#tw: presumed character death | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fioiswriting · 6 months

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Reunion | oneshot

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

[Part 2]

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not). Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.

Words count : 7600

Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met The night we met - Lord Huron

The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment. Ashes. Fire. War. It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss. It was like a long howl and then sudden silence. Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.

For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him. There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side. The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.

It had been the best solution, you knew.

For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded. He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight. He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface. He had searched and no body had been found.

So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.

The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.

You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair. But it still hurt. It sill fucking hurt.

Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation. A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years. A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother. And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges. And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled. Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.

Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.

During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever. Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger.

Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.

And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders. Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.

But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it. He knew. He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans. And the humiliation was all the more bitter.

First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own.

And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.

You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed. When he had become more forgiving. When he had trusted you. When he had become gentle. When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly. When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.

You loved him.

So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice. Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.

Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?

Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands. You felt as if you were losing your mind.

But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.

Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.

It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell. Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost. King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.

But above all, it was haunted by him.

The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.

You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you. Probably glad to see his friend again, too. Your friend, to both of you.

But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.

Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all. It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.

On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.

When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.

"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you."

You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor. You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.

"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.

It felt good to be back. It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family. It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.

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

Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you.

Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.

The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead. It must have been your imagination. You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.

Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest. Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there. You feel as if you are being followed.

At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being observed. In the gardens, with your son. Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.

But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.

You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep. All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.

One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.

The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.

And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged. Fuck. Fuck.

You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.

"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen.

That voice. It couldn't be.

Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.

It can’t be.

That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.

"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."

The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.

It is impossible.

He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.

Is it a ghost? Is it a hallucination?

"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.

You have so much to say to him. So many things to reproach him for.

His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears.

The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver. You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets. And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.

You want to kiss him. You want to slap him.

He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.

The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.

"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.

He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.

"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company.

He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how. Why.

He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to. Who you were married to.

A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal. You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead.

But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.

"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly.

There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway.

"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"

"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him. You've waited three years, what's another moment? But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be. You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't."

"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.

"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."

The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs.

"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you. You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin. Not a sound leaves your lips.

"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."

Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall. Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself - but you can't help feeling your heart clench. You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.

"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time.

You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again. You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.

"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him. A bit of anger, perhaps, too.

"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly. Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."

Everything is so confused in your mind. A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy. Of love too.

You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond. Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.

"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."

You nod. Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words. The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips.

There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.

His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.

"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."

You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."

His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.

It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.

You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet. You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion. You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts. All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you.

The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know. But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.

"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.

His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.

Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.

"On your knees then."

The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago. You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit. He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.

Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely.

Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes. He doesn't look away from you.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion.

His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."

You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly.

"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder. Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.

His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience.

He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps.

" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.

The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.

"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you.

The memory was so close and yet so far away.

Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.

"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him. He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.

"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.

"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence. You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you. You have this power over him and it's delicious.

His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching.

He doesn't let go of you.

"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him. It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.

His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his.

Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you.

You need him to make you feel whole again. Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him. You had always burned for him.

In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.

There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.

His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.

He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow.

He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other. Your hands are buried in his long silver hair. You can feel how wet you are between your thighs. You need him desperately, right there.

The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.

"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet?

Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.

"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress.

You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.

"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."

"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."

Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.

You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away. You grunt in frustration.

You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.

He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.

He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation. He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices.

The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.

" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body.

He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.

You feel whole again and you want to cry. You never want to lose that feeling. You want to keep him, against you, inside you.

You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.

"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command. He always has that need to control. He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.

"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable.

You need him.

When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.

Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.

"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."

The praise is sweet music to your ears. You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.

You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.

Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him. Your moans grow louder.

"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."

The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him. It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse. It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.

I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you.

He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.

The weight of his body on yours is comforting. For the first time in years, you feel alive. For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.

When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness.

You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.

Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you. You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment. He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.

And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.

You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.

"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."

When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy.

He lets out a hm and pauses.

"Is he yours?"

You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth. You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?

"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.

"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"

Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment. You should lie. You know you should lie. To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years. You only need one word.

You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.

"No, he's not."

The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.

"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece." Disappointment.

You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.

You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips.

" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."

You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye. It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.

"What did you say?"

You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words. You want to bury your face in his chest. You breath.

"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.

It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.

Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image. He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.

Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"My son," he repeats in awe. It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity. Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.

"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.

He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.

And this time, he makes love to you.

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

"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret. Your hand rests on his.

"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.

It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.

Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.

"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"

The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings. It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.

"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know."

He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.

"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him.

You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him. You know he would have made a good father. You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.

You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand. You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up.

Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know." Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence. He has always suffered from his father's indifference.

You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.

"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.

You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions.

But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x niece!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic

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lina-studen · 2 months

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theory time: what unites all the students at nevermore academy?

tw: death, violence, blood, all the bad & sad stuff.

considering that nevermore academy is a kind of purgatory, there has to be a reason why it holds such a small number of people. in this realm must be plenty of places where different people, united by one characteristic, end up after death. this was also confirmed by the authors.

for a long time now I've been following the theory that all the characters of "nevermore" are united by the way they died. namely, they all were murdered.

almost from the very beginning of the story we were aware that annabel lee was murdered. the same thing was stated in the latest chapters too.

ada was clearly also brutally murdered by the nobleman she loved. the poor girl's body was probably never found. I'm afraid no one really looked for it though.

recently we also learned that duke didn’t just drown. his magical performance was sabotaged by a person unknown to us.

the cause of pluto's death was not specified in detail, but I'm inclined to believe that he was strangled by his tyrant father (and my baby felt a huge relief, I'm crying).

berenice was hit by a car, but I'm pretty convinced that it counts (?), because she was running away from a bad person. especially if we take into account the story of the poe's character with the same name.

oh, and I almost forgot about montresor, although there have been a lot (too much) of him lately. well, he was thrown under a train. not much to add.

the only people who stand out from the general pattern so far are prospero and eulalie. eulalie died in a fire. the exact cause of prospero's death is unknown to us, but with a high probability it was caused by some kind of disease, presumably the plague. however, I wouldn't rush to write these two off. the fire could have been the result of arson. not necessarily for the sake of killing poor eulalie. but in any case it's a deliberately arranged action. remember, in the eyes of the public, duke's death also seemed like an accident.

and the final chord of prospero’s life could have been, for example, not the disease itself, but a medical “mistake” during the surgery or something like that.

phew, feels really nice to finally have a platform to share some thoughts! and what do y'all think? it'd be interesting to read your theories.

#nevermore webtoon #nevermore webcomic #annabel lee nevermore #ada nevermore #duke nevermore #pluto nevermore #montresor nevermore #berenice nevermore #prospero nevermore #eulalie nevermore #nevermore theory #nevermore spoilers

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irondad-defensesquad · 3 months

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My Irondad fic recs!

I thought of doing this because why not? Admittedly, I'm not reading as much fanfiction as I did a couple years ago, but some fics have changed my life entirely. In case I forgot one, I'll add it later!

I would’ve organized this in a bullet list, but Tumblr hates me and invented a character limit for that. So this is going to be long and will be under the cut. Anyway, let’s do this!

Rare and Sweet As Cherry Wine by loubuttons – I've mentioned this one before, but this fic right here was what inspired me to write my own Irondad works. One very particular detail I like about it is how it portrays Maria, Tony's mother. It's not what I usually see in other fics about Tony's childhood, since they tend to make Howard the big bad parent. Of course, this is because I personally related to it, as I don't believe in the "bad parent vs. good parent". I also like that it praises Edwin Jarvis as the one who looked out for Tony the most. It's pretty realistic and a very melancholic character study, IMO. *TW for abuse and neglect*

You're Always Iron Man by madasthesea – a very short fic but I absolutely love the premise. Takes place after the big battle in Iron Man 2, and Tony finds little Peter again. They have a very endearing interaction. The following chapter is also very cute!

Nothing like a fresh cup of humiliation in the morning by madasthesea – Pure fluff! This one is probably a classic in the Irondad fandom. Tony kisses Peter's forehead without second thought. Shenanigans ensue. It's so adorable and funny. If you just want to read fluff without angst, this one is for you.

when my body won't hold me anymore (where will I go) by madasthesea - I think I heard about this fic thanks to @/irondadfics here on Tumblr, but I might be wrong since I already knew the Nice work, kid series. Anyway, Peter is believed to be dead, so Tony (and the rest of the Avengers team) is mourning him. In reality, Peter is astral projecting. You know, sort of like how Stephen Strange, in his first movie, was fighting a guy in the other dimension while his body on Earth was struggling to live. That's basically what happens. Strange appears, of course, and saves the day. And I pretty much LOVE the presumed dead trope. I don't know why. Maybe it's the angst of it all. *TW for grief/mourning and temporary character death*

The Reason by doctornineandthreequarters – I think I read this one when I was still writing Oh, take me back to the start. I was looking for fics for inspiration, and I found this one. During the Time Heist in Endgame, Tony remembers the reason he's fighting to bring everyone else back. It's very emotional.

Couch Cuddles by happyaspie – Classic sickfic, but with more fluff than anything. I like rereading it when I feel lonely and touch-starved, especially when I'm also sick like Peter.

You’re So Much Like Me (I’m Sorry) by SpaceCowboysFromMars – Irondad + Miles Morales! Peter is an adult in this, and he freaks out when an injured Miles arrives in his apartment. Tony gives him some wisdom about mentoring and parenting. I don’t usually find Irondad stories featuring Miles (and not necessarily a Spider-Verse crossover), so this was a nice discovery. Peter & Miles & Tony is a very underrated trio IMO. *TW for slight gore*

I'm Glad I Have You by punkybunny – Peter has been having a rough time, dealing with loneliness as Aunt May is not home often, and with bullying at school... until he finally has the chance to spend time with Tony. However, the demons don't disappear completely. Obviously, more Hurt/Comfort, lmao. *TW for nightmare/bad dream*

I Want to Trust You by punkybunny – Actually part of a series that, admittedly, I haven't read all the other stories. But even this one is a very interesting concept on its own. This is a Hydra Peter AU, after Peter has been rescued. He gets sick but given his past in Hydra, he thinks Tony is going to get angry. Peter is proven wrong when Tony helps him get better. The ending is very adorable. I'll see if I can read the rest of the series one day. *TW for past abuse and experimentation*

what you think I've done wrong by ironxprince – I don't often read Biodad stories as you all know, but I was, again, looking for inspiration for You keep me searching for a heart of gold, and I stumbled across this one. Basically Peter, as Tony's biological son, finally meets Howard. It goes as well as you think /sarcasm. *TW for physical abuse*

i, in time, will climb my mountain by ironxprince – This one is heavy. Once again, Peter is Tony's bio son, and he's suicidal. Every time Peter attempts suicide, he buys a new plant. Tony doesn't know this, so he's confused as to why there are so many plants in their house. I love this one, but of course, I try to read it when I’m not having a really bad day. *Once again, TW for suicide attempts*

how do you get that lonely (and nobody knows?) by parkrstark – Yeah... another heavy one. Peter attempts suicide but he saves himself before he reaches the ground. With that, he goes to Tony. This ends happily, don't worry. *TW for suicide attempt*

When You Can't Sleep by Emily_F6 – Pretty much Tony comforting a sleepy Peter, who has just had a nightmare about Thanos. Just Hurt/Comfort and domestic fluff. *TW for mention of death*

i get by (but it's eating me alive) by Livinei – Honestly, I think this is the BEST May's Abusive Boyfriend story I've ever read. For one, none of the characters are oblivious nor dismissive of Peter's feelings. May isn't neglectful and Ned actually tries to encourage Peter to tell someone. I also like that Peter isn't completely helpless. I don't usually see those things in other fics with this trope, sadly. And of course, Protective Tony is my weakness. *TW for emotional and physical abuse*

Hold Me Together by An_Odd_Idea – Post-Endgame where Tony is alive, and Peter and Tony are both trying to cope, so they rely on each other. Pure Hurt/Comfort.

A Tremendous Thing by ExpectoPatronum – Possibly one of my favorite Irondad stories EVER. Also post-Endgame with Alive Tony (though the author better explains it in the notes, it's supposed to be part of a series, but this story can be read on its own). There are a lot of references to Charlotte's Web if you're familiar with it. Basically, it's Father's Day and Peter is feeling guilty and out of place at Tony's lake house, even though everyone is readily trying to include him. It's absolutely beautiful and painful.

Hug You I Must by spiderwriting (catch_you_later) – Probably one of the first touch-starved Peter fics I've read. I like how it describes touch-starvation as this "itchy" current in your body, something that makes you anxious. Thankfully, Peter gets his hug later on. Plus there are some Star Wars references (the title probably is one, lol). *There's some minor violence here when Peter is fighting off some bad guys, but not the focus of the fic*

When You're There With No One There To Hold, I'll Be The Arms That Reach For You by Squibbles94 – Another touch-starved Peter fic. But I really like the references to Cast Away. Ironically I saw this movie in the same year the author published this fic (dare I say SHORTLY after it was posted). I also had no idea that Cast Away was entirely about isolation. Gosh, the main character's monologue at the end ALWAYS gets to me... anyway, yeah, the peak of the pandemic was awful to me, so reading fics like this one helped tons. It still does.

I am cold by N/A (orphan account) – Peter tries to visit Tony, but he gets lost in a subway tunnel on a freezing day. Eventually we learn why Peter wanted to see Tony, but overall this is mainly domestic fluff. Everything ends well.

Sorry Pedro by PinkEasterEggs – One of the first Irondad fics I read. Peter has a nightmare about Homecoming (mainly Toomes), but he avoids waking Tony for that reason. But thanks to F.R.I.D.A.Y's protocols, Peter goes to his mentor. Tony is also super soft here and it makes my heart swoon.

you are enough by diaz_evan – Another post-Endgame fic. Arguably I began reading Irondad fics only after Endgame released. Anyway, this one is short, kinda sad but it ends well. It’s Tony’s birthday and Peter feels very anxious about what to get him as a present. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to prove his love for Tony. *TW for panic attack*

Happy Father’s Day, Mr. Stark by downeylove – There are a lot of Father’s Day fics for these two, of course, but this one takes the cake for me. It’s simple but very endearing to me. Tony obviously doesn’t have good memories of this day, but Peter changes that for the first time. It’s really cute. Plus, Pepper is here, and I love her. I wish I could read more of her interacting with Peter. *TW for mentions of alcoholism and past child abuse*

5 Times Peter Didn’t Say He Was Struggling… And The One Time He Did by Bladam_Shevine – Again, an old fic I read years ago. I admit I haven’t re-read it in a while, but I remember enjoying it and even saving it to read offline. It’s basically what it says in the title: Peter struggles in many ways and he initially refuses help. Tony is always there to reassure him he can count on him. Bruce is here if you like him! And MJ helps Peter on one of the chapters as well. The chapters might get heavier as they go, but it ends on a hopeful note. *TW for injury, panic attack, suicide attempt (it doesn’t involve Peter), and depression*

The Good Days and the Bad by SoupGirlLovesSoup - Peter has had a bad day, now he's cuddling with Tony. It takes a while before Peter finally tells him what happened. It gets sad, but it's mostly fluff and it ends hopefully. I love re-reading it when I need the comfort. *TW for mention of suicide attempt, depression, and bullying*

Breathe Again by gwenoakley - Post-Endgame where Tony survives. He's recovering in the hospital and Peter finally reunites with him. Before that, though, we can feel the anxiety and trauma Peter feels. Definitely makes me emotional. It's the ending they deserved.

Well, for now this is it! Again, I might add more fics here. I think I also could make a list of what particular concepts I want to read more in Irondad stories, so maybe you guys could give me your own recs. I might try to resume my habit of reading Irondad fics, because they give me a lot of comfort. Thanks for reading this far! I hope you enjoy any of the stories I included.

(I'm aware some authors here have their accounts on Tumblr, but I didn't want to annoy anyone by tagging them, so yeah 😅)

#lotus speaks #irondad #fics #fic rec #anti starker

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hp-hcs · 6 months

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the rules (Chapter One of The Doll) — slytherin boys x gn! ‘the boy’ (2016)! reader

Requests: open

tws: dolls, obviously; reader referred to as ‘it’ (presumed inanimate); mentions of past child character death(s); mentions of a house fire—implied arson; violence; & murder

based entirely off of the 2016 film ‘the boy’. very few things in this world are able to scare me more than that fucking doll

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“This house is freaking me out, man,” Theodore grumbles, setting down his trunk in one of the guest bedrooms. Mattheo snickers from his spot where he’s leaning against the doorway.

“What, you afraid it’s haunted or something? We went to school with ghosts for eight years, dude.”

“Oh, shut up,” Theodore rolls his eyes. “Not haunted, just… offputting. This feels like the kind of house that has like, secret stairways and trapdoors and shit.”

“The L/Ns didn’t draw their inspiration for their house from H. H. Holmes, dipshit,” Blaise scoffs as he elbows his way past Mattheo to get to his room.

The trio snicker at each other as they all drop their suitcases and trunks in their respective bedrooms and reconvene in the foyer of the massively ancient house.

“I’m just saying,” Theodore was explaining to Blaise as they made their way downstairs. “Nobody chooses to make their house look like a Victorian dollhouse if they aren’t fucking crazy.”

“Guys?” Enzo interrupts timidly. “We have a fucking problem.”

“Oh, I so called it.”

“Shut up, Theo. What’s the issue, Enz?” Mattheo drawls.

Enzo holds up the note that the L/Ns had left them that provided instructions on how they were to take care of and clean the house.

The boys had opted for this choice—staying in and cleaning up some wealthy family’s creepy house over the summer—instead of serving time in Azkaban for their stances in the war.

(It had seemed like the better choice at the time.)

“They’re even more insane than we thought, guys,” Enzo shakes his head. “They got a creepy as fuck doll that they think is their real kid, or something.”

“Yeah no, I’m out,” Theo mumbles, putting his hands up in an ‘I surrender’ pose and taking a step back.

“Fuck you, if we have to do this, you have to too,” Mattheo snaps. “Where’s this doll?”

Enzo points to one of the faded decorative chairs that flank the doorway to the parlor. Sure enough, a terrifying, two-foot tall, porcelain doll sits there, dressed up in an expecting-company outfit with tiny little leather oxfords to match.

“Yep, I agree with Theo. I say we get the fuck outta here,” Blaise mumbles, shaking his head with wide eyes.

“Its name is…” Enzo scans the letter. “Y/N. Oh, wonderful, the L/Ns wrote out its entire daily schedule for us. That was so thoughtful of them.”

Enzo falls silent as he skims the letter further, shaking his head the more he reads. “They’ve got some weird rules, guys,”

“Do I dare ask what they are?” Theo mumbles weakly.

“‘Number one: No guests.’ Well there goes my weekend plans,” he mutters sarcastically. “‘Number two: Never leave Y/N alone.’”

“We’re so getting murdered here,” Blaise grumbles, receiving a sharp glare from Mattheo.

“‘Number three: Save meals in freezer.’”

“Country house. That makes perfect sense,” Mattheo scoffs flippantly, ever the skeptic.

“‘Number four: Never cover Y/N’s face.’ Oh my Merlin, we’re going to die here. ‘Number five: Read a bedtime story.’”

“Honestly, you’re all so dramatic,” Mattheo rolls his eyes. “This is probably just some weird way for them to deal with some trauma they have. Do we know if the L/Ns have any kids? Actual ones?”

“Just one, but they died,” a new voice chimes in. Draco steps into the foyer, folding up his umbrella and shrugging off his soaked overcoat. “Sorry I’m late. Went into town to buy cigarettes, and the guy at the gas station told me all of the gossip surrounding this house. Anyway, why are we asking about the L/Ns’ chil- what the fuck is that?!”

“This is Y/N,” Theodore says plainly. “Come on and make your acquaintance, hm?”

“I’m good, thanks though.”

Enzo clears his throat loudly, getting the two to stop bickering. “‘Number six: Play music loud.’”

“So that we can’t hear them coming when they sneak up on us to kill us,” Blaise bemoans, pressing one hand against his forehead and mumbling under his breath something about how Azkaban wouldn’t have been that bad, would it?

“‘Number seven: Clean the traps.’ Wonderful. ‘Number eight: Only Regulus brings deliveries.’”

“I met him,” Draco interjects again. “At the gas station. He introduced himself. He’s the grocery boy for the L/Ns.”

“Good to know. ‘Number nine: Y/N is never to leave.’”

“We’re fucked,” Theo shrugs, nonplussed.

Enzo gulps. “‘Rule number ten: Kiss goodnight.’”

~~~ Chapter Two <3

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odditycircus-2002 · 8 months

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Medusa!Reader Intro Banter

In my last post, you may have expected to have read some intro dialogue for the banter. Initially, I was gonna put a few characters for the intro, but then as I was thinking of the dialogue in my head, it expanded to more than just a few characters. And why deny me of that sort of fun? That's why the intro dialogue gets its own post! So for context, the reader is a Medusa-like creature, able to turn other beings into stone, and is married to Shang Tsung. If you'd like to read more about them for context, you can go ahead and check out these head cannons below.

TW: Suggestive and mentions of death and gore. If you're a fan of MK, you know what you're getting into.

First

Second

Third

Bonus

Yourself (Mirror Match)

Y/N 1: Am I correct to presume that Shang Tsung made you?

Y/N 2: How do I know that YOU'RE not the construct?

Y/N 1: We and Shang Tsung are going to need talk after this.

Y/N 1: Are you of my past or future?

Y/N 2: I've come to warn you to take out both Quan Chi and Shao Khan.

Y/N 1: Say no more.

Y/N 1: I was unaware you're still alive after all these years, sister.

Y/N 2: From what I've heard, you were the one behind my "illness".

Y/N 1: It was nothing against you. I had to test whether my medicine worked on humans somehow.

Shang Tsung (Your Hubby💕)

Shang: This takes me back...

Y/N teasingly: Why so sentimental?

Shang: We had a similar confrontation before making love under the moonlight.

Shang: Did you mourn for me, my sweet?

Y/N seriously: It took every ounce of my will not to completely spiral into madness when Shao Khan took you away from me.

Shang taken aback: I am... so sorry to have caused such pain.

Shang: Are you so surprised, princess?

Kitana: I find it impossible to believe you found someone like Y/N rather than clone her.

Shang: There's no use in replicating anyone like my wife.

Sonya: Is your wife aware of how much you've been chasing my damn tail?

Shang: She knows I'm having fun before I collect you for her garden.

Sonya: No way in fucking hell, Shang Tsung!

Y/N: I'm not usually the vengeful type of woman, as I find such reasons to be not worthy of my time.

Shao Khan: Is there a point to your insistent prattling, wench?

Y/N angered with all her snakes hissing: You are the exception and more than worthy of my fury.

Mileena

Mileena: You helped Shang Tsung create me?

Y/N fondly: I remember the day you opened your beautiful eyes.

Mileena trepidatious: Do you think the same with the rest of me?

Y/N: We shared the same pain of grief.

Mileena: yet YOUR lover came back, MINE didn't!

Y/N: I could help remedy that... for a price.

Mileena: Do you really believe I'm a fine Khanum?

Y/N: Better than your father, although you could do with a healthy amount of grace during your rule.

Mileena: *gives a growl in irritation* Like my sister?

Sindel

Sindel angrily: Never again will I be your or anyone's puppet.

Y/N: Aw, such a shame; you were and are my favorite puppet.

Sindel: You will be executed for the good of all the realms.

Sindel: Once upon a time, I thought that, like me, you were forced into a marriage by a cruel man.

Y/N: And now, your Highness?

Sindel: Now I know you and Shang Tsung are equals in evil.

Sindel with her voice trembling in rage: You killed Sheeva!

Y/N with a tranquil grin: Technically, you did so with your hands, not me.

Sindel: I will repent for her by wiping that smug grin off you before you can even blink!

Baraka

Y/N: So beautiful and fascinating...

Baraka squints his eyes in suspicion: What is your trick this time, Snake?

Y/N: No trick, just admiring a fine specimen.

Baraka: If you are so "fond" of Mileena and Tarkatans, where were you when Kotal wiped us out?

Y/N: In hiding lest I had the same fate fall upon me.

Baraka: Spineless coward!

Y/N: I would like to observe some of your rituals for research purposes.

Baraka: Only if you can beat me mercilessly in Kombat!

Y/N with a wide grin: It should be no trouble at all, then.

D'Vorah

Y/N: Such a fascinatingly resilient species.

D'Vorah: Appreciating how This One's the epitome of the ultimate species?

Y/N: Indeed. The perfect test subjects for my experiments.

D'Vorah: This One must ask if your snakes are all part of you?

Y/N: My "hair" and I all share one mind if you're dying to know.

D'Vorah: Even so, the Hive outnumbers you by many.

D'Vorah: You say This One reminds you fondly of your youth?

Y/N: I remember coming across insects resembling you while watching them feast upon the deceased fauna, as a little girl.

D'Vorah: Then may it comfort you in your last moments while This One uses you to feed The Hive.

Kollector

Y/N: You have the most beautiful eyes.

Kollector: Flattery or not, these eyes will never be for sale.

Y/N with a wicked grin: I never intended to buy, Kollector.

Kollector: Shao Khan demands your head.

Y/N: I will not give that brainless brute even a single scale from it.

Kollector: The choice is not for you to make, milady.

Y/N: I will not give Shao Khan, not even a single root from my cabinet.

Kollector: I must collect ALL that the Empire requires.

Y/N: Then I'll take four of your arms as compensation.

Kano

Kano: Well, color me gobsmacked, and I thought I had some out there tastes.

Y/N: Shang has far more manners and dignity than you ever will; you waste of air!

Kano: It doesn't make him less of a freak for marrying a literal snake lady.

Y/N: I require your services.

Kano: I don't DO that sort of thing, well, unless I've had enough grog.

Y/N irritated: I meant for you to steal from the Khan's gardens for its rare herbs.

Kano: Oi! I thought you were supposed to take care of your hubby's island.

Y/N: It was too empty for my liking after my love's passing and his followers requested the most potent poisons I had in storage.

Kano: Eh. Thanks to you, its treasures were free for the taking.

Scorpion (Hanzo Hasashi)

Y/N: Once, I was desired and sought after by all the men in my village and beyond for my beauty.

Hanzo: It is only fitting then that your outward appearance reflects your wretchedness.

Y/N: You can thank the Elder Gods for that.

Hanzo: I should have never come to you for your help.

Y/N: We both wanted Quan Chi's head, no matter the price.

Hanzo: The consequences afterward were far worse than I could have ever imagined.

Y/N: You cannot achieve your goal by yourself, and where did that bring you? Right back to me.

Hanzo, desperate: Please, Y/N, my clan has fallen ill with a long-extinct illness that only you can cure.

Y/N: I am sure you already know what sort of boon I will ask of you?

A/N: Don't forget to like this post, share, and repost! 😁😁😁😁😁Stay Weird, my fellow humans.

Playlist while Writing this:

"The Scorpion and the Frog" featuring Marc Senter,Jessica Lowndes, and Terrance Zdunich

"Prick! Goes the Scorpion's Tail" featuring Emilie Autumn

"Babooshka" by Kate Bush

"Zydrate Anatomy" by Terrance Zdunich

"I Can't Decide" by the Scissor Sisters

"Such Horrible Things" by Creature Feature

"Bad Blood" by Creature Feature

"Here There be Witches" by Creature Feature

"Mad Hatter" by Melanie Martinez

"Tag You're It" by Melanie Martinez

"Milk and Cookies" by Melanie Martinez

(for more like this)

Part II

#mortal kombat #Oddball Writes #MK #mk11 #mk x reader #mortal kombat x reader #shang tsung x reader #shang tsung #mortal kombat 11 #Mileena #Sindel #Baraka #D'Vorah #Kollector #Kano #mk scorpion #hanzo hasashi

287 notes · View notes

horeformilfs · 4 months

Text

Grieving

Alcina Dimitrescu x Fem!Reader

TW: Poison, Major Character Death, Suicide, Depression, Isolating

------------------------------------------

The grandeur of Castle Dimitrescu echoed with the rhythmic hum of daily life. Y/N, the head maid in the vast kitchens, moved with precision and grace, orchestrating the culinary symphony that unfolded beneath her watchful eyes. The scent of spices and the clatter of utensils filled the air, creating a facade of normalcy that hid the underlying tension.

Alcina Dimitrescu, the imposing mistress of the castle, wielded her authority with a regal elegance. Her presence, however, cast a shadow over the bustling kitchen. Y/N, though proficient in her duties, felt the weight of Alcina's scrutiny like a looming storm.

One evening, as the kitchen bustled with activity, a misplaced plate triggered an unexpected tempest. Alcina, her patience thin, descended upon the chaotic scene like a thunderous force. "Y/N!" she called out, her voice carrying a dangerous undercurrent that sent a shiver down the spines of the kitchen staff.

Y/N, ever composed, approached Alcina with a respectful bow. "Mistress, how may I assist you?"

Alcina's gaze, stern and unforgiving, locked onto Y/N. "This incompetence in my kitchen is unacceptable. You will be held accountable for this."

The accusation hung heavy in the air, a dark cloud that threatened to engulf Y/N. As Alcina berated her, the weight of each word carved deep wounds in Y/N's pride. The kitchen staff, aware of the brewing storm, exchanged uneasy glances.

The tirade continued, Alcina's words a relentless assault on Y/N's competence and dedication. The head maid, struggling to maintain her composure, bit back the tears that threatened to spill. She had prided herself on her abilities, but under Alcina's disapproving gaze, her confidence crumbled like a fragile facade.

Finally, as Alcina dismissed her with a wave of her hand, Y/N retreated from the kitchen, her steps heavy with the burden of failure. Alone in her quarters, the walls seemed to close in, suffocating her with a sense of inadequacy that cut deeper than any physical wound.

Days turned into a monotonous blur, each moment tainted by the lingering echoes of that fateful evening. Y/N, once the beacon of efficiency, withdrew into a shell of self-doubt. The kitchen, once her domain, became a haunting reminder of her perceived failure.

Alcina, unaware of the internal turmoil she had unleashed, moved about the castle with the same regal grace. The chasm between mistress and maid, however, widened with each passing day, leaving a void that seemed insurmountable.

In the grandeur of Castle Dimitrescu, where secrets whispered in the shadows, Y/N navigated the labyrinth of emotions stirred by an unintended rift between a mistress and her head maid. The echoes of that anguished night lingered, casting a melancholic pallor over the once vibrant corridors of their tangled existence.

Days turned into weeks, and the once bustling kitchen became a silent witness to Y/N's internal struggle. The routine tasks that once brought her joy now felt like burdens, each moment fraught with the fear of further disappointment. Alcina's presence, though commanding, seemed to cast a long shadow that eclipsed the warmth that once permeated the castle.

One evening, as Y/N moved mechanically through the kitchen, her mind wandered to the fateful night of reprimand. The words, like cruel echoes, replayed in her mind, a haunting refrain that fueled her self-doubt. A sudden clatter echoed through the kitchen, drawing Y/N back to the present. Her hands trembled as she struggled to regain control.

Alcina, appearing at the scene like an unexpected storm, fixed her sharp gaze on Y/N. "Another mistake, I presume?" The words, laced with sarcasm, cut through the air like a bitter wind.

Y/N, unable to meet Alcina's gaze, nodded silently. The mistress's expression darkened, disappointment etched in the lines of her regal features. "You are becoming a liability, Y/N," she declared, her voice a cold decree that reverberated through the kitchen.

The weight of those words bore down on Y/N's shoulders, the burden almost too much to bear. In that moment, the kitchen became a prison, and Alcina's words were the chains that bound her to a perceived failure.

As the days wore on, the rift between mistress and maid deepened. Alcina, though unaware of the turmoil she had caused, continued to wield her authority with an unyielding hand. Y/N, trapped in the cycle of self-recrimination, withdrew further into her own thoughts.

One night, as Y/N navigated the castle's dimly lit corridors, a chance encounter with Alcina brought their strained dynamic to the forefront. "Mistress, I..." Y/N began, the words catching in her throat.

Alcina, a formidable figure in the moonlit corridor, turned her gaze upon Y/N. "Save your excuses. I have little patience left for incompetence," she declared, her tone cutting through the air.

Y/N, her eyes betraying the pain she harbored, tried to speak again, but Alcina, without a second glance, continued down the corridor, leaving Y/N standing alone in the suffocating silence.

The castle, once a haven, now echoed with the hollowness of fractured connections. In the dance between mistress and maid, the music had soured, leaving behind a dissonant melody that reverberated through the haunted halls of Castle Dimitrescu.

As the days wore on, the weight of perceived failure bore down on Y/N, wrapping her in a suffocating shroud of darkness. The castle's once vibrant energy felt like a distant memory, replaced by the oppressive silence that accompanied Y/N's descent into the depths of her own despair.

Y/N's duties in the kitchen became mechanical, her once meticulous work marred by the fog that clouded her thoughts. The vibrancy that defined her spirit flickered like a dying ember, leaving behind a mere shell of the head maid she used to be.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, the maids who once worked alongside her in harmony began to notice the change. Hushed whispers echoed through the servant corridors, where gossip became a bitter companion to the pervasive atmosphere of discontent. The maids, ignorant of the internal battles Y/N fought, speculated on the cause of her apparent downfall.

"She's not the same anymore," one maid whispered to another, their voices laced with judgment.

"Probably can't handle the pressure. It's not easy being the head maid in this castle," another responded, her tone carrying a cruel edge.

The words, like venomous arrows, found their way to Y/N's ears, further intensifying the isolation that had become her constant companion. Unaware of the extent of Y/N's struggles, the maids allowed gossip to weave a narrative that cast her as a weak link in the intricate web of Castle Dimitrescu.

One day, as the maids gathered in a secluded corner to share their speculative musings, Alcina, a towering figure in the doorway, overheard their conversation. The cold intensity of her gaze bore into the group, and the maids, realizing they were no longer alone, fell into an uneasy silence.

"What is the meaning of this?" Alcina demanded, her voice a stern command that cut through the awkward stillness.

The maids, caught off guard, exchanged nervous glances. "We were just talking, Mistress. Just... sharing observations," one of them stammered.

Alcina's gaze, sharp and unyielding, settled on each maid in turn. "Observations? Enlighten me."

The maids, hesitating, reluctantly shared their opinions on Y/N's perceived decline. The words, fueled by speculation and ignorance, painted a bleak picture of the head maid's capabilities.

Alcina's features hardened as she listened, her disappointment palpable. "You presume to judge her without understanding the true weight of her burden," she asserted, her voice carrying a gravity that demanded respect.

The maids, now realizing the gravity of their words, exchanged uneasy glances. Alcina continued, her gaze piercing through their uncertainty. "Y/N may be facing challenges you cannot comprehend. Before you pass judgment, consider the consequences of your words. Now, return to your duties, and remember the importance of loyalty among those who serve in this castle."

With those words, Alcina left the maids to contemplate the repercussions of their gossip. The castle, already steeped in shadows, became an even more somber backdrop for the internal struggles that unfolded within its walls.

The atmosphere in Castle Dimitrescu had grown increasingly tense, mirroring the inner turmoil that festered within its walls. Another few weeks passed, and the weight of secrets and unspoken grievances bore down on Y/N and Lady Dimitrescu alike.

Alcina, returning from a meeting with Mother Miranda, was seething with a barely contained rage. The maids scurried out of her path, recognizing the storm that had descended upon their mistress. Y/N, with a sense of trepidation, prepared to serve dinner to Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters.

As the meal was presented, Alcina's simmering anger reached its boiling point. A minor mishap, a dish slightly out of place, triggered an unexpected outburst. "Is it too much to ask for competence in this castle?" Alcina's voice, a thunderous roar, reverberated through the dining room.

Y/N, caught in the crossfire, struggled to maintain her composure. "Mistress, I apologize. It won't happen again," she stammered, her eyes downcast.

But Alcina, in the grip of her own frustration, lashed out without mercy. "Incompetence breeds incompetence. You're a blight in my castle, Y/N. I should have replaced you long ago."

The words, like a blade, sliced through Y/N's defenses. She felt the familiar weight of failure settling upon her shoulders, threatening to crush the last remnants of her resolve. Blinking back tears, Y/N excused herself, retreating from the dining room with a heavy heart.

In the solitude of her quarters, Y/N, with trembling hands, penned a letter to Lady Dimitrescu—a letter that revealed the depths of her despair and the toll Alcina's words had taken on her fragile soul.

Lady Dimitrescu,

I write to you with a heavy heart, burdened by the weight of my perceived failures. The shadows that linger within this castle have grown too dark for me to bear. Your disappointment, Mistress, is a wound that cuts deep. I cannot endure it any longer.

I beg for your forgiveness, though I know it will never be enough to repair the damage I have done. My time in this castle has come to an end, and I release you from the burden of my incompetence. I am truly sorry.

Yours faithfully,

Y/N

As Y/N sealed the letter, the specter of desperation loomed. With a vial of poison in hand, she took a deep breath, the room spinning as she drank its contents. The darkness closed in, and Y/N, overcome by dizziness, succumbed to unconsciousness.

Meanwhile, in the dining room, Bela, the eldest of Lady Dimitrescu's daughters, witnessed the exchange between her mother and Y/N. Concern etched her features, and once Y/N left, Bela spoke up.

"Mother, you shouldn't have lashed out at Y/N like that. She's been through enough," Bela asserted, her voice carrying a rare defiance.

Lady Dimitrescu, momentarily taken aback, considered Bela's words. The realization of her own harshness settled in, and a flicker of regret crossed her eyes. Bela, determined to bridge the growing divide, continued, "You should go apologize to her. She's loyal and doesn't deserve such treatment."

In the corridors of Castle Dimitrescu, a delicate dance of regret and despair unfolded, leaving behind a trail of consequences that would echo through the haunted halls of their existence.

Lady Dimitrescu, her heart heavy with regret, hurried through the corridors of Castle Dimitrescu, guided by the weight of Bela's words. As she approached Y/N's room, a foreboding sense of urgency gripped her. The door, when opened, revealed a scene that froze the blood in her veins.

Y/N lay unconscious on the bed, the pallor of her skin accentuating the haunting stillness of her form. Lady Dimitrescu, a tremor in her hands, tried to wake her. "Y/N, wake up," she implored, her voice a desperate plea.

Beside Y/N, Lady Dimitrescu noticed a folded piece of paper. As she unfolded it, the words of Y/N's farewell letter became a painful reality. The weight of her own actions, the harshness of her words, pressed upon Lady Dimitrescu with an unbearable force. Tears welled in her eyes as she read the despairing words that echoed Y/N's internal struggle.

In a frantic search for answers, Lady Dimitrescu discovered the vial of poison. Panic gripped her, and without a moment's hesitation, she called for her daughters. "Bela! Cassandra! Daniela!"

The three daughters rushed into the room, their expressions shifting from concern to shock as they took in the scene. "What happened, Mother?" Bela asked, her voice filled with worry.

Lady Dimitrescu, her voice strained, directed their attention to Y/N's lifeless form. "Call Mother Miranda. Tell her we need her assistance immediately."

As her daughters hurried to carry out her orders, Lady Dimitrescu remained at Y/N's side, a complex mix of emotions swirling within her. Guilt, regret, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders. In the stillness of Y/N's room, the consequences of actions unfolded, painting a stark portrait of the fragility that existed within the walls of the castle.

Mother Miranda arrived swiftly, her ethereal presence commanding the room as her daughters anxiously stepped aside. Lady Dimitrescu, her eyes filled with a mix of desperation and guilt, approached Mother Miranda with a trembling urgency.

"Mother Miranda, we need your help," Lady Dimitrescu implored, her voice cracking with emotion. "Y/N... she's taken something. We found her unconscious with this vial." Lady Dimitrescu extended the vial toward Miranda, the contents a mysterious shadow that now threatened Y/N's very existence.

Miranda, her gaze steady, took the vial from Lady Dimitrescu's hand and inspected it closely. The label revealed a dark truth that cast a chilling pallor over the room. Miranda's eyes widened in recognition, and a grave realization settled upon her features.

"What is it, Mother Miranda? Can you save her?" Lady Dimitrescu's voice betrayed a desperation that mirrored the gravity of the situation.

Miranda, after a moment of solemn contemplation, met Alcina's gaze. "This is a poison with no known antidote," she revealed, the weight of those words hanging heavy in the air.

Lady Dimitrescu, her composure slipping, sought clarification. "No antidote? But there must be something you can do. She can't—" Her words caught in her throat, choked by the fear of an impending loss.

Miranda, her expression a mask of somber understanding, nodded. "I will do what I can, but understand, Alcina, the situation is dire. The nature of this poison is beyond our conventional means of healing."

As Miranda began her examination of Y/N's unconscious form, Lady Dimitrescu, her heart heavy with guilt, watched with bated breath. The corridors of Castle Dimitrescu, once cloaked in mystery, now echoed with the urgency of a life hanging in the balance. In the face of a poison with no known cure, the very foundation of their existence trembled, leaving the fates of Y/N and those entwined in her story hanging by the thinnest of threads.

As Mother Miranda worked tirelessly to counteract the effects of the insidious poison, Alcina, her daughters, and the weight of the castle's somber atmosphere lingered outside Y/N's room. The passing hours were marked by a haunting silence, each tick of the clock echoing the collective anxiety that gripped their hearts.

After what felt like an eternity, the door finally creaked open, revealing Mother Miranda with a somber expression. Alcina, her eyes desperate for reassurance, stepped forward. "Is she alright? Is Y/N going to be okay?" Alcina's voice wavered, the vulnerability beneath her regal exterior laid bare.

Miranda, her gaze heavy with the weight of the truth, met Alcina's eyes. "I did everything I could," she began, her words weighed down by the solemn reality that awaited them. "But the poison was too strong. I'm sorry, Alcina."

The news struck Alcina like a blow, leaving her momentarily speechless. Daniela, overcome by grief, began to cry, and Bela, though grateful for Miranda's efforts, guided her towards the door with a silent nod of acknowledgment.

Alcina, left standing in the corridor, felt a profound emptiness settle within her. The walls of Castle Dimitrescu, once a fortress of strength, now seemed to close in on her, trapping her in a reality she couldn't comprehend.

Without uttering a word, Alcina entered Y/N's room. The air within was heavy with sorrow, and the sight of Y/N, now pallid and still, struck Alcina to the core. She approached the bedside, her hand trembling as she gently brushed Y/N's cheek.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Alcina whispered, her voice choked with regret. "I never meant for this to happen. I failed you, and I can never forgive myself."

The room, once a sanctuary, now bore witness to a silent lamentation. In the quiet depths of grief, Alcina, a towering figure reduced to a shattered soul, grappled with the irrevocable consequences of a tragedy that had unfolded within the walls of Castle Dimitrescu.

The air in the cemetery hung heavy with the weight of grief as Alcina made her way to the final resting place of Y/N. The sky, once a canvas of endless possibilities, now seemed to mirror the somber hues that colored the landscape beneath.

Beneath the sweeping branches of a willow tree, Alcina found Y/N's resting place. The gravestone, a stark reminder of a life extinguished too soon, bore Y/N's name like an epitaph etched in stone. Alcina, despite the regality she exuded, knelt before the marker with a profound sense of loss.

"I never thought I would lose you like this," Alcina whispered, her voice carrying the echoes of a grief too deep to articulate. The wind rustled through the willow's leaves, as if nature itself mourned the tragedy that had befallen Y/N.

Alcina traced the engraved letters of Y/N's name, her fingers trembling with the weight of remorse. Tears welled in her eyes, and with each droplet that fell, the chasm of emptiness within her seemed to deepen.

"I miss your presence in the castle. The corridors feel hollow without you, and the silence is a haunting reminder of the laughter we shared," Alcina confessed, her words breaking with the rawness of unfiltered sorrow.

She spoke of the day-to-day occurrences, the mundane details that now held a profound significance. The memory of Y/N's laughter, the way she meticulously managed the chaos of the castle, and the simple moments they had shared together became fragments of a past forever lost.

Alcina, overcome by the weight of her emotions, bowed her head in silent lamentation. "I failed you, Y/N. My words, my actions—they led us here. If only I could turn back time, if only I could undo the pain I caused."

The willow tree, its branches cascading like a cascade of tears, seemed to offer a sympathetic embrace as Alcina wept for a future that would never be. The echoes of her sorrow mingled with the rustle of leaves, creating a mournful symphony that transcended the boundaries of the living and the departed.

In that quiet corner of the cemetery, beneath the willow's weeping boughs, Alcina grieved for a love lost, for a soul departed, and for the irreparable wounds that marked the legacy of Castle Dimitrescu.

#lady dimitrescu #alcina x reader #alcina dimitrescu #lady alcina #re8 alcina #resident evil alcina #mother miranda #resident evil village

116 notes · View notes

panda-writes-kpop · 6 months

Text

bloodsucker, famefucker

A/N: Happy early Halloween, folks! For those who are unaware, I post a light-hearted, sweet fluffy fic and then something more on the horror, gore side of things. This fic is my horror one, so I'd skip this if you're more of a fluff person! I hope the haunted season has gone well for you, and I look forward to bringing more Halloween joy next week. :)

TW: Vampires, horror-esque descriptions, blood, violence against Reader/SuA, home invasion, biting, major character death, mentions of cheating and being a bad partner, OOC SuA, friendship break-ups, the best kind of angst, magic but I bend it to the plot's will, partying, alcohol mentions (everyone mentioned is old enough to partake)

Acknowledgments: Inspired by Vampire (Olivia Rodrigo) and Control (Halsey), and the lovely @sanccharine mishaps gone right series. 🫶 ty for reading this fic ahead of time, and I apologize for any future transgressions in relation to a sequel. ;)

Word Count: 5.2K

( <- Previous Part | Next Part -> | Series Masterlist)

Summary: You're stuck in a rut a few months after your break-up with Bora, but a friendly date helps you feel ready to jump back into dating. Your ex, however, decides that she has to stick her fangs into you one last time to show who's really over who.

♡ Masterlist ♡

“Vampires suck.”

“Yeah, well, no shit,” Yoohyeon sighs before throwing her flashcards against the table, “how am I supposed to pass this exam with basic information like that?”

You sit across from the table in a private study booth on the second floor of the campus library. Yoohyeon, your best friend since high school, is studying for her first Vampiric History exam as you are trying, and horribly failing, to focus on your homework for Applied Mathematics For Sorcery.

Your focus falls back to the screen as your phone displays a bright collection of images from someone you followed. Her smile is bright and immortal, given the sharp front teeth that are proudly bared, but that’s not what you’re focused on.

The fourth picture, since you had dared to scroll that far, was the same vampire locking lips with another vampire from a different coven.

The problem was that you had forgotten to block all of your ex-girlfriend’s friends on all social media, and you were currently staring at a picture of SuA kissing someone else two months after you broke up.

You carelessly toss your phone on the table, forgetting to lock the screen, as Yoohyeon curiously eyes your phone.

“Don’t tell me you’re-“

“-She cheated on me, Yooh. How am I supposed to forgive her?”

“You didn’t, and you walked away from her,” She digs in her backpack, presumably for a snack, “as you should have.”

“Is it okay to not be over her?”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up,” Yoohyeon tosses a granola bar across the table for you before opening hers, “it’s her loss. You’re the coolest person I know.”

A light smile rests on her face - Yoohyeon always knew how to make you feel better.

“Thanks, Yooh,” You say as you grab the granola bar on the table, “do you have any clue how to solve geometry in relation to spell casting?”

“No, so we’re going to go ask Dami for help.”

You shrug before closing your computer and beginning to pack your stuff up.

“Works for me.”

“Dami-ah!” Yoohyeon pounds on the dormitory door as you pull your backpack over your shoulder.

Your mind wanders back to the photos you saw earlier as Minji, SuA, and Siyeon partied together as if you all weren’t close a few months ago.

As if it wasn’t your fault that your friend group was split in two.

“Dami, answer the damn door before Yoohyeon breaks it down!” Handong calls from the inside as Yoohyeon continues to rap her knuckles against the door.

“I got it!” Gahyeon yells before the door opens. “You guys could have called-“

“I know, but we wanted to surprise you-“

“-You need help with your homework?”

“We do.” You mumble in defeat as Gahyeon gives you a quick hug.

“It’s good to see you, y’know?” She rubs your shoulder before giving you a reassuring look. “You’re more than welcome here at any time, okay?”

“Thank, Gahyeon,” You pause as you let out a deep breath, “I needed a distraction.”

“You saw Bora’s post, didn’t you?” Gahyeon rolls her eyes before closing the door behind you and

Yoohyeon. “We should throw a party, or like a mixer! It would be so much better than what she did.”

“As long as it’s not in this dorm room, I’m down with the idea.” Handong adds in as she is perched on the top bunk of the bunk bed.

Gahyeon crashes on the bunk below Handong as Yoohyeon hops on the bed on the other side of the room.

“Dongie, have you started studying for that exam yet?” Yoohyeon asks as she pulls out her notecards.

“A bit. Do you want to study together?”

“Please help me.” Yoohyeon sets her backpack on the bed as you set your stuff on the bed next to hers.

Your eyes turn to the desk next to the bunk bed where Dami is studying for one of her more advanced classes.

“Do you need help with math?” She asks while doing a computation on her phone.

“I could use help for Applied Mathematics in Sorcery from my favorite sorceress.” You teasingly say as you grab some materials from your backpack.

Dami raises one hand up, and without breaking attention from her studies, she pulls another chair up to the desk.

“Thanks for that,” You set down your notebook, pencil, and computer, “and I apologize in advance because you’re going to need to re-explain this entire chapter to me.”

“Why does everything you say make more sense than whatever the professor was going on in class?” You sigh in relief as you submit a perfect homework assignment online.

“You’re welcome. I’m happy to help with anything.” Dami takes care to emphasize the last word as your phone buzzes.

“I’m sorry,” You pause for a moment to grab your phone from the table, “let me look at this before we change subjects.”

You open up the notification that takes you straight to your text messages.

Unknown Number: Jagi, I’m sorry that I hurt you so much.

Babe, why won’t you answer my texts? I know you blocked me but I missed up.

*Messed ypu.

Fuck, I just miss you, and I’m not sorry about it.

“Who is it?” Yoohyeon peeks over the top of the bunk bed as you toss your phone to her.

Dongie manages to catch it before Yoohyeon’s face does, and they gasp in sync with one another.

“She did not-“

“Oh, she did,” Yoohyeon looks at the alarm clock with a chuckle, “and she’s already drunk before nine o’clock.”

A hand on your right arm pulls you back to Dami, who looks at you with confusion and concern mixed together in her gaze.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m just tired of the constant reminders that I wasn’t enough for her. It makes me wonder if I’ll ever truly be over her, or if I’m just going to miss her for the rest of my life.” You quietly admit as Gahyeon snatches your phone out of Dongie’s grasp.

“What are you-“

“-That’s it! I’ve had enough of them,” Gahyeon spits out before grabbing her phone, “and we’re going to do something about it. Everyone, clear your schedules on October 30th. We’re throwing the best party that this campus has ever seen!”

Gahyeon hands you back your phone, and you quickly shove it in your pocket as she starts typing on her phone.

“This is great and all, Gahyeon,” Handong climbs down the bunkbed to grab something from the mini fridge, “but I’m only okay with this plan if they are.”

Dongie’s eyes meet yours as she quickly places a reassuring hand on your shoulder before bending to grab a drink from the mini fridge next to you.

“I think it’ll be fun, especially with Gahyeon planning it.” You gently move Handong’s hand from your shoulder as you nod at Gahyeon. “Just let me know what I need to bring, okay?”

Gahyeon cheerfully pumps her free hand in the air as the other girls laugh at her antics.

“Okay, Yooh and Dongie, since you’ve got the most experience with party planning, I’ll need you to-“

Your eyes go back to Dami, who wistfully stares at the girls in front of her.

“You don’t have to go, y’know?” You take her hand on your arm and interlace your fingers with hers as you set your hands on the table, “I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable just for my sake.”

“I don’t mind, I promise. I just don’t like going to parties that-“ She pauses until you nod at her for permission, “Bora and Siyeon used to drag me to.”

“If Gahyeon gets too out of hand, Dongie will reel her back in. I want this to be something fun for all of us, a moment to stop worrying about school for a night.”

“Are you sure that school is all that’s on your mind?” Her eyes dare to read within your mind, and despite the turbulence within your heart, you find yourself at peace when discussing such matters with Dami.

“I don’t know if I miss SuA anymore, or if I just miss having someone to tell every silly little thing to.” You confess.

“You know I’m always available to talk to you, no matter the hour or day, right?” She asks as you nod, “As for the other matter, why not put yourself out there again? Just go on a less formal date, something low-commitment, to see if you want to go back into the realm of dating.”

There’s a spark of expectation and hopefulness in her as her eyes linger on your intertwined hands for a moment, but her gaze quickly returns back to you as you open your mouth.

I wonder what that was about…

“For someone who doesn’t do a lot of dating, you have awfully good dating advice,” You tease as a small blush crosses her face, “and that’s not a bad idea. I think it would be good to put myself out there again, just

as a test.”

Dates were something of a new area for you, as most of your dates with SuA included staying home and studying or going out with friends and partying. You were also around a group, so you had the comfort of a friend to look at for.

Here, in the coffee shop, it was just you, the coffee cup you were holding on to for dear life, and a cute elven girl named Chou Tzuyu.

“How are you finding your studies?” She asks before tucking a small piece of hair behind her ear.

You were, to say the least, mesmerized by her beauty, so you cough and shyly look away when you notice that she is speaking to you.

“They’re going well, but having an individualized major instead of a set path of study can be stressful at times.” You admit as you recall your struggles with math earlier in the week. “Math has been a struggle for me, but I have a friend who is bright like you.”

“I’m not the only one you get answers from?” She raises an eyebrow at you as you scoff.

“I can do the homework for my humanity-focused classes, but these sorcery classes are kicking my ass.”

You roll your eyes as you think of the pile of math homework awaiting you. “I’m thankful for your help with the history classes, you are a lifesaver.”

“You’re helping me practice teaching when I go for advanced studies at the university, so I am thankful for you as well.”

You take a small sip from your cup as your thoughts wander again.

This is going okay, and she’s really pretty, but I’m not feeling anything special like I did with-

“Why did you ask me on a date?” Tzuyu directly asks as your heart sinks in your chest.

Oh no, she’s going to think this is a rebound and I’m going to lose another friend after everything-

“You don’t have to tell me, though,” She gently grabs your hand before you squeeze your coffee cup past its

breaking point, “but I think there’s someone else you’d rather be here with, no?”

“Huh?” Your eyebrows jump to the top of your forehead as an amused smile dances across her features.

“Oh, you didn’t know that she…” Tzuyu trails off before shaking her head. “It’s not my business, though. You’ve got a great group of friends behind you.”

“Does that still include you?”

“Of course, who else will help you with your history classes?”

You smile before taking another sip from your coffee cup.

Maybe this ‘date’ wasn’t a total failure.

You slip through the large crowd of people who have collected in the living room of Gahyeon’s friend’s house. She was out of town for a couple of weeks, right around Halloween, so Gahyeon got permission to do so. The only caveat was that the five of you had to clean up and stay the night to make sure the house was taken care of, but Gahyeon roped everyone into it without much worry.

Without a red solo cup in your hand, you do stand out, but Gahyeon committed to having a dry party that could still be fun without excessive drinking. You had to hand it to her - the set up of the party and the house allowed for all sorts of activities for all sorts of people.

You were in charge of food, so after grabbing another food tray for the spare bedroom, you were trying to make it through the crowd in one piece. While batting stray hands and partiers away, you offer a quick wave to Tzuyu, who stands in the corner by herself.

She joins your side once you break from the crowd, and you make a sharp left as she follows your pace.

“The party’s great.” She says as you knock on the bedroom door.

“You should be thanking Gahyeon. This is all her idea, I just showed up with a few food trays.” You push any praise to Gahyeon, who opens the door with a large smile.

“Thank you!” She snatches the tray from your hands as Tzuyu leans on the doorframe. “You both are welcome to come in - we’ve got plenty of board games to spare!”

“I thought you would’ve been out with the music and partiers, Gahyeon.” You step inside the room before looking back at Tzuyu. “You want in?”

“I think I’ll head back to the living room. Dahyun said she’s challenging someone to a dance-off, and I have money riding on her winning it, so I need to make sure my investment was worth it.”

You laugh to yourself before waving her off.

“Have fun with that, Tzuyu.”

She nods before disappearing back into the hallway.

You turn to look at Gahyeon, who admires you with wide eyes.

“So…?”

“There’s nothing between us, I promise,” You grab a piece of cheese from the tray and toss it in your mouth,

“but it was nice to try to go on a date. I’ve been missing that sort of connection in my life.”

“That’s good-“

“Ah, Yoohyeon, the point of the game is to avoid my property-“ Dongie teases Yoohyeon from the left side of the bed as Yoohyeon folds her arms and huffs.

“Yah, you’re so mean to me!”

“Pay up,” Handong holds out her hand for money, and Yoohyeon reluctantly places the cash in her hand, “now, was that so hard?”

“I don’t like this game,” Yooh pouts before her eyes land on you, “c’mon, we should play a new game so all of us can play together.”

“The five of us can play Monopoly-“ Dami chimes in as Gahyeon sets the tray down on the nightstand.

“-Let’s just play Mario Kart before Yoohyeon owes Handong real money.” You settle the argument by turning

on the Switch as Yoohyeon cheers.

“See, I knew you’d have my back!”

Gahyeon and Handong are perched on the bed as you and Yoohyeon sit against the front of the bed. Dami moved her chair closer to the TV so the five of you can play together.

Most of the freeloading partiers have gone home, so there’s no need for the five of you to take shifts to manage the crowd. The only people left are friends of friends who are raiding the last of the snacks and drinks before heading out of the door.

“That was a really successful party, Gahyeon,” You say as the winning animation plays on the screen, “and it looks like everyone who came had a great time.”

Gahyeon smiles brightly before excitedly pulling out her phone.

“I bet the whole party is all over everyone’s socials,” She taps her screen a few times before her eyes widen, “oh shit!”

Your head snaps back, along with Yoohyeon’s, at her exclamation.

Dongie leans over to look at Gahyeon’s phone, and she has a remorseful look on her face.

“Minji was here.”

“Minji was here?” You and Dami say at the same time as Yoohyeon immediately stands up.

“I’m going to go out and chase everyone else off… just in case we have any lurkers.” Malice slips into the last word she speaks as Yoohyeon quickly exits the room.

You want to offer to help, but you don’t think you can face her after everything that has happened with Bora.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Dami slides off her chair before sitting next to you, “we chose to stand by you when everything happened.”

“You all were friends long before Bora and I got together, and I-“ You pause as tears threaten to fall from your face, “I ruined everything.”

“You ruined nothing,” Dongie reaches towards you and rubs your back for a moment before looking at the phone again, “but I learned that some of my friends weren’t who I thought they were.”

“If I had known…” Gahyeon wistfully says before putting her phone aside, “If I had known that SuA had cheated on you, I would’ve told you right away. The worst part about everything wasn’t hearing it from you - no, we heard it directly from her, and she was proud of what she did.”

Gahyeon sniffles before the waterworks come out, and you find yourself wiping away tears as Handong wraps an arm around her.

“It’s not your fault,” Dami repeats as you lay your head on her shoulder, “I would choose you a thousand times over. I think about how everything played out, sometimes, when I go to sleep, but I don’t regret anything. I met one of the best people in my life after everything that happened, and I couldn’t be more thankful.”

“Minji and Siyeon chose their sides, as we chose ours,” Handong reassures you while holding on to Gahyeon, “and I don’t miss the drama, the fights, and the black-out parties.”

You laugh as you wipe away more tears.

“Those parties were awful,” You reminisce as a memory comes to mind, “I remember having to nearly carry SuA home because she was drunk past the point of walking straight.”

“Forget walking - Siyeon tried to kiss me!” Handong exclaims as you laugh alongside her.

“I do miss them, sometimes,” You softly admit while playing with your shirt sleeve, “and I wonder if things had played out differently, if we’d still be friends.”

“I think those ‘what-ifs’ are better left alone, at least for tonight,” Dami gently wraps her arm around your shoulder as you lean into her body more, “we’ve got plenty of work ahead of us.”

“Babe, c’mon! Pictures are fun.” SuA tugged on your sleeve as you fixed your hair in the reflection of your phone screen.

“I don’t look my best, and you always look so much better than I do.” You pull your sleeve away from her before putting your phone away.

“At least you can see what you look like!” SuA yells before stomping off to go meet with the campus photographer.

Confusion mixed with anxiety makes an unholy cocktail, one that’s worse than whatever is in the red solo cup in your hand. You toss the drink to the side of the yard before throwing the cup away as the thought of SuA’s recent uptick in outbursts gnaws at your mind.

Was it you? Did you say something wrong? Your hair and outfit really was a mess from dancing at a crowded party, and you weren’t in the mood to get photographed. Was that such a grievance in your mind?

You probably struck a bad nerve by looking at your phone, considering her lack of reflection, so it would be best if you apologized so you could move on. You wonder how many more times she’ll run off before you stop chasing her.

You shake off the thought, she’s probably just stressed from midterm exams. You push through the crowd of people in the backyard as you head inside the frat house. Before you lost sight of her, she had been heading to the living room to see the photographer that wanted to take a picture of “the happy couple”.

Only if they knew.

You break through the crowd once you’re inside, and a quick glance to the left tells you that you’re not getting through the line of people waiting to use the restroom. You turn to the right, and are met with a frightening display in the living room.

Your girlfriend, the girl you adored from the moment you met her, had her hands and lips all over someone else.

Part of your heart, part of your innocence, and part of your joy shriveled up and died in that moment, but not just because of SuA.

It was watching two of your older friends, the two people you trusted most, watch the scene in front of them unfold as if nothing was wrong. You didn’t scream or cry, not right away. You simply turned back around, pushed through the crowd of people with more force than before, and got a ride home.

A simple text saying “We’re done” and a few blocked phone numbers and social media accounts were enough justice for you, but the world is a karmic bitch who likes to have the last laugh. Before you blocked SuA, she had posted a video of the scene you had just witnessed, with one simple caption:

“For you, my dear.”

In a sweat, you pull the blanket off of you and sit up on the air mattress. Gahyeon sleeps peacefully to your left (the girls played rock-paper-scissors for the spot and she won), and Yoohyeon and Handong are fighting over the covers on the bed in their sleep.

After rubbing your eyes and grabbing your phone, you glance over to the cot where Dami was sleeping, only to notice that she was no longer there.

Weird.

Turning on your phone, you blind yourself with the power of a thousand suns before looking at the time.

2:33 a.m., and I went to bed at 1:00 a.m. It’s going to be a long night.

Nightmares came and gone, but they were always supposed to be based in fantasy or fear, not reality.

Having the same scenario play out, over and over again, as if you can change anything that had happened, was maddening.

You would usually call one of your friends when you felt like this, but they were all sleeping peacefully, so you decided to look for the other person who would be awake at this hour. Dami was one of the first asleep most nights, so your calls and texts would go unanswered, but she was always the first to text or call you back if she missed your call.

She had always been a pillar of calm confidence, of self-assured belief in oneself, and you question what had brought you two together during orientation to the university. Perhaps you looked like a duckling who had lost sight of its mother, or perhaps she was just as lost as you. Either way, you had found one another and had been inseparable since.

Dami had been the one to introduce you to her friends, and you had gotten along especially well with SuA. Push comes to shove, one night’s confession turns to love, and the two of you were dating. If you were to be technical, everything that had happened so far was Dami’s fault, in a way.

Guilt buries itself in your consciousness as you shift blame from Dami to yourself. It wasn’t her fault that SuA had acted in such a way. The two of you were fundamentally different people - she liked parties and darkness and temporary pleasure, and you liked quiet afternoons and board game nights with friends and working towards a goal greater than yourself. What had drawn you to each other was tearing your relationship apart - you had nothing in common, but yet again, you had nothing in common.

You’re careful to not blind yourself as you check the time on your phone.

2:34 a.m.

You get out of bed, as quietly as possible, before gently opening the bedroom door. You notice that a light

has been left on towards the direction of the kitchen, so you head that way.

A creak in the floorboards underneath you causes you to pause, as if you’re some sort of horror protagonist. You can imagine how they’d jump and scream, but you were simply worried about waking your friends… right?

You walk much slower as the kitchen starts to come into view. A figure stands by the kitchen island while wringing off their hands with a towel.

“Dami?”

Their head snaps in your direction, and you sigh before slipping your phone in your pocket.

“I’m happy to see you because I can’t seem t-“

When you go into the kitchen, their face is revealed in the light, and a scream threatens to break from your lips.

A disheveled SuA stands in front of you, and she’s covered head-to-toe in blood splatters. When she smiles at you, blood leaks from her lips and drips onto the tile flooring.

As your mouth opens, SuA makes a quick maneuver towards you and pins you to the nearest wall.

“You know,” She gasps for air as she eyes your neck, “we could’ve done this the easy way while you were sleeping.”

“Fuck y-“

Her hand covers your mouth as she bares her teeth and plunges them into your neck. You scream into her mouth, but her strength is no match for yours. You’re sure a dagger in the neck would be more comfortable as she carelessly drinks from you.

You had imagined your death before, but it was nothing like this. You had to fight back, one way or another.

As your vision starts to soften due to blood loss, you scan your surroundings for something to help you. On a table within your grasp, you notice that a wooden spoon used for punch had been haphazardly left there without being cleaned up.

I hope no one can tell the difference between two red liquids…

You manage to grab the spoon before the strength in your body starts to give out. Color and brightness and darkness and nothingness swirl in your vision as you attempt to plunge the dagger into her heart.

The coldness of the floor meets your check, and survival instincts kick in as you slowly crawl away. Your vision dances with the cold lighting as you pull yourself towards the light. A strangled cry escapes you as something grabs onto your leg with crawls tearing into the flesh of your thigh.

You’ve lost your weapon, so you can only assume that it has made contact with SuA or did enough to scare her off. Your eyes adjust to the surroundings as your neck burns with the pain of a hundred bee stings. The grip on your leg loosens as you crawl towards what looks to be a phone.

You hope you can get to the phone before you pass out as a wave of nausea causes you to place your head on the floor.

“Did you hear that scream? I think someone next door had too much to drink-“ Gahyeon’s voice is the last thing you remember before your eyes shut permanently.

Heat soaks your body as your eyes open to a light being projected right into your eyes.

“I don’t know how much more I can do… the puncture wounds are too deep.”

A soft hand is placed against your neck as the light is pulled from directly above you to the side.

“You’re awake...” Dongie sits to your side as your head turns the opposite way to look at the rest of your surroundings.

“SuA… she-“

“Don’t worry about SuA, she’s dead.”

Your head snaps towards Handong as your breathing quickens.

“Dead-“

“Why would you say that? You’re going to kill them before they have a chance to make a proper recovery.”

Yoohyeon leans on Handong as you start to see more of what surrounds you.

You’ve been moved from the kitchen to the living room, but time has barely passed. The darkness outside starts to creep in as your vision slowly fades to black.

“We’re losing them-“ Handong cries out as someone else walks toward you.

“Dami!”

You push away the darkness as you immediately prop yourself up on your elbows. Handong supports your back with both of her hands as Yoohyeon places a washcloth against your neck.

“Don’t do that-“ Handong begins to scold you before

“It’s okay,” Dami raises her hand before sitting beside you, “we need them awake.”

“Is this going to work?” Yoohyeon softly asks as your eyes dance around, looking for another person.

“Gahyeon is out looking for Minji, Siyeon, and Tzuyu,” Dami calmly answers as you look back at her, “and I just need you to focus on staying awake. We’ll be okay as long as you’re okay.”

Dami reaches for a book as you focus on your breaths.

Do this one thing for them - it’s easy enough.

You fight against the numbness, the pain inside of you as Dami flips through the book with ease until her hand finds the right page.

“Are binding spells safe?” Yoohyeon asks as Handong scoffs.

“Not in the slightest, but they’re better than resurrection spells.” Handong rubs your back before looking back at Yoohyeon.

“Are you serious? We’re using untamed magic-“

“-Resurrection spells are untamed magic, binding spells are unreliable-“ Dami corrects as Yoohyeon raises her eyebrows in disbelief.

“-you have to be kidding me!”

Your head falls back as your resistance starts to fail.

“Dami, hurry up-“

“-I’ve got it.” Dami takes your spare hand and intertwines it with hers. “Do you trust me?”

“I always have,” You mutter as your eyelids flutter rapidly, “and I always will.”

She glances away for a moment before closing the book and tossing it aside.

Dami mutters something in a tongue unknown to you as a soft purple smoke surrounds the both of you.

“Get away-“ Handong backs off from you as you support yourself with your arms.

“They can’t-“ Yoohyeon argues for a moment before Handong drags her away from you.

The purple smoke grows closer and closer around the two of you until it disappears just as quickly as it

came.

Your resolve cracks and crumbles until nothing inside of you is left to fight.

I should have never introduced the two of you, this wouldn’t have happened if I was more careful-

Dami’s voice rings through your mind as her eyes pierce your soul.

It was never your fault, you answer her with your thoughts, and I’d do it all over again if it means I got to be close with you.

You’re out before your head hits the pillow, but not before a small tear runs down Dami’s cheek.

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serickswrites · 2 years

Text

Wish You Were Here

Warnings: referenced/implied character death, presumed dead, grief, mourning

Supervillain collapsed on the couch with a sigh. It had been a terrible day. It had been a terrible week. A terrible month. A terrible time since....since Villain had disappeared. When Superhero had set off the ancient weapon, Villain, Hero, and Superhero had all been caught in this strange blast wave. And when the wave had passed, Villain was nowhere in sight.

Tears slipped down Supervillain’s cheek as they realized that Villain hadn’t disappeared. They had died, vaporized by some unknown ancient weapon. “I miss you,” Supervillain sobbed to the empty room. “I wish you were here.”

But Lair remained silent. No soft footsteps from behind. No gleeful giggling that Villain was prone to. Nothing but silence.

“Please, please just stop being dead. I need you.”

#serickswrites #writeblr #villian #supervillain #hero #superhero #villain x supervillain #tw referenced/implied character death #tw presumed dead?#tw grief #tw mourning #tbh idk if villain is dead or not lol #reader you can choose your own adventure for this one #queue #hero x villain community

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fairy-writes · 1 year

Note

im so sorry i forgot to pick a character for the bsd request omg. maybe fukuzawa? 👀

SOLDIER

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairing(s): Fukuzawa Yukichi x Gender Neutral!Reader

Song: Solider by James TW

Tag(s): Implied abuse (not by Fukuzawa),

Notes: OKAY, BUT I LOVE FUKUZAWA OKAY PLS SEND REQUESTS FOR HIM

I basically listened to this on repeat to get ideas, and this is what I’m rolling with.

ALSO, I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG

__________________________________________________________________________

Yukichi first met you when he was sent to kill your father.

This was before the two of you got together, of course, and before he had formed the Armed Detective Agency. It was before he had gotten on the correct path and was still murdering for others.

It had been dark, well past midnight, when he opened the balcony door as silent as a fox. Inside, the room is dark and quiet. He unsheaths his sword, the whisper of steel on wood being the only sound other than near-nonexistent breathing.

His target was close.

Just as Yukichi raised his sword to bring it down, there was a voice.

“Are you here to kill my father?” It came from the bed. From the very person he was trying to kill. Yukichi didn’t know why, but he nodded, lowering his sword as you sat up and swung your legs over the bed.

You watch him the time, but not with fear. Was that… curiosity?

“Why are you trying to kill him? Surely it’s not out of the goodness of your heart.” You ask, and he adjusts his grip on his katana.

“Someone is paying me to take his life.” He replies simply. You study him a moment before nodding once,

“Good. He deserves it.” You said, and he raised an eyebrow. You notice and turn your head. He sees a bruise covering your left cheek in the moonlight.

A rage fills his stomach, and he tightens his grip on his sword. He leaves you without another word and doesn’t return until the man is dead.

“Thank you.” You whisper just before he jumps off of the balcony.

He doesn’t see you again until a few weeks later; even then, it’s by accident. You are with who he presumes is your mother. She’s holding your arm in a death grip when you stop him on the street.

Yukichi notices that while her face is stained in tears, yours is dry. Your bruise is practically gone too.

“This is the man who helped me.” You say to your mother, and he notices you purposely omit how he helped you.

“That’s nice, dear. We have things to be doing.” Your mother snaps, and her grip tightens. You wince, and Yukichi feels that rage bubbling in his belly again.

He doesn’t know why.

He doesn’t know you past a face. He doesn’t even know your name.

But he still wants to protect you.

Before he knows what he is doing, Yukichi grabs your arm—gentler than your mother—and steers you away from the woman. She shrieks and caterwauls but, oddly enough, doesn’t chase after you. He asks you why, and your face sours,

“She doesn’t care about me. Neither of my parents did.” You say, and he feels his heart crack.

The two of you stop by the river. You sit on a bench while Yukichi stands beside you. You look up at him.

“You can sit by me, you know. I don’t bite.” You say, and he hesitates,

“I don’t want to intrude on your personal space.” He replies, and you roll your eyes,

“Just sit down, Mister No Name.”

He sits down.

“... My name is Fukuzawa Yukichi.” He eventually says into the awkward silence, and you nod.

“Nice to meet you, Fukuzawa.” You say and tell him your own name. He repeats it back and delights in the way you smile.

Things are history after that.

Just as he meets you by accident, his confession of his feelings is also an accident. Of course, it’s Ranpo’s fault, but as usual, he doesn’t take the blame.

It’s all because he wanted you to meet the other important person in his life.

“You’re the person he loves, right?” Is the first thing out of Ranpo’s mouth, and Yukichi nearly has a heart attack. He feels his face flush pink and immediately shoves his palm over the teenager’s mouth.

He refuses to look at you.

“Not to my knowledge.” You say easily, but he can hear in your voice that you are storing this information away for later. Ranpo bats Yukichi’s hand away.

“It’s so obvious! He doesn’t shut up about you either!” He cries, and now Yukichi uses both hands to almost smother the teen’s mouth. He glances to the side and sees you covering your mouth, hiding a laugh that has his heart soaring.

You aren’t actively rejecting him. That was a good sign.

He managed to wrangle Ranpo into his bedroom and shut the door. Then he returned to the front door where you were still waiting. You offered him a smile that had his stomach doing flips.

He truly grew to love you over time.

From meeting for tea, to teaching you how to defend yourself so you were never hurt again, to simple walks by the river. Yukichi loved your wit and quirks.

“Was what he said true?” You ask quietly over a cup of tea. Ranpo is distracted by sweets in his bedroom and wouldn’t be a bother at the moment. Yukichi doesn’t say anything.

Because he doesn’t know what to say. How could he say anything that would adequately capture his feelings?

So all he does is put his hand over yours and smile. You beam in return and lean over to press a kiss to his cheek and whisper,

“I love you too, you know.”

#fairytailwzard 800 followers #fukuzawa yukichi x reader #yukichi fukuzawa x reader #fukuzawa x reader #fukuzawa bsd #fukuzawa yukichi #yukichi fukuzawa #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fukuzawa #bungou stray dogs fukuzawa #bungo stray dogs fukuzawa #fairy writes

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fioiswriting · 5 months

Text

Reunion | Sequel

[Part 1]

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral f receiving, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, anxiety, Reader has a child, grief, fluff, pregnancy, not proofread.

Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

Words count : 9150

Author's note : Hello everyone!! Sorry for the wait, I've been very busy, but here's part two of Reunion (or at least the first part two, let's call it part 2.1 hehe). Thank you again for all you kind comments and the love you've given my fanfic omg!! Spoiler alert: this is the happy alternate ending! But I've got another bittersweet alternative ending planned 😈 If you think the first part was good enough on its own and the sequel may break the vibe, don't force yourself to read!! But if you need a happy ending, here it is <3 The plot still doesn't make any sense, but hey, we're here to have fun so enjoy ❤️

English is still not my first (or second) language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes <3

When you wake up, the first thing you feel is the reassuring embrace of his arms around you. You don't want to move, not even when the sunlight tickles your face through the opening between the wooden shutters, trying to make the moment last endlessly. But the growing anxiety in your stomach chases away the illusion of your fleeting happiness.

You close your eyes a little tighter. Perhaps if you try again, perhaps if you try harder, the world around you can fade away.

Perhaps you can wake up again, in a different reality.

But it's inevitable. You know that now you're awake, it's only a matter of time before the two of you have to say goodbye forever. Your breathing becomes heavier, and you have to fight the tingling sensation at the corners of your eyes.

Why have the gods decided to be so cruel to you? They grant you one last taste of his skin on your lips before taking it from you, again.

Haven't you given enough?

Could they not show you mercy?

You who had forgotten him, you who had begun to turn a new page, to seek comfort in the arms of the cold, far away from the fire and the ashes, why did you have to touch the poison that would once again stain your soul?

Behind you, Aemond buries his long nose in your hair. His hand absently caresses the skin of your thigh, just where the edge of the linen tunic you put on sometime during the night when you were cold ends. The fabric is pulled up, revealing the outline of your bottom, and you can already feel your uncle hardening between his thighs, but you don't move.

If you move, you'll make everything more real. Tangible.

You'll speed up the process of losing him, of him slipping through your fingers.

How can you let him go, now that your heart is full again, now that you feel complete in a way you haven't felt for over three years?

How can you let him go, now that your body has retrieve the extension of itself in the arms of the man who was the cause of your torment, your moments of joy, your pain and, paradoxically, your happiness?

"I know you're awake."

You hold your breath and Aemond inhales into your hair. His hand moves down the inside of your thigh, along the hollow that joins it to your groin. He doesn't venture any further.

His thumb rests there and brushes your skin, trying to arouse the desire in you with gentleness.

Subtly.

He doesn't want to hurry, he doesn't want to rush you.

Not when he's been harbouring the impossible fantasy of waking up with you in his arms since the day he nearly died.

He presses harder against you, as if he doesn't want to let you go, as if he wants to be one with you again, and you feel him pulsing against your buttocks, under the linen cloth that has been pulled up a little higher. He says nothing, but he is pleading, needy, in his gestures, which is rare for him.

Something has changed, after all, and perhaps something has changed in him too.

"I am awake, indeed, " you whisper in a voice that is still half asleep. The lump in your throat betrays the feeling of anxiety gradually creeping into your body, and Aemond seems to notice. Under your tunic, his hand moves up along your belly until it nestles against your chest, close to your heart. His thumb draws small circles, once again trying to bring you back to him.

Trying to calm your mind.

"Let us forget for a little longer," he whispers, his clenched jaw resting over your head. "Please."

And you know he never begs.

Aemond takes and doesn't ask.

Aemond believes he is owed everything and never gives in return.

Hearing him beg breaks something inside you, because this is the first time he does so.

Usually it was you, it was always you, begging for peace, begging for more, begging him not to leave you.

Part of him is as desperate as you are; part of him also dreads the moment when you will have to part again. Forever. It's comforting to know that his feelings are sincere, just like yours.

" Make me forget, then." You reply, moving your lower loins back against him, giving him tacit permission to explore your body once more. His fingers move down to your breasts, which he covers softly with his hand, his thumb skimming over a nipple to make it hard. You let out a gasp between your parted lips.

His hand slides lower, his palm flat against your lower belly, his fingertips brushing the light patch of hair at the top of your mound. You feel the familiar warmth growing between your thighs, in your core.

He sighs against the back of your skull, his head tilted forward. His lips search the skin at the nape of your neck, behind the long hair that has become tangled during the night, while his fingers intimately explore the secrets of your body that he knows all too well. The remnants of last night's lovemaking still smear the insides of your thighs and folds, but it doesn't matter; his fingers easily find the little bundle of nerves that they tease until you close your eyes, until your hand grips the damp, shabby sheet that covers the ragged mattress in the inn where you've spent the night.

Just the both of you, in the comfort of anonymity.

"Let me taste you". His voice, still husky, tickles the back of your neck and you feel him shift behind you. When you feel the warmth of his bare chest, against which you're nestled, leave your back, your body automatically tries to move back against him. You still need him. You still need him to chase away the lump of anxiety in the pit of your stomach and the voices that keep reminding you that you're only postponing the fateful moment. Your hand slips under your white tunic and wraps around his wrist to force him to stay there, to hold his fingers against the source of heat spreading from your core. Your hips are demanding, grinding against his hand. "On your back," he insists, and stands up on his forearms.

With reluctance you turn over. You obey, lying on your back, your hair spilled around your head on the flat, uncomfortable pillow on which you slept badly. The white tunic that serves as your nightgown is pulled up, crumpled, just above your crotch, which it barely conceals.

Aemond has swung over your body, silvery strands loosening from the braid that holds his hair behind his head and sliding down his shoulders, falling in loose loops on either side of his face, tickling your cheeks.

His lilac-tinted blue eye glows with a predatory gaze, a ray of light catching in the sapphire he hasn't removed from his socket.

He captures your lips with his own, begging for access. Aemond marks your jaw and throat with light kisses, sucking at your collarbone to make the violets of possessiveness with which he likes to adorn your body bloom. His lips travel down your chest, playing with one of the two small nipples raised by the cool air and by desire, and continue their journey past your navel.

Your heartbeat quickens as he settles between your legs, spreading your thighs to admire the part of you he covets so eagerly. At the same time you bend your legs, your gaze falling on him, on his unravelled hair, on his eye that locks with yours. He is so close to you, so close to your warm centre, and you know that between your folds the sweet nectar that your uncle longs to taste is already flowing.

But his lips trace the inside of your thighs instead, where the skin is soft and tender, and gradually they reach the hollow that connects them to your most intimate part. He takes a malicious pleasure in building up the tension, in savouring every millimetre of you like a fine delicacy, with only the tip of his lips brushing against your skin.

His thumbs spread the tender flesh of your womanhood and then he places a chaste kiss on the very centre of you. His tongue is shy at first, tracing the slit that connects your entrance to your little knob, collecting the evidence of your desire.

As his tongue wraps around your nub, your hands grip the sheets, knuckles white.

Aemond drinks from your essence like a thirsty man, his nose buried between your folds, rubbing your pearl.

The tip of his tongue catches what drips from your opening, and then the flat of his tongue tastes your slit, working its way up to the little nub gorged with desire.

He maintains the same rhythm, revelling in the moans that escape from your half-open lips. Soon his middle finger begins to draw circles against your entrance, the first knuckle sliding inside, then the whole finger. Your head is thrown back and immediately your hand buries itself in his silvery hair, gripping his braid in a messy bun behind the top of his head. Forcing his face against the most intimate part of your body, forcing his lips to work on your wet warmth, you seek more contact.

Aemond adds a second finger. He can feel you tighten around him as he searches for that particular spot, as his tongue continues to play with your bundle of nerves.

As he devours what is his, utterly his.

His fingers, the ones that aren't buried inside you, close around the flesh of your hip in a possessive grip. "Come for me," he whispers against your womanhood, his eyes lifted to you. "I know you can do it."

Your breathing becomes more erratic, faster too. You tighten the grip of your fingers in his hair, your thighs pressing either side of his face, and he collects the sweet taste of your release on his tongue with a hum.

You feel like you're floating. The waves of warmth still wash over you, less and less intense, your breast rising and falling as you catch your breath.

Your hand tucks a lock of his hair back behind his ear as Aemond lifts his face towards you, and you rest your hand against his cheek. His parted lips still glisten with your desire smeared across the lower part of his face. He stares at you without moving, his deep, regular breathing the only sound to break the silence that has followed your release. You stay like that for a moment, his gaze burning into yours. At any moment he might pounce on you. At any moment he might close the tiny distance separating your mouths and press his lips against yours like the starving man he is.

It's you who makes the first move. You taste yourself on his lips and your tongue entwines with his in a fiery, demanding kiss.

Straightening up, Aemond creeps between your legs, his hand on the underside of your thighs, holding them apart. He is still completely naked from the night before, he has not bothered to get dressed after your lovemaking, so you can catch a glimpse of his erect manhood, slightly curved. He wraps his hand around to guide it towards your still sensitive wet entrance.

He slides into you easily, in one slow movement. The haste of the night before, the urgency of the reunion, has given way to the tenderness and laziness of the early morning, and Aemond rocks inside you slowly. His hips undulate, punctuated by long, deep thrusts, in an illusion of domesticity.

But the damp sheets, rough against your skin, the discomfort of the hard mattress beneath your back, remind you that your lovemaking is anything but domestic.

For Aemond is still the enemy, for Aemond is supposed to be dead.

For your family is probably looking for you at this very moment, worried that you have not returned home for the night.

But you push those thoughts away. The weight of your uncle's body on top of yours soothes the knot that forms in the pit of your stomach at the thought of time slipping away, at the thought of having to leave him again, at the thought of this being the last time you will taste his lips, his skin.

Aemond is gentle, and that is rare enough to be worth mentioning. He has never been so gentle, so soft, in the limited time that you have been married.

Between you, there had been the devouring, consuming passion, the power play that in your submission had granted you dominance.

Between you it had been raw and devastating more than gentle and tender.

His fingers run the length of your body to your core, combining his slow, deep thrusts with the movement of his fingers against your clit.

There are only few words exchanged between you, as if you were both afraid to break the grace of the moment.

His panting, noisy breath echoes in the silence, skimming the skin of your throat, then mingling with yours as the shadow of his lips brushes against yours. He rests his forehead against yours, your hand cupping his cheek, sliding behind his neck, and you are transported into a cocoon of intimacy where nothing else exists around you.

There is only his body against yours, warm and reassuring.

There is only him inside you and the slow movement of his hips.

There is only your breathing, blending in the space that separates your mouths.

"Do you know how much I've missed you?" He whispers against your lips as you close your thighs around him. "How much I dreamed of this tight little cunt?" You swallow his words. Your hips meet his as he pushes against you. He is reaching deep inside you. Despite the intimacy of the moment, his body oozes power and darkness, and you can't help but be drawn to that side of him that complements yours so well.

You can't stop your body from aching for him.

"You could have been my queen," he says as his movements grow stronger. He won't last long, but neither will you. He's inside you, where you like to feel him, and your walls clench around his member. "And I would have set the whole world on fire for you." He thrusts. "Burned it to the ground" He thrusts again. "All for you." And again.

The old wood of the bed creaks with each of his movements.

You seek out his lips, just to brush them against yours.

Without sealing the kiss.

"And I would have accepted," you answer with a whimper. "I would have been your queen, qybor." In another life, you think you would.

In another life, in another universe, you would have been his queen.

A grunt escapes his lips and lands in the hollow of your ear. Aemond straightens on his bent elbow, right next to your head, and he plunges into you one last time, with more power, more vigour, just as his new position allows.

You close your eyes.

A second wave of warmth is about to engulf your body.

And you wait for it, you welcome it.

"Look at me when I come inside you," he growls hoarsely as his seed pours deep inside you, into the most intimate part of your body. "Look at me as I fill you up."

Your eyes lock with his, fiery as ever. A final moan escapes between your lips and you seal them to your uncle's in a feverish, wet kiss. You hold him in your arms for a moment longer, as if to allow yourself the luxury of illusion for a brief instant.

You delay the fateful moment a little longer, fighting the minutes that inevitably slip through your fingers.

"Stay inside me just a little longer," you whisper, burying your head in the hollow of his neck where you can feel the rapid rhythm of his pulse. His arms close around you, holding you tight against him, and you hear him purr against the hair on the crown of your head. He rocks you gently.

The silence welcomes you both into its embrace and you savour it like a treasure. Your body aches in the sweetest way, your insides throbbing around his softening manhood.

And around you, nothing exists anymore.

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

"I've changed, you know." His hoarse voice vibrates against you, but you refuse to meet his eyes. You keep them closed.

You're not sure if Aemond has really changed. Aemond is ruthless, cold, brutal, calculating, merciless. Cruel. You're not sure if Aemond can ever change, but he shows unusual tenderness, and maybe, just maybe, you allow yourself to doubt. You indulge in the illusion.

Perhaps Vhagar's death has broken something in him.

Perhaps it's true, perhaps he's not the same man anymore.

He's not sorry for what he has done. He never will be. He's too proud, even if you can catch the glimmer of remorse that colours his icy eyes when he is not looking at you.

Does he think of your little brother? Is he haunted by the memory of him, as you have been for so many years?

Does he think of the innocents he killed without flinching, the blood he spilled in the Riverlands that now stains the burned grass?

Is his sanity slowly being eaten away by the atrocities he has committed with his own hands?

He has changed. You are not sure if he's changed for the better or for the worse, but he has indeed.

Daemon has changed too. So has Rhaenyra. So has Jace.

You too have changed.

For war changes people, war makes them weary and wary, it shatters something in the body that will never be the same again. It hollows out the roundness of the cheeks, it deepens the dark circles under the eyes, it fades the sparkle of childhood that remains in the eyes.

Aemond seems to be waiting for an answer, but the words remain stuck in your throat. I know, you want to whisper, I know, but suddenly you've forgotten how to speak. His thumb draws the soft line of the underside of your breast.

The future terrifies you more than ever. You had made peace with your past, you had come to a conclusion that, even if it pained you, had given you some respite.

Seeing your uncle alive had reawakened your demons.

Spending the night in the embrace of his arms had revived everything you had buried deep, deep down.

The past had returned, creeping towards you, gnawing at the corners of your heart and at what remained of your sense of stability and certainty.

Now you are plunged into doubt.

Just as you were a little over three years ago, when you were informed of his death, when you had to learn to live with the choice that had never really been given to you.

Just as three years ago, when you noticed a familiar lilac-tinged blue in Rhaegar's eyes.

Like when you had to live with the memories that haunted you, that were slowly eating away at what little sanity you had left.

Like when you finally decided to leave for the North.

Aemond seems to sense your anguish, because his fingers get lost in your hair.

"What are we going to do now?"

Finally, you dare to utter the inevitable words that have been hanging on the tip of your tongue since you woke up, words you've swallowed so many times this morning. You immediately blame yourself.

Saying them only makes them more real.

They tear at something in the imaginary cocoon you've built for yourselves. You bury your face against his skin, breathe in his scent, as if you never want to forget him.

For you know how fleeting memories can be.

You remember how his face faded with each passing day.

You don't know if you'll ever be able to experience it a second time.

"We could leave," Aemond replies, as his fingers venture to your jaw, caressing the line of your cheeks with the back of his knuckles.

He's so pragmatic, as always.

Even in this situation.

Even now.

It makes you want to shake him.

"We could run away," he says again. His gaze, fixed in the distance, falls on you at the same moment. "To Essos. Pentos. No one would know who we are." You close your eyes, and let his hoarse voice lull you into silence. "To start our own family, the three of us."

You know he is not serious. Even though he looks at you with such insistence, with that flame that flickers in the centre of his iris.

You relish his fantasy, this impossible dream.

But you can't leave your family; Essos is not Winterfell. There, they knew where to find you. They knew you were safe. They knew you were sheltered between the walls of the northern castle, under the heavy furs, under the protection of Cregan Stark.

Essos is the unknown.

You cannot let your mother lose her only daughter, not after everything she has already lost.

The itch is familiar, tickling at the corners of your eyes. There was a time when you thought you'd lost that sensitivity. When you thought the war had left you cold, incapable of feeling anything. Incapable of crying.

"You know I can't." Your nose rubs against his milky skin, made clammy by sweat. You keep your eyes closed because you feel the weight of his cold gaze on you, his furrowed eyebrows as he stares at you blankly, his lips pursed in a long, thin line. You don't have the courage to meet his accusing gaze, let alone the wounded look on his face as you crush all his illusory dreams into dust.

When did you become the more pragmatic of the two?

When did you become the one responsible for bringing Aemond back to reality?

It used to be you, the one who filled your mind with unrealistic dreams, the one who dreamed of stories and fairy tales, back when you could still dream. "They need me, you know that."

A sneer stretches across your uncle's lips as he swallows a chuckle that sounds more like an ironic growl. You feel his whole body tense against yours, a sign that he's holding back his annoyance.

A sign that he has something to say, that he's upset, but doesn't quite know how to put it into words.

"Like they needed you back then?" he replies scathingly, bitterness on the tip of his tongue. "When they used you as a bargaining chip to achieve their ends, hm?"

Your red cheeks burn with shame, as if he'd slapped you. You don't move, merely swallow hard. You know there's something right about what he is saying, but you don't want to admit it.

You've done your duty.

You've done what is expected of you as a daughter.

It was not a question of them using you. It never was.

It was your duty, only your duty, what you were always meant to perform, wasn't it?

And yet a small voice in the back of your head had already given you a similar speech, a few years ago, but you had tried to silence it.

You refused to let Aemond admit it. You refuse to allow him to do it. He had no idea, no right to criticise your family when he'd acted like that.

When he has done what he has done.

He has no idea what it is like to be a daughter.

You don't answer, and silence falls between you again.

You wish so desperately that he could go home with you; that he could tell them that he's sorry.

You wish it were easier.

There is no one left to wait for Aemond but you, but his son, you know that. His family has been decimated, as has yours in some ways, though you still have your parents and your older brother.

For your uncle, there's nothing left but the shadow of his existence, the shadow of who he once was, long ago.

You let your hand trace the side of his throat, your nose buried against it, your lips hovering over his skin. You lean against him, your body on top of his, pressed together as if you were afraid to let him go.

"You could come with me instead," you whisper, but you refuse to meet his gaze. There's something shameful in the words you've just spoken aloud, something naive, and your burning cheeks are proof of your embarrassment.

Almost imperceptibly, he clenches beneath you, holding his breath. This is a bad idea and you feel stupid. Naive to have dared to suggest something like this.

His voice purrs in a hm that vibrates against you. He's about to say something. He searches for words. "You know that -"

"I know." You cut him off sharply - a little more than you would have liked, your eyes raised to silence him.

You know what he thinks.

He thinks that Rhaenyra will never be his queen. He thinks he will never bend the knee to his eldest sister and her authority, which he doesn't recognise.

He thinks that with the death of Aegon, with the death of the children his brother fathered with Helaena, the throne belongs to him.

And you are aware of his ambitions. You know how perfectly the conqueror's crown fits his head. You know how it sets off the sapphire embedded in his eye socket. You remember the look of greed in his eyes every time he stared at the Iron Throne, you remember the look of pride on his face every time he scorned anyone who dared to question his decisions as Prince Regent.

You know how mercilessly he made the soldiers at Harrenhal kneel, forcing them to contemplate their impending deaths. You know the terror he has sown throughout the Riverlands.

Even in the Seven Hells you could have found more mercy than at the hands of Aemond Targaryen.

Aemond may have changed, but you're not sure he's changed enough to put aside the pride that is consuming him from within.

You take a deep breath. "You don't really have a choice, qybor."

Fearing his reaction, you curl into a fetal position, your back to him, your knees drawn up to you. You close your eyes. You wait for his frustration.

You wait for his sentence.

You know that he is aware that he has no choice.

He has only two options: swallow his pride or sink back into the abyss, disappear into the dark meanders of oblivion.

Rhaegar needed his father, of course, but you found him a father in Cregan Stark.

That was a sacrifice you were willing to make.

There was no way you would give up what family you had left.

For Rhaegar needed his grandparents and his uncle even more.

Behind you, you feel your uncle's hand slip under your tunic and around your body, pulling you against him. He presses his bare chest against your back, tucking your head under his chin. His hand caresses your stomach, then his fingers brush the base of your breast.

"You know she will never be my queen. You know the throne belongs to -" But he lets the words drop without finishing the sentence, the knowledge of what he was about to say hanging in the air between you.

As long as he remains alive, will the embers of war never truly be extinguished?

You don't know, but you accept the risk.

You close your eyes, as if you're about to jump into the icy depths with both feet.

"The rest is up to you, Aemond," you whisper, barely audible. "And if you have truly changed, then you will know how to make the right choice."

He says nothing.

You savour the last few minutes of illusion you have left.

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

The fear of making the wrong choice never really leaves you, but your mother chases your fears away, as she so often did when you were a child, tucking one of your dark curls behind your ear. She has her distinctive little smirk on her lips, the one that pulls the corner of her lips up towards her nose.

The same one Lucerys had, you think sadly.

You still miss him, even after all this time, and sometimes you wonder what kind of young man he would have become.

"You're a clever girl, my sweet clever girl," she whispers against your forehead as she cradles you in her arms. She's as beautiful as ever, as gentle with you as ever, despite the years, despite the wear and tear of war that has hardened her features and hollowed her cheeks. "And I know you have made the right decision." She lifts your chin with her forefinger to look into your eyes, and you feel like you're turning back into that shy, insecure girl who disappeared somewhere in the violence of the war all those years ago.

"And if it should turn out that you were wrong... Daemon will be there to intervene. You know he is just waiting for that." You roll your eyes at her attempt at humour, and she plants a kiss on your forehead.

For a split second, you truly are that carefree little girl again.

But behind your mother's humour lie fragments of reality that make your laughter bitter.

The news of your husband's survival remains a hazy blur in your mind. Sometimes you're not sure if this conversation really occurred or if you're dreaming.

You're not sure if what's around you, if the night you spent in Aemond's arms, is real or an invention of your sick mind.

Sometimes you're not really conscious of the events or how long they lasted, the lump in your stomach grows back, and once again you're destined to carve half-moons marks in the palms of your hands to soothe the tension in your body.

You told your mother first because you knew she'd be more understanding. As a mother, as a woman, she knows the meaning behind certain silences, the weight of words, the unspoken words that float between sentences.

You know she can understand your pain and your doubts, but also your love and your compassion.

She was shocked when you told her that her younger brother was still alive. She smoothed her dress, paced back and forth, then took the time to sit down, her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes riveted to your face, looking for clues that would betray what you were thinking, what you might be hiding. She was afraid that he had hurt you. She was afraid that he would rip you away from her, just as he had once ripped your little brother away from her.

Her fingers had gently taken your hand and her thumb had drawn little circles on the back of your hand to comfort you. She listened to you first as you confessed everything.

Where you were that night when you didn't come home.

Who you were with.

And then she took you in her arms. She reassured you. Soothed you.

You had been so afraid of disappointing her, of disappointing all of them, that the tension paralysing your body had finally loosened and you burst into tears.

Things had proved more complicated with Daemon. When he learned that his nephew was alive, that he wasn't forgotten forever in the deep waters of the lake near Harrenhal, he refused to believe you. He was furious. He said he had seen him fall, that he was the one who had taken his life, tearing the sky apart.

You didn't know where to look, and it was in your mother's eyes that you sought support, comfort, anything in the face of your stepfather's rage. You could feel on you the look of disappointment of your brother, Jace, as he held his shoulders up and his chin high. He wanted to prove that one day he would be a good king. With his jaw clenched, he said nothing, looking at you as if you were suddenly so foreign to him. He probably didn't know what to say, for fear of being clumsy, for fear of unintentionally hurting you, even more than by his lack of support.

You know it wasn't his fault.

He simply couldn't understand.

The words stuck in your throat and you found yourself unable to speak, pearls glittering in the corners of your eyes while you waited impatiently for the final blow.

The final death knell that would seal your disgrace in everyone's eyes.

After all you'd endured.

Daemon stood before you, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes hard. He was staring at you as if you'd committed the ultimate treason, and you knew he was controlling himself to keep his anger from exploding. "You're going to bring him to me," he had hissed, his hand closing over your shoulder.

" You will lure him here and he will be put to the sword." His tone left no room for argument. With the tension growing in your stomach, you sought your mother's compassionate look to calm you. You could see the fury in your stepfather's eyes, and also a mixture of fear and feelings of betrayal. You knew that, deep down, he was afraid for you because he considers you his daughter. Because Baela and Rhaena are like sisters to you.

It was his reaction you feared most, not your mother's. His fingers dug into your skin, the floor slipping out from under you, the room swaying dangerously, and your mother had come to your rescue, trying to calm things down with her usual diplomacy.

You can't quite remember the words your stepfather said; in anger he muttered something that sounded like are you really thinking of becoming his whore again? and the words hurt like hell, but you tried to swallow the pain.

Endure, hold your head high. That was what you had learned.

Your mother had suggested you go back to your room or spend some time with Rhaegar, her fingers gently stroking your dark locks, and as soon as you left the throne room you could hear their voices echoing through the door.

They were arguing.

Over you.

Because of you, again.

You took a deep breath and returned to the gardens, where your two stepsisters were making your son laugh by playing with him. They had fun running around in the damp grass to the applause of Baela's little daughter, who clapped her little hands in delight.

Your fingers were still trembling when you joined them.

In the end a solution was found, for your mother feared losing you a second time.

She remembered what had happened to Laenor, your father, when he had grown tired of the court.

She remembered what had happened to Helaena, your sweet aunt, when she could no longer bear to suffer.

It was her worst nightmare to see you torn from her again, now that she had the chance to hold you in her arms every day, to protect you again, to see you grow again.

It was her worst nightmare to see her only daughter, her only daughter and the second of her only surviving children, taken from her.

You and Jace were all she had left of her own blood.

After long negotiations with Daemon, you had managed to bargain for your husband's life in exchange for strict conditions; increased surveillance, no bonding with a new dragon, no carrying of weapons, and the assurance that he would be executed if there was the slightest doubt about him. You proposed that you and he leave the capital, with your son as well. To return to Dragonstone. To start over on a new, blank page in a book that was already too damaged.

For you, it was also a way to ease the tensions between your family and Aemond, and perhaps find a more intimate life with your husband and son.

Rhaenyra had declared that this was the best solution: a guarantee for her to have you by her side again, a guarantee for her that you would be there.

You had been afraid of Aemond's reaction, afraid that his ego would not bear it; that he would refuse, that he would rather sentence himself to his own death than to an existence as a prisoner within his own family, condemned to live as a shadow of the man he had once been in exchange for seeing his son grow up.

But in the end, wasn't he doomed to live as a shadow of the man he had once been, anyway?

He would never be the rider of Vhagar again.

He would never be the ruthless Prince Regent again.

He would never again be the second in line to the throne, the second son greedily waiting for fate to turn in his favour.

He hadn't been all of that for a good three years, lurking in the cold, gloomy corridors of Harrenhal like a lonely monster.

And if he went back, if he rejected your proposal, he would have condemned himself to eternal solitude at the side of a witch you would rather forget.

He had no choice, for he would never be that Aemond again.

When you joined your husband at the meeting place, you were relieved to see him swallow his pride and accept. It was difficult, but you convinced him.

For Rhaegar, for his son.

Aemond had suggested that you run away, far away from everything, and you almost hesitated. Running away would have allowed you to forget, of course.

But your deepest wounds had begun to heal. You had begun to be able to face the ghosts that haunted King's Landing, the ghosts that haunted Dragonstone.

To stop there was tempting, and yet so frightening at the same time.

The unknown terrified you. You needed familiarity now, something to fall back on, for you were so tired.

Now you can't help bringing your thumb to your lips, nibbling the skin at the corner of your fingernail with the tip of your teeth as you walk away from Rhaenyra. A handmaiden brings you Rhaegar, and you struggle to breathe.

You inhale.

You exhale.

The thick tuft of brown hair makes you smile. The sight of your son is enough to give you the courage to walk with a more confident stride. It's as if you were filled with new strength, for you know that he needs you more than anyone else. And for him, you've promised yourself to stay strong.

As soon as you reach him, you kneel and plant a kiss on his plump cheeks.

He's growing up so fast that sometimes you wish you could stop time.

"There's someone who'd like to meet you, sweet boy," you explain, and you can recognise your mother's inflection in your own voice. Sweet boy. Rhaegar looks at you with big, round, questioning eyes, and you wonder if he senses your anxiety, because he takes your hand between his tiny fingers.

"Who, muña ?" he babbles, striding down the cobbled path in the middle of the gardens, hopping on his clumsy little legs, and you smile at his carefree attitude. He stops to watch the bees foraging, bends down to pick up a flower and gives it to you. He's always so curious, so full of life. He's a ray of sunshine that brightens your dull days. You finally understand your mother, the agonising fear she has of losing you. You finally understand the horror she experienced when she lost her four other children.

You also finally understand why Helena threw herself from Maegor's Holdfast.

The thought of what Daemon did still revolts you, and you can't imagine anyone hurting your boy like that.

You turn around. Rhaenyra is still there, in the distance, her crown on her head, her hands crossed in front of her on the heavy fabric of her dress, watching over you. She won't move, a comforting, discreet presence.

A stone bench awaits you by the fountain, on which two cushions have been arranged. A dessert buffet has been set up under the gazebo and you immediately spot your favourite cakes, the strawberry one, the blackberry jam one, and you look down at your son. He hasn't noticed them yet, or he would have already run over, dipped his finger in the whipped cream and stolen a blueberry from one of the tarts, his innocent expression on his face.

He is definitely a lot like you. Mischievous and clever. An angelic air. He is an easy-going child who never throws a tantrum.

Who understands quickly, too.

"I love you. I love you more than anything, you know that, don't you, young boy?" your tone is soft, and you kneel down in front of him, your hands on his small shoulders to emphasise the seriousness of your discussion. You search for your words, hesitating. How do you tell a three-year-old that his father, his dead father, is back from the dead and about to meet him?

Of course, Rhaegar knows that his birthfather was valiant, that his birthfather rode the greatest dragon in the world, that his birthfather died in battle.

But there is so much he doesn't know, so much he will inevitably learn as he grows up, and it is precisely that future that frightens you. You hug him as if you're afraid of losing him.

"Princess."

The deep voice of your sworn protector echoes behind you, and you straighten your skirt.

You know he is there.

You know you will see him the moment you turn around.

Your heartbeat quickens.

Aemond Targaryen stands behind your sworn protector, surrounded by two guards. His hands are bound in front of him.

It is so strange to see your uncle in this vulnerable position. He who for so long has been on the other side, he who for so long has been the one who bent others to his will. He looks at you harshly, and you almost feel the need to apologise.

But you know it is a matter of caution.

You know that Daemon, you know that Jace and even your mother would never have agreed to bring him in if such precautions hadn't been taken.

You admire his resilience, his determination. You admire his ability to hold his head high, to be confident, despite the fact that he is being treated like a common prisoner, about to be sentenced to death.

You struggle to swallow the lump that has formed in your throat.

"Who's that, muña?" Aemond's eyes leave you and immediately drop to the small figure that has appeared beside you, reaching for your hand, huddling against your leg, shy and worried.

Immediately, your husband's icy gaze, his lilac-coloured eyes, soften.

"Thank you, Sir Rowan. You may leave us."

Despite the worry on his face, your sworn protector nods, unties his prisoner's hands and walks back to your mother, accompanied by the other two guards. You watch them leave, and a strange silence fills the space between you and your uncle.

He doesn't look at you; his eyes are riveted to your son, whom he observes with wonder. He looks as if he is admiring the most beautiful and fascinating discovery he has ever seen. You look down to see Rhaegar's reaction, and he seems as intimidated as he is hypnotised by that gaze, by that blue and purple eye so similar to his owns, by this man looking at him as if he were one of the most marvellous things in the world.

"Gods, he's perfect," Aemond murmurs as he looks up at you, emerging from his trance. He comes closer to embrace you. And for once, there is something other than his usual brutal possessiveness and ferocity when his arms close around you.

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

Aemond is shy at first. Awkward.

He's shy and amazed as he follows your son's every move with his good eye. From time to time, his gaze rests on you, as if to make sure he's not dreaming. As if to make sure he is doing right, seeking your approval.

Rhaegar is shy too, at first.

When he sits on your lap, he snuggles up to you, buries his face in your neck, one of your locks curled in his chubby little hand and he rubs it against his nose. From time to time, he turns to give his father a curious look, recognising his own eyes in the unfamiliar face before him.

Aemond's expression grows gentler, a softness never seen in his features before.

Once he has tamed the stranger, the little boy pecks at the blueberries in the tart in front of him. He shakes his legs, hitting your knees in painful little jabs, and your arm wraps around his body to hold him down.

Rhaegar loves cake, and the sugar may be coaxing him, for he's regaining his appetite for talking.

"He really does have my eyes," Aemond whispers incredulously, and his voice, still foreign to his son's ears, causes the little boy to lift his head.

" It is definitely the only thing he has inherited from you," you reply, teasing him with a small smile at the corner of your lips.

Soon Rhaegar finishes the blueberry tart, the cream smeared over the bottom of his face and the tip of his nose.

"He inherited that from you, that is certain." Aemond grins, pointing with his long chin at the boy's voracious appetite for cakes and pastries.

You have to pinch yourself to make sure you're not dreaming. That your husband is really standing in front of you, with your son, like a normal family.

That he was truly trying to tell a joke.

This form of domesticity is so alien to your relationship, and yet so pleasant, that you find yourself thinking that perhaps you have made the right decision, indeed, if every day can be like this.

"Your muña deserves some cake too, what do you say, little one?"

Rhaegar giggles. Aemond cuts a slice of your favourite cake, the one with the strawberries, and puts it on your plate.

You blush. After all these years, he hasn't forgotten which one is your favourite.

You can't even really whisper a thank you because this apparent domesticity, this feeling of completeness, this interlude of happiness makes you uneasy. Anxious.

You have the feeling that at any moment you'll be plunged back into the horror of what you went through all those years ago.

You have the feeling that at any moment the Gods will be cruel and snatch away this happiness that you've barely been able to taste, leaving only the memory of its sweet taste on your lips.

You breathe in and out, as you often do when you feel your palpitations rising in your chest.

"Do you... do you want to take him on your lap?" you ask your uncle with shyness, your hand stroking Rhaegar's thick brown curls. Aemond looks at you as if you have spoken in a foreign language. Lips parted, he is about to say something, but not a sound escapes his lips. His lonely eye travels from you to your son, from your son to you, in silence.

"I don't know if -"

You can hear the doubt in his voice, and it's almost touching to see him lose his confidence in front of his own son, to see him so nervous and unsure of himself.

You let out a little laugh, not in mockery, obviously, just full of tenderness.

You know what he's thinking.

He's afraid of frightening him.

He's afraid of harming him.

"You won't hurt him, Aemond."

He answers nothing. He still doesn't like to look vulnerable, unsure, and you know it has to do with his childhood. With all he has kept bottled up inside him all these years. He will need time.

Your eyes fall back to the little boy sitting in your lap, and you draw his attention to yourself by stroking the curls on his forehead.

"Do you want to go to Aemond for a while? To kepus?"

you correct yourself immediately, and Rhaegar nods in agreement.

You are amazed at how easily he slips off your legs to run to his father, to pull himself onto his lap, when only a few hours ago he was so intimidated by the presence of this stranger with the eyepatch.

Your uncle automatically puts his arm around his waist to make him feel comfortable, his new role taking root in him. His fingers reach for the cloth on the table, and he wipes Rhaegar's face, who can't help but burst out laughing at his father's clumsy gestures.

For a split second you are lost in contemplating the horizon, the stillness of the sea. You taste the sea breeze on your face.

And then you turn your head towards the cobbled path where the guards and your sworn protector are still stationed.

Your mother is no longer there, and you notice that you have not at any time felt the need to seek comfort in her presence.

You smile, for in the end you know you've made the right decision.

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

Dragonstone, 6 months later.

When you walk the corridors of the place that saw you grow up, you are no longer haunted by the ghosts and their incessant cries. A kind of peace has settled over you, a return to the pleasant familiarity you've waited so long for.

You still think of Luke, of course. Of Luke and Joff and little Aegon and Viserys, your brothers you will never see grow old.

But you no longer feel their disapproving glances at every step you take. You are no longer kept awake by their cries, by their tears, by the remorse that twists your stomach.

You no longer blame yourself.

Perhaps you've finally learnt to make peace with yourself.

The heavy door of the bedroom you share with Aemond is half open, and you slip your head into the doorway, piqued by curiosity.

Snuggled on your husband's lap, Rhaegar is staring at the pages of a large book, the corners of which you can guess are horned, the cover worn, from being carried everywhere. You can imagine the jam stains that mark the paper with children's fingerprints. You know exactly which page is missing, the one you and Aemond accidentally tore out and hid so the Septa wouldn't notice, so many years ago.

It is a book about dragons, the very one the two of you used to read hidden under the table when you were so young and innocent, long before the torment of war.

Without a sound, you lean against the doorframe and contemplate for a moment the perfect vision before you.

You don't have the cruelty to disturb them.

"This one is Vhaegar!" shouts Rhaegar, and you hold your breath, searching Aemond's face for any hint that might betray his reaction. The mention of his former dragon is still a sensitive subject for him, you know it.

"Yes, that's Vhagar." he pauses. "She was brave."

From the corner of his eye, Aemond spots your silhouette in the faint glow of the corridor, and his attention lingers on you for a moment. He's almost embarrassed to be caught in such a vulnerable, intimate moment, but you smile tenderly to encourage him.

"And big!" the little boy adds, energetically raising his arms to the sky to emphasise his words.

"Yes, and big." There's a suspended moment of silence where the words hang in the air, and then your husband gently ruffles his son's hair. It's a tender sight to see them bond like this, and your heart fills with happiness.

Taking a step forward, you step into the light of the room and Rhaegar expresses his joy at seeing you. You smile back at him and approach the chair where Aemond sits, your son on his lap.

Your uncle's hand instantly rests on the curve of your belly, which he still stares at with the same protective instinct, the same fascination, as the day you told him the news. His eyes sparkle.

"Your daughter is restless today."

He looks up at you, not without lingering for a moment on your breasts and their new shape.

"My daughter?" he asks, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"I'm convinced it's a girl. You reply, smiling wryly, and take a seat in the armchair next to the one where Aemond and your son are sitting, facing the fireplace. "And she took after her father, given her temper," you tease him, your hand on the top of your rounded belly to soothe the baby growing there.

Rhaegar's eyes close slowly. Nestled against the chest of the man who, just a few months ago, was still a stranger, he fights sleep, he fights to stay awake, but tiredness quickly overcomes him. And then he falls asleep, his mouth half open, the movements of his breath making his chest rise and fall rhythmically.

Aemond finally gets up. You follow his movements with your eyes as he approaches you, the child in his arms, and he plants a kiss on the top of his head.

"I'm going to put him to bed. I'll be right back." He straightens and lowers his voice.

"I wouldn't fail in my duty and neglect my wife." The heat rises to your cheeks, turning them red at the implication of what awaits you tonight. You're already wet between your thighs at the thought.

But you nod in agreement and watch him walk away.

You are left alone in the silence of the room. The only sound around you is the steady crackling of the fire.

It's strange, you think, to be back on Dragonstone, in the familiarity of the stones you've spent most of your life between, after getting used to the idea of not surviving the war.

To the idea of dying from a broken heart.

To the idea of dying, the umpteenth victim of the vicious spiral of conflict that has torn your family apart.

And yet here you are.

With your own family.

For once you have hope for the future. You hear the cries of your little brother, lost in the storm so long ago, but they are quickly replaced by the laughter of a happy memory.

And finally, you have the absolute confirmation that you have made the right decision.

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

Thank you so much for reading!! <3

Tag list : @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis (I'm tagging you since you asked for it ❤️)

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carlgrimesmissingeye · 8 months

Text

tw: major character death, character suicide, scream things, idk what else lol

readers body type not skin color is mentioned, it’s just mentioned her skin ashens?

feeling very angsty today decided to make myself cry while writing this 😗

——————————————————————————

thinkin about Ethan and fem!reader who have been in a relationship for a while, even before Richie died(who she didn’t know) and she slowly watches Ethan turn cold and uncaring. it was obvious he still loved her but there would be times he would blow off dates or classes and have no explanation besides “i’m with my dad, be back later” and she just thought it was him grieving in his own way with his father.

she had absolutely no idea her boyfriend of so many years was planning a massacre against her friends.

Ethan would usually sleep at her place, not liking how many girls Chad would bring back to their dorm. they’d obviously fool around, but something about this time felt different.

ethan, who was usually very loving during sex, would put her in positions with little eye contact, fidgeting whenever she’d look up at him. even with a fucked-out blissful look on her face, he couldn’t hold eye contact.

that didn’t stop him from giving aftercare though. they’d run a bath and chill in it, relaxing from their nightly activities when she decided to tell him that he was the only one she’d ever love, and if he went, she would be right behind him. maybe reminding him she loved him would snap him out of his funk, she wanted to help him mourn and help him get better. it didn’t.

ethan never spoke, just dazed off.

so imagine her surprise when she finds out the love of her life and his family had planned to gut them all hallow.

the pain in her eyes was undeniable, wretched sobs working their way out of her dry throat as Tara stabbed Ethan through the mouth. it didn’t matter that his sister, Quinn, had tore a hole in her side, it didn’t matter that she was losing blood..

watching Ethan take what was his presumed last breath took her own, being held back by Sam, Sam’s equally bloody arms wrapped around her body, full body shivers rippling across her skin, skin ashen with the blood loss and seeing Ethan fall to the floor after Tara ripped the knife out, the sound of the knife pulling out of Ethan’s throat with a wet squelch.

she thought it was over, but when Ethan jumped back up just to get the tv Stu Macher was killed with smashed on his head, running over to him to get him up, pry the tv off of his skull. he wasn’t shot in the head so he must be alive, right?

right?

she didn’t move until the cops tore her away from his body, kicking and screaming as Sam and Tara watched in pity, Kirby with a knowing look.

it wasn’t really a surprise to anyone when her body was found a few weeks later in her own apartment, no one had seen her since the shrine, since Ethan had chased her friends around and tried to carve them up. when they found her she was wearing one of Ethan’s hoodies, long forgotten, holding a picture of them together in one hand, one last look at the love of her short-lived life, and a gun in the other.

without the other, she would not live.

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #scream 6 #ethan landry x fem! reader #scream x reader #angst #im cryign #pls reblog #im fucking dying

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unfinshedsentec · 2 years

Note

Can I ask to add onto the seriously injured series with Shinichiro, Hakkai and Izana?

request 2: can you do sanzu and the Haitani brothers please?

Hey love! Thanks you so much for requesting❤️❤️I’ve gotten a lot of requests for pt.4 of seriously injured, so it’s kinda mixed with this other request (I’m so sorry I really hope you don’t mind)

Anyway, I basically did sanzu instead of shin, but if I ever do a pt.5, it’ll be with shin! Hahaha I really hope you like Thai anyway <333

when you get seriously injured pt.4

reader is gender neutral and there are manga spoilers (obviously)!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

characters: sanzu, hakkai, and izana

tw: cursing, blood, guns, injury, drugs, and death

Sanzu (future)

You met Sanzu when you joined under him as his assistant in Bonten. At first, your relationship was tense, and you were fully terrified of him, but as time passed and you spent most of your days by his side, you began to warm up to him.

Soon enough, you had a one-night stand. And then, you began a relationship. Albeit a closed off one.

You mainly stayed under the radar because of the dangerous work Bonten does. Yes, you were still well known as Sanzu’s assistant, just not as his s/o. Sanzu wanted to keep you safe, so you both intended to keep it that way. But, one of the hard parts of working at Bonten was there was always somebody else watching you. There were always enemies on the look out for weaknesses.

You happened to be Sanzu’s weakness. And the enemies found that out.

The moment they did, they were ecstatic. Not only had they found a way to weaken Bonten, but they also found a way to RUIN Bonten’s vice president.

It was pretty much the perfect opportunity, and the enemies naturally took that opportunity. That’s why you were trapped in a dark room, bound to a chair and gagged, while being recorded.

“Look who we have here~” the guy in front of you began, talking to the camera. “It’s THE Sanzu Haruchiyo’s precious s/o”

“FUCK YOU” you tried yelling, but it was muffled by the gag.

“Awwww poor baby, are you angry?” he mocked laughing at you, before delivering a harsh kick to your gut. You coughed; the wind being knocked out of you. “Shut the fuck up”

Another guy then walked in, and delivered more blows to your face, stomach, legs, etc. Each hit became progressively more painful, and as time passed, it went from the normal punch in the face, to a broken leg. It only stopped when the guy standing in front of the camera spoke again.

“Now, to the famous Bonten…” the guy began, talking to what was going to be Bonten, and your boyfriend. “You guys are either going to give us $300 million dollars, or” he continued, pointing at you “The Vice Prez’s s/o dies”

“MMMMMM”

“Get it here by 7, or else”

Then the camera turned off and the guys left, leaving you all alone, beaten up in the dark room.

It stayed that way until what you presumed to be a couple hours later, some more guys came in and started stabbing you in nonlethal places like your legs, arms, feet, etc.

You screamed in pain with each stab they made, feeling the cold metal pierce your skin. A horrible burning pain spread throughout your body and as time progressed, the pain got worse. Being able to see all the blood and your wounds only made things 10x worse.

Then they left, leaving you alone bloodied up, bleeding out, in excruciating pain. You were left like that for what seemed like days, when finally, someone came into the room again. You quickly recognized this guy to be the guy you first saw, and the one who recorded everything.

“Welp, it looks like your little boyfriend doesn’t care enough about you” he began, pulling a gun out and putting bullets in it. He then pointed it directly to your head, and his hand holding the trigger.

You screamed hoping to get him to stop. The feeling of the cold metal against your head was more than enough to make you freak out. You cried, and silently begged for Sanzu to save you, but he didn’t. And the guy holding the gun to your head, only held the trigger.

“It’s too bad really” he said, sighing. “You would’ve been a good toy”

*bang*

The man shot you, the impact blowing you and the chair to the floor. Blood poured out from your head and mouth, soaking into the carpet below you.

He sighed again, thinking about the mess he’d have to clean up from all the blood that surrounded your head, when suddenly someone came rushing in the room yelling.

“BOSS, WE HAVE AN EMERGENC-“ that guy fell on the floor dead. And behind him was your boyfriend himself, covered in blood, smirking.

“Now what do you think your doing to my precious Y/n?”

“Ha, it’s too lat-“and then Sanzu shot the guy and killed him, in true Sanzu fashion. Then, he made his way into the room, only to find you lying on the floor with blood covering you. Multiple wounds were on your body, your face was extremely pale, and there was obviously blood pouring out of your head.

Sanzu stared at you, before waltzing over to you and kneeling down.

“What’re you doin’ Y/n? You can’t die so easily” he muttered, stroking your hair.

“……”

“Get up Y/n!”

“………..”

“GET UP!”

“………..”

Sanzu yelled and yelled and yelled for you, but he never got anything in response. All he heard after his yells were silence, or the sound of gun shots outside of the room. Your skin was shade of blue, and your body felt nothing but cold. Your expression lacked any life, and the smell of the room you were in was full of the sickening and all too familiar smell of pure blood.

Sanzu was too late; and now, you were dead.

That day was the day Sanzu lost any normalcy he had. Any last sense of being human, and having morals was gone. He was nothing now expect a murderer. It was like he wasn’t even a person anymore. Just someone who was an empty shell that happened to be living.

And to think, it all happened because he lost you, the most important person in his life. And now, he would never be the same again. He would never be a person again, at least not without you.

Hakkai

In your relationship with Hakkai, you were the brave one.

You would be the one to start fights, do reckless things, and just be much more violent. At first this scared Hakkai, but after he got to know you, he saw how sweet you were, and he quickly fell in love.

Soon enough, you started your relationship with Hakkai. And, of course, with Hakkai came along with Toman.

Often times, you’d help out Toman, going along with the in fights and helping them win. You weren’t an official member, but many of their members acknowledge you and your strength.

That was exactly why you were here, next to Hakkai, fighting off some guys.

It was a brutal fight. The other gang had more members, but they weren’t as strong. In a way, that made Toman and them more even. Of course, their main focus was Mikey too, so they failed to recognize the other insanely strong members.

Needless to say, the battled field was even.

Until the other gang started playing dirty.

You were knocking out guys left and right, Hakkai behind you watching our back. The other team was quite startled by you, so you quite easily took care of guys. Soon enough, more people started coming for you, and you and Hakkai knocked out more and more guys.

While, at first this was fun for you, it quicky became tiring. You were constantly fighting guys, you weren’t getting a break, and now, the stronger ones were showing up.

And as I said, they were playing dirty.

When the strongest one you had met walked up to you, you presumably just did your usual kick in the dick and punch in the face. However, the guy caught your foot, and threw you across the area. Hakkai, went up to the guy to give him a good punch, only to get an insane punch in the jaw, effectively knocking him out.

The guy then waltzed up to you and straddled you, only to pull out a ridiculously huge brass knuckle and began punching everywhere from your face to your stomach, namely your ribs and throat.

It didn’t take long till you could no longer breath.

You wheezed for air, but nothing happened. You coughed and coughed and desperately tried to get anything in, but you got nothing. Your heart was beating in your chest and pounded in your ears. All you felt was pain, pain in your chest every time you tried breathing.

“Hmm, looks like I’ve done enough” the guy beating you said, before getting you up and walking away, leaving you alone gasping for air.

Your vison was blurring. You could see the guy walk away, and slowly you gained hope! But after you found yourself unable to move, and you blurrily saw you boyfriend laying in the pavement unconscious, you lost all hope.

You were going to die.

Your body was going numb, you couldn’t breathe, and you could feel all strength in your body go away. Nobody was there to help you either. Everyone else was unconscious around you; so, there was no one to help you. You couldn’t even scream for help.

Slowly, darkness surrounded your vison, and as your lungs burned from the lack of breath, your eyes closed. The last thing you heard, was Hakkai’s screams of help.

--------------------

Hakkai spacely woke up only to hear complete silence around him. There were no yells of anger, no groans of pain, no crazy laughs. It was just quiet.

He was dazed from the unusual silence, especially considering that he vaguely remembered being in a fight. All though his vison was blurry, he could vaguely make out unconscious bodies around him.

It took him a bit, but he eventually made his way onto his feet, hopefully to look for you. He looked around but found nothing.

Until he heard a faint wheezing.

When he turned around, he saw you, lying on the pavement, covered in blood, crying and wheezing. Blood covered your mouth, and your eyes were a horrible bloodshot red. Your skin was a sickly blue too.

Hakkai immediately panicked and made his way toward you. He could tell you were unconscious, because as he went to pick you up, you went limp. However, your chest still lightly went up and down, and your skin was still warm.

Immediately, Hakkai screamed for help. He scrambled around looking for anybody to help, but the area was almost dead. He reached to his pocket to look for his phone, but it was broken, likely from the impact of his fall. So, he continued screaming, hoping someone would come.

And someone did.

A tired Draken came trudging around the corner after he heard screaming. At first, he was just purely confused, but after he saw you lying there, unconscious and covered in blood, he rushed over and check on you. You were still alive, to Hakkai and his relief.

Immediately, Draken called the ambulance, and waited them out alongside Hakkai who was crying and loosing his shit. He calmly tried comforting him, but Hakkai was worried for you.

Hakkai didn’t want to lose you, he couldn’t. It was only natural for him to be hysterical.

Luckily, the ambulance came pretty quickly, and you were saved!

You woke up to your family, friends, and of course, Hakkai, all being happy hugging you and telling you how much they love you.

It turned out you had a collapsed lung, and it took you awhile to recover, but with the help of the doctors and love from your family and Hakkai, you recovered! Now, you’re alive and well! Of course, you’re happily living with Hakkai, who is beyond ecstatic, and you have a happy future ahead of you!

Yay!

Izana

As amazing as dating Izana is, it’s also one of the most stressful things there in the world.

You’re constantly worrying about him, his safety, and his happiness. You know he cares for Tenjuku, but you also worry that it will corrupt him even more and make him someone beyond saving. You worry that being the leader of a gang full of crime could potentially make him even lonelier. And as far as you were concerned; you weren’t going to let that happen.

That is exactly why you hung around Izana A LOT.

As his s/o, you often joined him in random meetings, beat ups, or just little things where you could be with him. Obviously, you just wanted to spend time with him and just be in his presence, but you also wanted to make sure he wouldn’t get corrupt.

Some of the Tenjuku members didn’t mind this. In fact, most liked you. Others however, not so much.

Some of those members just hated you with a passion. They hated that you were a weakling who was at the top solely because you dated Izana. They hated that they had the ability to be in your position, but they weren’t because someone who has no idea what they’re doing is there instead. And they thought you were using their boss for power.

Obviously, that wasn’t the case, but it was still what they thought. In fact, they were sure that it was the truth.

They were so sure they thought you had to be eliminated.

So, they did what they thought was best. They came up with a plan that would “save Tenjuku”. And today happened to be the day it was executed.

You were just walking home from a Tenjuku meeting. Izana usually would walk with you, but he had some things to talk to Kakucho about, so you offered to just walk home by yourself. While he was hesitant, Izana let you go seeing how confident you were.

So, you were walking home by yourself, simply humming along to the song that played in the headphone that was only in one ear. You groaned, a little tired from the busy day you had, but deep down, you were happy too as you got to spend more time with your boyfriend.

Briefly, you thought you heard a resulting sound behind you. Immediately, you shot around.

“Who’s there?!” you asked, only to get nothing in response. You were wary, but ultimately you just figured it was a racoon looking for trash or something.

So, you continued on your way. And it was quiet this time.

Too quiet.

You almost started to get scared, simply from the burning feeling in your gut telling you something was wrong. In a way, you had a feeling you should run. But you saw no reason too. You just figured you were overthinking again, so you continued, just periodically looking over your shoulder to be sure nothing was there.

Of course, nothing was there.

Until you looked over your shoulder again and saw someone behind you, just smirking.

“Well, well, well” the guy in the Tenjuku jacket said, approaching you. Each step he took toward you, you took one back though. “If it isn’t the famous Y/n L/n”

“Ummm hello?” you mumbled still backing up.

“You know you shouldn’t be all alone” he replied, walking faster.

“Yeah…well Izana’s busy”

“Really…” he began, his body language quickly becoming more violent. “That means I’ve lucked out”

“Huh?” you said trying to run away but… you weren’t fast enough.

“Get em’ boys”

Suddenly, you were tackled on the ground by a Tenjuku member, one that was much bigger than you. This one had brass knuckled, so each and every punch he landed on your face and body hurt a billon time more than the usual punch.

Suddenly, another guy appeared, heading towards your legs. At first you thought he was going to touch you, but instead, he broke your leg.

“AHHHHHHH” you screamed in pain. You could already feel your vison blurring for the beating your face and eyes were taking, but the feeling of your bone being snapped in half and poking at your skin hurt even more.

By now, you had no idea how many guys were there, but there was a lot. Each and every one was either watching you get beat up or were throwing punched at you left and right.

You could feel another punch to your face, a kick to your ribs, a crack of your bones going out. Sticky, cold blood covered your body, and you screamed.

You needed help. Or else, these guys would kill you.

But no one came.

With each scream, you begged for your boyfriend to come and stop this, but you still felt all these insanely painful punches on your body. You feel the excruciating pain of multiple bones being broken and at this point you couldn’t see anything.

Hell, you couldn’t breathe anymore.

It was like being in hell. It was just pitch blackness and pain….at some point you weren’t in pain.

You were just numb. There was no pain, no hope, no nothing. It was just numb.

Until you heard one voice.

“HEY, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” you heard a familiar voice yell…one that was beyond angry.

It was then that all the punched stopped. You no longer felt the impact of people kicking you around like a rag doll. Instead, you heard screams. There were screams of apologized, screams of pain, screams of regret, etc.

There was just screaming, until there was nothing. Then, you felt warm gentle hands hold you, and a soft comforting voice.

“It’s okay Y/n…you’ll be okay” Izana whispered, stroking your hair while he lifted you had Kakucho drive you and him to the hospital.

“….I-Izana? ” you mumbled, barely able to get anything out.

“Shhhh love, don’t talk. Just relax”

“I-izana….I don’t feel so good….” You felt a burning liquid come up your throat as you coughed…and coughed and coughed and coughed. Izana, meanwhile, was still holding you and stroking your hair while you vomited blood all over him.

“No. You’ll be fine, just fine”

“Nooo...Izana” you said, chocking up.

“You promised me, remember?” Izana began, his grip on you tightening. “You promised me you wouldn’t die…and you would stay by me, remember?!”

You could feel a certain light begin to enter vison, and slowly your body in a way, felt painless.

“….Kakucho” you mumbled, calling for the man driving you through the bustling Tokyo.

“Hmmm?”

“You better take care of Izana for me”

Suddenly, your body went limp, and the horrible smell of death filled the air. Your face was a grayish-blue, and your expression was blank.

Izana gripped onto you, yelling. He kept yelling at you to come back and be with him. He kept telling you about your promise, but it turned out you couldn’t keep it.

You ended up dying that night, leaving Izana alone and leading to the exact corruption you wanted to avoid.

At least you met again when he died!

“I’m on my way, Emma” vibes

//end!

masterlist || reblogs are very appreciated <33

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