more would face the same fate?

The coldness in your chest melted away, and a warmth spread through it, travelling up your throat, until it left your lips in a breathy laugh.

And then it kept coming.

And it did not stop.

You stared at Aegon’s head and laughed.

It was not something that you could have stopped if you had wanted it to, it did not even feel like you were in your own body, looking down from somewhere else in the room, perhaps even over your own shoulder. But the more you laughed, the louder the woman’s screams became, until someone spoke your name again, but louder.

You blinked, finally tearing your eyes away from the corpse of your uncle, the man who had raped you. The man who had driven your aunt to death. The man who had usurped the throne from your mother.

The man who had dealt so much cruelty.

And your eyes were met with, not the dull, lifeless violet that you had once been staring at, but instead a vision of violet and sapphire.

Aemond.

The Prince stood in front of you, looking down with a hard and stony face, jaw clenched and lips pressed into a line. Like his brother, his eye was the window to his soul, and flickering in the background was rage.

His shoulders were stiff, his body was tensed, and yet a hand was held out, steady towards you, palm up, scar revealed. The other was holding his sword tightly, body in a fighting stance, the blade dripping with thick viscous blood.

The blood of his brother.

Movement was all around you, and the woman still would not stop screaming.

Aemond barked at the room, “Hold!”

And the room fell still again.

All but the woman who screamed, and the men who cursed quietly beneath their breath.

You stared at Aemond's hand, the scar on his palm looking soft and pink, travelling up the length of pale skin. And with your own, you lifted and placed it in his, the strength of his arm pulling you to stand.

You knees popped and stung as you stood, the skin rubbed raw by the stone floors, dress ripped in some places. Guards stood dumbly on the side of the room unsure of what to do, all in shock.

Your husband flicked his blade to the side, blood spraying off of it onto the stones.

More food to feed them.

Aemond sheathed it back into its holder on his hip with one hand, the other holding yours firmly.

God you wished she would stop screaming.

Aemond bent down to the corpse of his brother, no regret, or grief on his face, instead a steady blanket of disgust and hatred instead. With his long fingers, he scooped the Conquerors Crown from the stone floor, looking down at it as he turned it slowly in his hand above Aegon.

The metal glinted, and the ruby in its centre glowed when the light shone over of it.

“What have you done?!” The woman screamed again, your head turning to see Alicent being held back by her father and guards, “What have you done?!”

Ser Otto Hightower, stood with nothing but shock in his eyes as he looked between his two grandsons, the one on the floor, and the one standing above him. His arms were wrapped around Alicent’s chest, keeping her pressed against him as she thrashed.

“He was to be our undoing.” Aemond stated bluntly, voice loud within the chambers.

Ser Cole did not move.

The Small Council did not move.

And all that could be heard was the screams of a grieving mother.

“Ser Cole.” Aemond gave the man what appeared to be a silent order.

Cole was a man who had been a father figure to him. A man who had trained him in swordsmanship and battle. A man who he had grown beside and watched support his mother.

And Ser Criston Cole obeyed, staying where he was, and all other guards and knights followed.

Your eyes roamed down his body, to where the white cloak, pinned to the pommels of his armour, soaked the blood of the King on the floor below. It tinged the white a deep red, and bled up the material, as though it had been thirsting for blood this whole time, much like the stones.

Aegon was dead.

And Aemond had killed him.

“What have you done, Aemond?! Your brother! The King!” Alicent cried, voice distressed as she screamed at her only surviving child.

Aemond ignored his mother, turning to you, a singular word falling from his lips.

“Come.”

The throne room was filled with your footfall as Aemond led you towards the Iron throne, Alicent’s cries which had turned to soft sobs, and the whispers of the Small Council.

No-one brave enough to speak up, or out against the Prince.

Aemond walked up the throne steps, as though he was born for it, as though he had practised each step with perfection. Each step taken was with purpose, as though he knew it was his true duty and right.

And you followed after, hand still in his, mind still in a daze.

You stared at the Iron Throne as he turned softly to sit himself upon it.

He looked comfortable.

At home.

Perfectly fitted for it, as though he was made for it.

With a look of determination, he handed you the crown, the heavy metal resting in both of your hands as you look down at it.

Alicent cried louder.

The room was still.

You locked eyes with Aemond’s violet and sapphire gaze.

And lifted the crown to place it atop his head.

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axelsagewrites · 7 months

Note

Can I request Criston Cole x f!reader x Aegon? Where Aegon is just a voyeur and Criston is there to teach him to be patient and not put himself first (when having sex) with Aegon's lady wife (tough love! it was probably an idea Otto or Alicent had to just taunt Aegon some more). And Aegon just sits there looking - ofc - and yapping about Criston not having enough experience to know while reader clearly is enjoying everything that is happening ?

Criston Cole*Test My Devotion

Pairing: Criston x f!reader, Aegon x arranged wife!reader

Word count: 2515

Warnings: technically cheating but not cause Aegon said it was okay, cuck Aegon, f! receiving oral, praise, mentions of religion, possibly a tad blasphemous to the seven, p in v sex, breeding, smut 18+

Masterlist here

The marriage was not a happy one and the whole court knew. Anyone who saw you or Aegon knew it. you both knew it and Criston Cole; well, he certainly knew. While teaching Aegon to spar, which was often just the prince pretending to try swing his sword, he would complain about his wife. Specifically, the events of your marital chambers.

“She just lays there,” Aegon said, his swords tip scrapping the dirt as Criston tried to convince him to at least try this lesson, “Hardly an appealing sight for a husband,”

Criston sighed, tempted to just fling his sword in the river, “Well have you made it appealing for her?”

“What’s not appealing about sex?” Aegon said, dumb founded at the disgruntled knight, “It’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing,”

“Yes, but are you just having sex,” Criston said, lowering his voice even though no one was around, “or are you making love? There is a big difference my prince,”

Aegon snorted making Criston contemplate swinging his sword at his head, “You sound like a village girl. Besides what do you know about any of it?” Aegon said, finally picking up his sword again, “The only girls you please are the seven,”

It was bad enough being mocked by an uptight prince but having to hear in even more detail about the prince’s lack of a sex life from his mother no less just made matters worse. “I just don’t understand,” Alicent said as she paced her chambers, hands on hips, “She’s a woman, he’s a man. It’s not hard to make a child. Even the king could do it,” she muttered, pausing her pacing.

Criston stood even straighter when the queen turned to him, “I’m sure it will happen in time your grace,”

“We don’t have time,” Alicent said as she returned to her pacing, likely wearing down the floorboards, “No boy wants his mother in his bed chambers, but his wife must be. Perhaps if you talk to him, he’d listen to you- “

“Your grace,” he said, an awkward smile playing his face to try hide his sheer embarrassment, “I don’t think I am qualified to help- “

“Hush,” Alicent said, holding her hand out to shush him as he cleared his throat in embarrassment, “He needs guidance,” she said, continuing her pacing, “but he won’t take it from me. Perhaps if you were to talk to him, to show him how it’s done,”

“I think he knows how to do it,” Criston said, clearing his throat yet again like he’d swallowed thick tar, “I think they lack an emotional connection,”

“That was never my strong suit,” Alicent admitted, her pacing finally stopping as she sighed, “Please ser Cole,” she said, turning to him with desperate eyes, “Perhaps if you spoke to them, on their level, you’re about their age. They’ll listen to you. just try, for the sake of the realm,” Alicent plead, “I-We need an heir,”

Criston Cole soon found himself as security at each and every one of the couples’ awkward dinners. On the rare times you allowed Aegon to visit your chambers he was forced to be there two. However, he could see the way you grew bored from Aegon’s touches and how little he wished to be there.

This also however gave him plenty of time to see you, however. Rarely did you speak to him, but he noticed the way your lips curved when you called on him. He noticed the new dresses Aegon did not and the different ways you styled your hair. He may be a man of honour, a knight, a sworn protector of the realm but also you, but even he noticed your looks. How Aegon grew bored of you he could not understand.

One night after dinner Criston escorted the prince and you to your chambers in silence. The door shut and wordlessly you began to unlace your dress while Aegon pulled off his tunic. “Stop,” Criston found himself saying without thought making you both turn to look at him.

Aegon’s eyes were bored but yours were filled of a curious wonder Criston deeply wanted to explore. He approached the prince, lowering his voice but he knew you could hear, “Perhaps my prince you may try a different approach tonight,”

“I know how to have sex with my wife,” a tipsy Aegon protested, “but if you are so sure you can do better, you have my blessing ser,” Aegon said, drunkenly patting his shoulder before sauntering over to a chair to drop into, “I insist. Please dear wife, show this knight what a good time you are,” he said, sarcasm dripping off his voice.

Criston turned to you in time to see the hurt tinging your glazed eyes, but you hide it as quick as it appeared. “I cannot, my prince, it would be a dishonour,”

“More of a dishonour to deny your prince?” Aegon said, his head cocking to the side, “If you and my mother wish to poke around my bed chambers you may as well show me how it is done ser Criston. Show me how a knight does it,” he said.

He knew he shouldn’t let his taunting bother him. After all, Aegon was just a spoiled prince, and he was a knight. He knew better. But the look on your face when he glanced at you made him wonder, “Is this an order my prince?” he finally asked taking even you by slight surprise.

Aegon lent forward in his chair, gesturing for him to continue, “She’s all yours for tonight my good knight. Teach me how to make an heir,” he said as he slumped back to his seat.

Criston cleared his throat before awkwardly looking to you. he glanced at his prince before stepping closer to you. “My princess,” he said, his voice low, “I do not wish to dishonour you. I only wish to help,” he said, his cheeks tinging pink.

This time it was you who cleared your throat, stepping closer so your chest brushed against his making his blush deepen, “Perhaps my husband could do with some lessons,” you said, your voice barely a whisper as your eyes slowly trailed up to meet his.

“May I kiss you?” he asked softly, waiting for your nod of approval before slowly leaning down, his lips softly colliding with yours. his lips were soft and slow and tender unlike Aegon’s chapped careless ones.

You leaned into his touch when his hand moved to rest on your hips, holding you gently in place as if he was afraid you would disappear. Your hands rested on his shoulders, gripping his strong shoulders over his tunic.

Aegon who had looked bored up till now almost perked up in his chair when he saw the way Criston’s hands slipped to the small of your back, pressing your body into his firm chest. “You are a gift from the gods themselves,” Criston mumbled against your lips, staring at you have drunk from the kiss.

“Such comparisons are surely blasphemous my dear knight,” you said, your hand moving to brush against his cheek.

He instinctively leaned into your touch, “No, no, my princess,” he said, turning his head so he could kiss your palm gently, “For I think they sent you to me. As a test,”

“And what kind of test would that be?” you enquired, and Criston studied the way confusion mapped your face.

Slowly he stepped forward, leading you towards the marital bed you usually dreaded but now not so much. “To test my devotion,” he said as the backs of your legs hit the bed frame softly, “and so I can prove my worship for them,”

“Perhaps its not a test at all,” you said quietly, leaning up to kiss his jaw. Creston’s breath caught in his throat at your sudden forwardness, his fingers slowly slipping up to the ties of your dress, “Perhaps they sent me as a reward,”

“No,” he said, clearing his throat as his fingers played with the ties of your dress, desperate to unlace it or tear away the fabric, “I have done nothing to deserve such a grand reward. I must earn it princess. We should not take what we do not deserve,” his words made you smile lightly. Aegon had never earned your affection, but Criston was determined to prove himself.

“Then earn it dear knight,” you whispered, kissing his lips softly, “Show the gods how much I mean to you,”

Your words sent his honour over the edge and soon your dress had pooled around your ankles. Your hands went to reach for the straps of his armour, but his hands covered yours, stopping your movements as he kissed you gently. “Lay down princess,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning your face and making you flush.

You did as you were told, not even sparing a glance to where Aegon sat watching mesmerised by the whole scene. Criston made quick work of his armour, discarding the steel at the side of the bed. Once he was down to an undershirt and under trousers he kneeled at the foot of the bed, his eyes scanning your bodies hungrily.

“You can tell me to stop,” Criston said, his hands trailing slowly up your legs as he moved closer to your body, “It won’t offend me princess,”

“I want this,” you whispered, your eyes glued to his movements while his were glued to your body. “I want you my knight,”

My knight. The words made his eyes snap up, looking into yours making your breathing pause for a moment while your heart fluttered. You were too distracted to even notice him moving to kiss your inner thigh.

You gasped lightly, not expecting his soft trails of kisses up your inner thigh, “What are you doing?” you asked, eyebrows knitting in confusion but not wanting him to stop.

“Has your husband never done this for you?” he asked, his hot breath fanning over your wet cunt making you almost moan already. When you shook your head no Criston tutted, “No wonder he’s had no success. He has failed his husbandly duties. Let me show you princess, how an honourable man treats a wife,”

Your eyes glanced to your husband before back to the man you really wanted, “Yes,” you whispered, your body already on fire with anticipation, “Show me,”

Criston started by placing a soft kiss to your clit making you whine lightly. “You can grip my hair,” he said, glancing up at you, “if it helps,” he added and for a moment you considered saying no until he placed another soft kiss to your nerves and suddenly you were tugging his soft dark hair.

Slowly he began to increase his speed, his tongue being added to the mix as he massaged your clit with his mouth. You couldn’t help the moans as your legs were placed over his shoulders and his arms gripped your legs to keep you in place.

Not once had this tightening feeling happened when Aegon had bedded you but suddenly it was like your body was alight. You gasped loudly when you felt his tongue dive into your hole, curling in all the right places. He moved his head till his nose began to nuzzle your clit and your grip of his hair tightened. “Don’t stop,” you begged, over and over in an almost whisper like a prayer.

He had no intentions too especially when your grip tightened. He could feel his own member harden but it was too soon for that. This was more important. Spurred on by the moans and pretty whines Criston replaced his tongue with his fingers, curling them in and out as he thrust. Meanwhile his mouth moved up, his lips wrapping around your sensitive clit making your whole-body twitch.

It didn’t take long for a new feeling to wash over your body as your legs twitched around his head. Criston’s movements slowed but they did not stop until he felt your body grow limp. When he came up for air he saw you, eyes dazed as you panted like you’d seen the gods. You lazily looked down at him, offering him a hand as if you could pull him up.

Criston took your hand, kissing the back of it as he moved to lay over your body. He brushed the hair out of your face, kissing the top of your head, “Princess, are you okay?”

“I am better than okay sweet knight,” you said, already breathless but your legs were instinctively wrapping around his waist. “Please do not leave me yet,” you said, pulling his waist down till his hard on was pressing into your cunt.

Criston closed his eyes for a moment as he tried to steady himself, “Are you sure princess?” he finally asked, opening his eyes to gaze into yours, “For I fear, as honourable as I try, I won’t be able to stop if this is just to test me,”

“This is not a test,” you said, your hands moving to cup his face, “I need you, my knight. I need to feel you,”

He couldn’t wait anymore but he tried to be patient as he lined up his painfully hard cock with your hole. Slowly he began to push the tip in, and he almost came just from the way you gasped as he pushed in.

You whined as he sunk in further, desperate for more but already feeling stretched out. When he’d sunk fully in you brought his lips to yours, kissing them desperately as your hips bucked for friction. He was glad to grant it.

His thrusts were slow and deep at first but as your nails sunk into his back, your mouth agape and your eyes screwed shut, they began to speed up. He slipped his hand between your body, rubbing sloppy fast circles onto your clit as his pace increased.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in deeper as the headboard began to slam against the wall. Your head twisted to the side, your eyes opening to see a silent Aegon sat on his seat, his hand down his own trousers. Your attention was brought back to your knight when you heard curses mumbled from his soft lips.

“I can’t,” he gasped, his thrusts becoming messy, “I’m going to- “he stammered but your grip around him tightened. He groaned when he felt the way your cunt clenched around him.

“Please,” you gasped, feeling another peak close by and threatening to spill, “don’t stop Criston, please,” you moaned, before your own orgasm washed over you as your nails raked down his back leaving red scratches.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, his body tensing as he finally let himself go. With only a couple more thrusts you felt Criston finish inside you, his forehead pressed against yours as he tried to recover from the earth-shattering experience.

Once he finally caught his breath he sat up, glancing to where Aegon sat just two feet away, “That my prince, is how you fuck your wife,”

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