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rushtoprove · 4 months

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the deepest melancholy

pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader rating: mature (18+) word count: 5.9k+ summary: you wished you were strong enough to fight against the life that had been planned for you, but instead you cower at the thought of marrying the dreaded kinslayer, and you were sure he wished to be marrying someone else too. but neither of you could escape this marriage. duty always prevails. chapter summary: the realm was left a mess after the war between the targaryen kin. aegon may have won but the city despises those who almost destroyed the realm. the greens have become the most feared family in the realm, and prince aemond the most frightening figure of them all. that is why the townsfolk weep as your carriage passes them. they pity the sweet girl who is to be sacrificed to the kinslayer and his family. warnings: smut. arranged marriage. uncomfortably smut. forced marriage. angst. it will get better. beauty and the beast au (?) authors note: I have a bad habit of disappearing to remain mysterious. I see my flaws. But truthfully... I never left.

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It had been six days since your arrival on this foreign shore, but you were still consumed with the sickness that comes with travelling upon the sea. Your stomach seemed to tighten with every bump or shift of the carriage, and every jolt had your dress being pulled tighter into your fists. The echoing voices and cries made it known that your arrival to the red keep had gained an audience, so you slowly pulled back the curtain of the carriage and peered out to see the villagers who you would soon preside over.

“They have experienced hell little one.” Your brother sighed pitifully as he leaned over your shoulder to view the commotion. The folk looked solemnly on the moving carriage, shaking their heads and bowing towards your hidden figure. Some wept pitifully for you leaving the bile in your stomach no choice but to race upwards, and when you made eye contact with an old nun crossing herself in a silent blessing, you hastily tugged the curtains back into place and push yourself into your seat.

“You would leave me here.” You chocked out in anguish. He simply laughed. All he ever did was laugh at you.

Your brother would not support you in your sorrows. He would not weep, nor would he pity you, because it was he who was forcing you into this torment. He was the one marrying you off to the second prince of the realm. He was the one orchestrating your misery. Your brother will simply dump you at the feet of the most hated family of the realm and walk away with more land and title.

“You can thank father for your predicament sister. It was that reckless old man who fought for the traitor Rhaenyra. It was he who lost our good will with the crown. It is I who is simply trying to win back our favour and our riches.”

“They will think me a traitor like they think our father was. He fought for her because he made an oath to support her claim. They will not differentiate who was under our banner on the battlefield. They will take out their anger on me. He will take out his anger on me.” The chills that tingled your spine when you thought of your future husband should be familiar by now, but it still frightens you.

“Father was blinded. Being obligated to risk all our fortune over a pathetic oath forced upon him by the late King Viserys. He worked beside Otto Hightower that whole time. He should know better than anyone the power that man held. He should have known the battle was won before Viserys was even dead.”

“Our father was a loyal subject to Queen Rhaenyra and he fought for her because he knew she would be an admirable ruler. She would have ruled as peacefully as her father. Now we are left with a drunken fool who has started a war with the stepstones once more and his brother who is using his new position as Commander of the City Watch to use cruelty and violence on the folk of Westeros for his on pleasure.” Your father’s death was still raw and the slight against his name lit a dangerous passion in you. It was horrifying listening to your brother talk about your poor dear father so carelessly, but he simply clicked his tongue in mock shame.

“Careful now or you may lose your tongue. Aegon is King, and your dear Lord Commander shall soon control you for the rest of your life. You shall have to worship the ground he walks upon if you wish to be a dutiful wife and not anger the King’s Mother. Although I do not think you are in too much danger of him touching you as I hear you are not his type dear. There are whispers he prefers to fuck witches and hags.” You shook with rage at his condescending tone.

“He burnt countless amounts off innocent farmers and villagers and left nothing but ashes wherever he went. You would give your sister to a man who murdered his own family… twice. He is Aemond the Kinslayer and you would…”

“You should be proud sister. I’ve matched you with a prince! A disfigured, cruel man who reduced half the realm to ashes, but a prince no less. Just ignore the bloodlust and violence and I’m sure it will not be so bad. All you need do is bare his heir and look pretty.” His childish snickers as he cut you off had you seeing red, but you understood you could do nothing but seethe silently. How could he be so proud to sell off his sister to the notorious brute that had burnt cities to the ground and slayed anyone who got in the way of his family as they usurped Rhaenyra’s throne. His bloodlust had even led to the murder of his own kin. How could such an animal be expected to make a suitable husband?

The sound of the city guards yelling for the gates to be opened, and the grinding and rattling that followed meant that you had finally arrived at the red keep, and that your life was over at the meek age of one and twenty. Your brother wasted no time jumping from the carriage the moment the door was swung open, but you stayed for just a second longer. Hovering the tips of your fingers over the stitching of your family's sigil that was engraved in the cushions around you, you let out an unsteady sigh. You thought of your father, of his kindness and his love. His bravery and his wit. He would have let you marry someone you were comfortable with; he would have wanted you to have a peaceful life. Your brother was to throw you into the dragon den.

“May I present my sister to your graces?! She’s a shy little thing forgive her!’ You brother boasted with a joyous laugh. His hand reached into the carriage and grabbed blindly for you, leaving you no choice but to straighten yourself, and swallow the melancholy that came with remembering your past. You did not take his hand, but instead stepped slowly from the carriage with a bowed head, allowing almost no vision of what was in front of you. You let yourself fall into a graceful curtsey and remained low. There was large audience lined around the courtyard of the Red Keep, leaving you nervously tremble.

“Your graces.” You whispered, slowly letting your eyes raise. There were many figures that had lined up to welcome you, but it was the four at the very front who demanded your attention. King Aegon sat in his wheelchair; half his face taken up by the burnt scarring the late Princess Rhaenys had left him upon her death, looking bored by the entire meeting. His wife, Princess Heleana stood beside him, but her gaze was towards the empty spot to the left of us, and her incoherent mumbling seemed to be ignored by everyone around her. Her mother, Alicent Hightower, had a hand on her daughter's elbow but you could not decide if it was to support her daughter or herself. She seemed overcome by exhaustion and the lines on her face seemed to age her more than she was. Her hair had begun greying and the unkept strands made you think she had run her hand through it vigorously.

“Welcome to our court. We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.” The smile that the dowager queen forced gave you no source of comfort, but you took the welcome as permission to stand at your full posture, and you finally allowed yourself to gaze upon your future husband. You would be lying if you did not admit to letting your gaze be drawn straight to the ugly scarring that peaked out from beneath his leather eye patch. It seemed to match the tight leather attire that fitted his lean body. He was a true Targaryen prince, with his perfect white hair and bright purple eye, so you were not shocked by his beauty. After all, Targaryen's were closer to the Gods than men. His looming figure was so still you could mistake it for a statue but proving not to be only by the slightest bow of his head as he gazed at you. His blank expression gave you no hint of whether he was satisfied by you and the silence that followed his mother's greeting left much to be uncertain of.

“I am much appreciative to be welcomed so kindly.” You wish you had the prowess to stand tall, or the courage to say something spiteful about this dreaded situation you had found yourself in; but you were scared.

“Pretty little thing you are my dear future sister. So innocent and quiet. I don’t know if my dear brother shall know what to do with you.” The King mocked Aemond boldly leaving a few courtiers to snicker, and Aegon turned his gaze knowingly towards his younger brother, eager for a reaction, but Aemond Targaryen simply stared at you. Trying politely to avert your gaze, your eyes moved to stare at his feet, but something drew your attention back to him not one minute later. His gaze was still on you.

“My sister shall allow whatever Prince Aemond desires. She is the most dutiful thing. I’m sure she will make a devoted wife.” You tensed at your brother’s demeaning comments and felt a swell of rage as the young king whistled in delight.

“Perhaps I shall wed her than! Take two wives just as my namesake did. Or perhaps I shall get rid of… that.” All eyes but one was drawn to Queen Heleana, but she did not notice and instead continued whispering with a sad smile. You could not help your brows from furrowing in empathy for the broken princess. It was no secret to the realm what horrors the woman had been through. The anguish that would come with watching your oldest son slain before your very eyes. The disrespect her husband spewed made your skin crawl. Feeling choked up by the pity, you averted your gaze towards Aemond Targaryen.

His eye had not left you.

You both stood in silence for a beat before Aemond slowly took a step forward. The quiet chatter of the courtiers stopped instantly and suddenly the atmosphere was heightened with anticipation of what the prince was about to do. Your breath was caught and with each step he took forward, you heart hammered harder. The lurching your stomach felt in the carriage was nothing compared to this very moment. It was as if time stretched longer than you ever thought possible, leaving you to feel as if you had been stuck in that one spot for eternity, waiting for the strides of your future husband to reach you. His lean figure was straight, and his gaze remained intense, inspecting your reaction as he moved towards you. When he finally reached your frozen figure, he towered over you, looking down with an almost cruel amusement in his eye. He finally moved his gaze from your face to give you a once over, slowly letting it fall down your entire body, before crawling back up.

“Shall I show you around the keep my lady?” His hand slowly extended, and you felt yourself hypnotised, reaching for it without a thought.

“I would be thankful for the tour of your home my prince, but I would not want to keep you from your duties.” You breathed out. If you were of the right mind, you would curse yourself at how kindly you greeted him, but alas you were overwhelmed by how close he stood, and how godly he looked up closely. Without breaking eye contact, Prince Aemond raised your knuckles to his lips and lightly let them brush against your skin, leaving the feeling of fire to consume your body.

“It would be my pleasure,” His voice was low as he finished the sentence with your name, and you were hypnotized by the way it rolled of his lips. If he had any idea of the sudden intoxication that had overpowered you, he did not show any hint of it, and you were thankful he did not boast of it. You were already to humiliated to bare. You were never the type of foolish girl to be besotted with a man, let alone a monster like this, but Aemond Targaryen seemed to conquer your very being with his mere presence. You were smart enough to recognise this was going to cause nothing but trouble for you.

“I would not wish to burden you.” You whispered softly for only his ears but threaded your arm over his awaiting arm all the same. You fell in step with his powerful strides and did not spare your brother a second glance as you passed him by. The prince breezed through the crowd who had come to gawk at the poor young girl who was getting sacrificed to this vicious man, and you found yourself revelling in the way they quickly scurried to the side to let you pass. Your amusement was short lived due to a hand reaching out and clutching at your elbow, leaving you staggering away from your future husband and into the body of a nameless courtier.

“Bless you sweetheart. Bless your poor soul. Let the Gods protect you from him.” The crowd around you began feverously whispering to one another, shocked by the man’s audacity, but the room was quickly silenced as two knights hoisted the man back with a shout and dragged him so fast, he had no chance to gain any footing. His body was dragged away as he cried and kicked his feet like a little boy leaving you once again unable to breathe. It was as if you had iced water thrown over you. The spell was broken, and you suddenly remembered who you held onto so eagerly. You were overcome by the smell of smoke and rot, as if you had been transported to the fields that Aemond Targaryen had so happily burnt to ashes. You swear you could smell the burnt flesh of his ghosts in that very moment.

“Come now my lady. Let’s get you away from this noise.” Aemond stared at the man being heaved away, expressionless. It was as if he was used to the scene that unfolded and was almost bored by the antics of the courtiers. You tried not to let him see your trembling fingers as you laced your hand upon his elbow and looked down in shame.

“What shall happen to him?” You don’t know why you asked, because you know what happens to those who speak out against this Targaryen family. Aemond began his pace once more but this time you could tell he was surveying every movement around them, waiting for another attack.

“He will be executed. We do not allow disobedience in our court.” He said your name as he finished his sentence and gazed down at you.

You understood the warning.

+++

Your wedding was a solemn affair. You had imagined when the time came around, there would be laughter and dancing, flowers and wine thrown around. Colourful and delightful with a husband who would steal kisses at the wedding feast and spend the night spinning you in his arms. Your family surrounding you. Your father hiding his tears as he watched you give your hand to the man you loved.

It was nothing like that. The crowd was silent as you walked. Not one person in the room smiled. The crowd bowed their heads in respect or pity, you cared not to know, and you had no energy to try and feign delight at the altar. Your husband was no different. He stared ahead with a grimace, but continued preforming the duty that was marrying you. You tried not to look at him during the ceremony but failed only once. He looked disconcerted by the whole experience making your heart ache. You wondered if he wished he was marrying the witch your brother had so carelessly mentioned. Your cursed heart ached at the thought. Not from jealousy, but from the desire of wanting to marry someone who wanted you. You were being chained to this man forever, and he wished for you to be someone else. But you could not fault him in that. Gods knows you too wished to be marrying someone else.

The wedding feast felt more like the wake at a funeral. There was a band playing some music in the balcony above, but no one moved. You sat stiffly by your new husband as you both stared ahead, trying to ignore the soft murmurs of the crowded hall. His finger were clenched around his chair and he did not speak as numerous courtiers steeped forward to present you both with your wedding gifts. It was left up to you to utter your appreciation at the useless artifacts while they scurried away, fearful of angering the prince with their presence.

“Please smile Aemond. Or do something that is not sitting there and scowling.” You pretended to ignore it when your new mother-in-law hissed into her sons' ear, then tried not to cower when he moved his hand to rest on yours above the table. The whole crowd would have seen the way you both flinched at the contact.

“Smile sister. This is a joyous occasion.” Your brother muttered lowly beside your ear, sometime after Alicent had ordered the same thing. You felt Aemond’s hand clench around yours just slightly, and you knew that he had heard your brother. Slowly you inched closer to your husband and gave him a slight smile, but you were sure it came out as a grimace instead.

“How will the Kingsguard handle tonight without their leader?” Whether it was out of politeness or awkwardness, you do not know, but the conversation you tried to start was quickly shut down by the monotone voice of your husband. He did not react to your words and let his gaze remain on the crowd below.

“I will be joining the patrols once we are finished our duty tonight.” You slipped your hand from his and clenched your wedding dress tightly in discomfort. You felt his gaze turn to you leaving your skin burning under his gaze.

“I see.”

You turned away from him and did not look at him until an hour later when he stood from his seat. The music halted at once and the room was silenced. The guards around the room quickly stood tall as Aemond surveyed the audience.

“My wife and I have grown quite tired from the festivities. It is time we retire to our bedchamber. Please, continue enjoying the feast my mother has so careful crafted.” Your new ladies-in-waiting quickly moved to your side from all corners of the room while the wedding party moved to walk you both to your doom. You were allowed to step into the room without your husband so that your ladies could help you ready yourself. On the other side of the door, Aemond was doing the same. It seemed he was joining you in your quarters tonight, in your new bed. There would be no safe place for you to escape the man.

“Are you alright my lady?” One of your ladies whispered as she undid your tight corset. The silk ribbon was unravelled and with each breath you released the closer you were to crumbling to the floor. You had spent the last two weeks in a constant state of fear and melancholy, and it all seemed to be coming to ahead at the worst time possible.

“I am alright Alyssa. Just tired.” You ignored the look the three women around you gave one another and instead moved your gaze elsewhere and landed on the worst possible spot. You had left your bed a crumpled mess this morning, after a night of restlessly tossing and turning, but you could not tell that anymore. The sheets were perfectly straight and tightened in the corners, folded down with such precision it made you feel sick. Your mother had died in childbirth, and you had no sisters so your knowledge of what was about to happen was limited, but you knew to expect the pain and blood at the hands of your husband.

“I hope you are not truly tired Brother. Your night has only just begun.” King Aegon slurred voice was muffled by the door but still audible. If you were not already filled with dread then, you sure as hell were now.

“Aegon, please just leave your comments for one night.” Alicent’s tired voice sighed back. You could not help the tears that began falling as your ladies began the final touches, fluffing your hair and untying the sleep gown so that it would be easier to remove. Without so much a glance at those in the room, you clamoured into the bed and wept.

“My lady, you cannot let them see this. They will think you ungrateful. It would do Prince Aemond great dishonour.” The three girls rushed to their lady in crisis and were quick to brush your hair from your face and hold you in comfort. You hardly talked to these girls, as they were a gift from your new family, and you assumed them to be spies for your husband and his scheming mother. But in this moment, you could only think of the comfort of being held.

“I’m scared.” You whimpered as they tried to sooth you with their murmurs.

“It is a scary thing my lady, but do not fret. It is over quicker than you can imagine.” Caitlyn, a relative of the Tully’s assured you as she stroked your hair.

“Oh yes. Just turn your gaze to something else in the room and it will be finished before you even settle on an object to admire.” Margaret, a distant relative of the Stark’s agreed with the assurance. It did not help but you appreciated the before. You wished to be held longer, but a stiff knock to the door echoed around your room.

“Is the Lady prepared?” The girls were quick to pat away your tears, and with a quick curtsey they moved to open the door. You instead turned your face to the side and stared at the new moon that was almost in the centre of the window frame. You did not need to look to know who had knocked.

“Yes, my prince. She is awaiting you.” With a curtsey they rushed out the room, leaving a silence that was only disrupted by the slight crackle of the candles that lit your room. You had tried hard to replicate the warmth of your room back home, but it had never felt colder. Time seemed to once again slow, and it felt a lifetime before you heard the click of the door closing. It remained quiet, and you thought for a second that your husband had perhaps decided he could not bear this just as much as you. Perhaps he had stormed off to the city to lead his guards in slaughtering the criminals within the walls of this wretched place. Perhaps you could sleep peacefully tonight, safe from the beast for one more night. The candles going out one by one let you know that your dreams were crushed, and that you were not alone in the room. He was silent as he crossed the floor, putting out all sources of light until you were left in the darkness of the night. The darkened moon did nothing to help you see.

“Do you know what to expect?” His voice sliced through the silence, choking you. You squeezed your eyes closed and did a small nod.

“I know enough.” You whispered as the bed beside you dipped. He sat beside you for a moment, and even in the darkness you could feel his eye on you.

“I shall try not to hurt you, but it will be uncomfortable.” Your eyes remained tightly closed and your fingers began to tremble. You did not expect any truth in his words. This man was vicious, known for the way he revelled in pain and torture. Why would he treat the daughter of a traitor any different?

“I would be most grateful.” You choked out and quickly turned away as you felt more tears build up. Aemond’s breath caught and for a moment it felt as he if was grieved by your whimper, but with a soft grunt he still turned to you and mounted his body atop of yours. The close contact of his chest on your chest sucked the breath from your lungs and you reached for his arms to stop him from crushing you, but he never did. He seemingly balanced his weight perfectly atop of you and slowly allowed his hand to rest on your hip.

“Please breathe. I do not wish to watch you suffocate wife.” He whispered as his fingers moved delicately across your clothed stomach. The reminder had you sucking deep in through your nose and exhaling staggered though your lips. His hand continued to dance lightly over your clothed torso, and you could not help but squeak as his hand moved towards your breast. You had never even kissed a man, let alone have one like this. He could not choke back his soft chuckle at your innocence, as he firmly pushed his palm down.

“Oh.” You whimpered in confusion. He pushed his hips down against yours and let out an almost relieved sigh at the contact. He began a slow movement of his hips as one hand groped you and the other clung to your hip. Your body felt alight with fire, and you could do nothing more but clutch at your husbands' arms in confusion. His teeth moved to your ear and your body arched against his at the feeling of them grazing your neck. Your brain seemed to stop and the overwhelming feelings that were all happening at once was almost too much to bare.

“Breathe.” He ordered in a soft murmur as his lips pressed on the skin between your jaw and ear. You wanted to tell him the truth in that very moment. You were trying to breathe, but you are worried you have forgotten how.

“Sorry.” Was all you could muster. His hand moved from your breast to trailing back down your body and began bunching the bottom of your nightdress up. You could feel the lace of it brushing up your legs leaving bumps to litter your skin at the soft caress. Your body froze in fear at what was about to happen. Once the dress was secured above your waist, you gasped at Aemond’s hand moving to clutch at your thigh. You were shocked at the feeling of someone else’s skin gripping yours.

“Have you prepared yourself?” He breathed out as he pushed his hips forward. It seemed to brush something that left you once again arching into him, only this time you were much more desperate to keep that contact.

“My ladies prepared me.” You stuttered out in confusion. Had he not already asked that to your ladies? His amused sigh made you think you had misunderstood his question.

“I sure hope they haven’t prepared you the way I ask about.” He grunted. Getting up on to his knees, you found yourself shivering at the loss of his body heat. Your arms dropped from his arms leaving you lying breath him, trying hard to steady your panting breaths.

“I have been bathed and pampered to.” His soft hum filled the room as you explained your answer, then he began moving his hand towards the inside of your thighs.

“My Prince!” You cried out, pushing away his fingers as they moved towards his destination. Your cheeks reddened with a deep crimson that only you could be aware of in this dark room.

“Do you want this to hurt? I promised I would help, and this is the only way.” He peeled your hands away and continued as if he had not been interrupted. Your irregular breaths began heavily, and you wondered if the whole castle could hear the noise.

“Prince…” You gasped as you felt his finger run up your most sacred area. He let out an almost disappointed sigh, and you were overtaken by the shame. Was there something wrong? Your fears were cut short as you felt him begin dancing the tips of his fingers down, then once again back up.

“You are not ready yet. But I shall prepare you.” His voiced was that of duty, with no shift of tone or colour. You had no choice but to lie in utter confusion at what was happening. No one had warned you about this part of consummating a marriage. The feeling of his fingers felt foreign, but you found your muscles almost relaxing under the touch.

“Aemond…” You sighed out his name without a though of his titles or nobility and this small gesture seemed to be enough for your husband to begin applying more pressure.

“Relax under my touch. This will help.” His voice whispered into the darkness. When he moved his finger up to begin circling your bud you almost flew from the bed. He seemed to expect such a reaction from you as he had already pushed his free hand into your stomach to keep you unmoving. You whimpered out his name again as he began to pick up speed and you found yourself trying to push away from his touch, even though you weren’t sure you wanted it to end. It felt as if a soft tremor was building inside your stomach, and you soon found your body clenching out of its relaxed state.

“Please don’t.” You don’t know what you were saying this but the fear at the feeling building inside you had you beginning to panic beneath his touch.

“Shhh, trust me.” He whispered your name above you before slowly moving his fingers to push inside you. The foreign feeling was too much, and you quickly gripped onto the second prince and screwed your eyes shut. His thumb remained circling your bud as his finger began stroking your inner walls leaving you crying out in shock. Your body tensed with each stroke of his fingers, and you soon began whimpering incoherently. You felt that pressure suddenly overcome you and it was no longer a soft tremor, but an overwhelming sensation that only kept building. It began the panic in your mind, and you clung tighter onto Aemond.

“Please…” You chocked out in desperation, pushing your hips forward into his palm. He began quickening his pace and you could not help but throw your head back and moan.

“You’re doing so well, good girl.” You don’t know what happened at his words, but your body arched, and you cried out as the waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you crying out and clutching Aemond’s shoulders. The pressure suddenly broke and you felt your voice disappear and instead seemed to scream out silently. Your body trembled and clenched throughout this feeling and Aemond did not halt his movements once. It was only when your body seemed to jolt from his touch that he slowed his movements pulled his fingers from you, leaving a slick trail to follow his touch.

“I’m… my prince, forgive me.” You were horrified by the way your body reacted at his touch.

“You did everything I had hoped you would.” He murmured before moving to unlace his pants. Your mind was too busy spinning to register the gesture, so you just stared dumbly as his hand slid underneath them. You watched in silent curiosity as his hand seemingly began moving and Aemond’s eyes furrowed in frustration.

“Could you… touch my arms or something?” He grunted as his hand seemed to quicken its movements. Your mouth was gaping like a fish as you cautiously nodded. With the gentlest touch you began tracing his arm upwards, blushing like madwoman. His movements did not halt once as you nervously ran your fingers up to his shoulders. You thought of his hand gripping your thigh, and how pleasing the firm grip he used was, so you nervously tightened your grip. It seemed to work because Aemond began adjusting himself out of his trousers. He allowed himself to fall forward to his original position of lying atop your body making your body still in anticipation of what was to come.

“Just turn your gaze to something else in the room and it will be finished before you even settle on an object to admire.” Margaret’s words were a reminder for you, so you turned your gaze to the window and tried to count how many stars you could see. You managed to get to twelve before he pushed himself into you and stole your gaze back greedily.

“Agh Aemond.” You were choked by the feeling as Aemond’s irregular breaths consumed your hearing.

‘I know, just…” He did not finish as he sunk deeper, and you cried out at the sharp pain inside you. It was not unbearable, but there was a great discomfort. You found yourself burying your head into his shoulder as he slowly began a slow movement with his hips leaving you gulping out a groan of pain.

“Just turn your gaze to something else in the room and it will be finished before you even settle on an object to admire.” One star. Two stars. Three stars. Your bottom lip trembled as the pleasure of your night seemed to finish and instead you were left trying not to squirm away in pain. Aemond’s silver strands kept moving to block your vision, so you finally turned back. Your nosed grazed his and you saw his eye widen in the darkness before his entire body stilled. He groaned deeply as he pressed his hips further into you and you could feel him twitching against you.

“It is done.” He breathed out. His movement was quick as he pulled out and moved to sit on the side of the bed. You were shocked by his quick movements and watched in a frazzled state as he quickly began relacing his pants. Following his lead, you pulled your dress back down and moved to rest against the headboard of your grand bed.

“I must attend the city watch now. I shall visit your chambers again tomorrow night until we…” You could tell a distant though had cut him off, but you knew what he meant. Until a child was conceived you would have to suffer him in your bed most nights.

“Did I…. Did I do something wrong?” You pulled the sheets to your chin in confusion at how desperate the man was to leave your company. He stood up and began pulling on his jacket that he must have taken off when he entered your rooms.

“You did everything perfectly. It is done now.” He moved towards the door, leaving you alone and disorientated by him. He turned back to look at you and you wondered what you must have looked like to him. Blushing and breathless, your hair a mess and your chest heaving, you assumed you looked a fool to the prince.

“Good night ābrazȳrys.” He mumbled. Your breath caught at his Valyrian, and you felt your brows furrow as the door quickly opened then closed swiftly. He was gone but you could hear a small commotion on the other side of the door.

“Aemond…”

“It is done mother; I have done my duty. Now leave me in peace.”

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nanaosaki3940 · 5 months

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TokRev in Final Timeline (Kazushi Yamagishi's Wikipedia)

Credit: Marin (@RanHaruchiyo) on Twitter. The original Twitter post - Link

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The first squad has a lot of strong fighters. One of them, Osanai, who’s cared about by Pah-chin, is said to be strong at the captain level.

Toman's 3rd Division Vice-Captain - Ryohei Hayashi aka Peh-yan

He has an alliance with Senju and Kazutora who want to win Mikey-kun. Senju’s the only one who seems to be taking this alliance seriously, even though he’s the one who made it.

Toman's 4th Division Captain - Kazutora Hanemiya

He and Akkun have been together every day since the Mizochu Incident when they had a one-on-one fight, and I'm a little bit jealous.

Toman's 4th Division Vice-Captain - Atsushi Sendo aka Akkun

The vice-captain of the fourth squad, Sendo Atsushi!! He’s the savior who put us in the fourth squad.

Toman's 5th Division Captain - Haruchiyo Akashi

Mikey believer. He is often banned from meetings because of his bad character. NOTE: the person to watch out for When I followed him, I found that he often meets with Mucho, one of the big four of Tenjiku. He is a traitor definitely!!

Toman's 5th Division Vice-Captain - Senju Akashi

The captain of the 5th squad substantially Finally I witnessed his cheating!! They were both eating chocolate mint ice cream from Seventeen Ice, and Takemichi looked good as he said, "We finally made good on our promise.” I have to report this to Hina-chan!!!

Toman's 6th Division Captain - Nahoya Kawata aka Smiley

He recently changed her hair color from apricot to nasturtium orange. He was angry that no one noticed.

Toman's 6th Division Vice-Captain - Souya Kawata aka Angry

Apparently, there is a band and he is the leader. The vocalist is Mitsuya, the guitarist is Kazutora, the bassist is Akkun, and the drummer is Angry.

Toman's Strategist - Tetta Kisaki

BAKAmichi’s partner. I wonder what it is about each other that attracts them even though he’s so smart like that?

Toman's Assistant - Shuji Hanma

He's still growing in height, apparently.

Black Dragon's 10th Generation Leader - Taiju Shiba

He's so strong in fights that he's like a wild gorilla, but he gets top grades in school apparently.

Black Dragon's Elite Guard Captain - Hajime Kokonoi

I was following him to try to get some information about Koko-kun, but on the contrary, he took advantage of my weakness.

Black Dragon's Attack Squad Captain - Seishu Inui

Inupi-kun apparently always keeps Koko-kun's wallet, who is careless with money. My fave from BD! He looks like me somehow huh?

Tenjiku's Boss - Izana Kurokawa

Unlike BD and Toman, Tenjiku is under his dictatorship. Apparently, he considers his members slaves.

Tenjiku's 1st Heavenly King - Kakucho

A prodigy in fights. He can compete with Mikey or Shiba Taiju in a one-on-one fight He is my fave from Tenjiku! Perfect! I strive to be like him in the future.

Tenjiku's 2nd Heavenly King - Yasuhiro Muto aka Mucho

The most “personable person” in Tenjiku.

Tenjiku's 3rd Heavenly King - Ran Haitani

When he talks to someone, he immediately starts talking at a distance of one centimeter. As a matter of fact, he seems to be very short-sighted.

Tenjiku's 4th Heavenly King - Kanji Mochizuki aka Mocchi

He seem to like Yukimi Daifuku.

Tenjiku's Executive - Rindo Haitani

I watched him all day long. In the morning, he drank in the park. In the afternoon, he drank with the homeless. In the evening, he drank with people in the off-site betting office. Finally, he drank in the nightclub at night!!

Tenjiku's Executive - Shion Madarame

He often gets sick to his stomach.

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the-modern-typewriter · 9 months

Note

Hey! I've read a lot of Villain-Hero pairings where the Villain betrays the Hero. What about one where the Hero betrays the Villain? Love your stuff!

"It feels good, doesn't it?" the villain asked. Their voice was soft. Too soft, really.

The hero's shoulders tensed.

The villain smiled at them. It looked like such a lovely guileless smile; the hero couldn't believe it for a second. Not when the villain was gazing up at them from the floor of a prison cell.

"Winning?"

The villain's smile grew. Their eyes crinkled at the corners. "Betrayal."

The hero swallowed hard. Their heart gave a lurching little stutter. They should have turned away right there and then, abandoned the villain to their fate, but the even more terrible truth of it rooted their feet to the spot.

The villain craned up on their knees, unable to go much further with their hands chained to the ground behind their back. It still put them at nearly the hero's diminutive height, a head below, neck craned up and offered like a sacrifice to meet the hero's eyes.

The villain wet their lips. "Powerful. In control. Cunning, even."

"Maybe that's what it feels like for you."

"Oh?" The villain's head tilted. "Are you bleeding out on the inside for me, then?"

The hero had done what was necessary. They had won. They didn't know if it made them a good hero and a bad person that it did feel good, that they weren't bleeding out and aching for the person who they had pretended to love. All they felt was triumph.

The villain's smile finally turned into the vicious gorgeous thing that the hero knew. "You'll go out there and you'll act sad, stalwart in the face of your duty perhaps. You'll pretend to still be the sweet little thing you were, but you've had a taste now, haven't you? It is better to hurt then to be hurt."

"Oh?" The hero folded their arms and swaggered a step closer, towering, because there was no one else around to see them except the one person who already knew their worst. Their monster. They leaned down, so that their lips nearly brushed. "Are you bleeding out on the inside for me?"

"Yes."

The hero's heart gave another lurching little stutter. Less shocked now, less frozen, more of a guilty squirming thrill. Awful. Enticing. Sick to the soul. They wanted to hear how the villain, after everything, was in agony. How they were second guessing everything, every second, every kiss. How they would be haunted by the wounds the hero had left upon them, never able to forget exactly which of them had come out on top in the end.

They hadn't used to be like that. They hadn't used to feel like that.

"It hurts exquisitely," the villain breathed, holding their gaze. "My, my, how far you've come. I always said you'd make a beautiful monster. I did teach you well, didn't I?"

The hero pulled back. "I did what I did because I had to. You do it for fun."

"Everyone starts out betraying people because they have to, love." The villain settled back down again on the floor in turn. "That's the gateway drug."

They stared at each for a long moment.

"Rot in hell," the hero said, and their voice was a little too soft too really. As if the softness they had for each other was anything but a honey-coated poison. "You had it coming."

The villain blew a kiss at their retreating back. "See you there, with all the other traitors."

#betrayal #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #heroes #villains #writing #ficlet #fic #writing snippet #story snippet #hero and villain

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sweetnsour1 · 2 months

Text

11:31

Fluff (I promise), Bakugou x fem reader

“We’re too similar.” You had trouble meeting the fiery gaze trying to pierce through your determination.

“And that’s…bad?” You ignore the hesitation, refusing to let it alter your course.

“Apparently.” The table groans under his tightening grip, but you pretend not to notice. “I can’t stand being someone that’s keeping you from being happier…from being the best.”

“Losing you would not make me happier.”

Your smile has never felt heavier. You’re not even sure if it makes any visible change to your face.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” Damn, it always gets you when he’s straightforward like that.

“You know…We give everything out there.”

“Fuck yes, we do.”

“And it’s not enough.”

“That’s not-“ You can hear a small shift in his tone. He’s finally understanding how serious you are. He lets you cut him off.

“It is true. And we can’t keep doing things this way.”

“We can-“

“I can’t keep doing things this way.”

“So you want to just give up?”

“I don’t want to give up on this…on us. But being with you like this…hurts. So yea, we shouldn’t be together.”

“No. We can beat these assholes this time. I fucking know it.” His hands slam on the table just as everyone knowingly picks up their glasses. The usual routine for avoiding any spills.

“Kinda fucked up for the host to call us assholes.” Sero tapes his glass to the table, grabbing something from the mountain of snacks piled on the table.

“I’m not hosting shit. You extras decided to show up here.”

“If you read your texts, you’d know that you have the biggest living room. Charades is better here.”

“Icy hot and De-Izuku have bigger places.”

Mina offers another eye roll, while gathering the energy to reply again.

“If you read your texts, you’d know that Todoroki’s place didn’t have enough props and Deku has too many breakables…that he cries if we break.”

“So let’s vote. Hands up if we are doing men vs women this time…hands down if we are going to let Bakugou’s tantrum get him what he wants?” You’re a little surprised at Momo’s sass, but are even more surprised at the way Todoroki chuckles at her. You’ll have to grill her about that later.

Bakugou huffed, crossing his arms and sliding down into his chair. The rest of the table began exchanging seats before hands even went up. You felt a twinge of guilt as you stood, smiling gently at the pouting hero.

“Can’t believe you’re abandoning me.”

You let your hand slide through his hair and down his neck as you walked around him to the other side of the room. He turned the moment you hesitated, grabbing your wrist. You laughed, leaning down as he tugged you to him.

“Am I forgiven already?”

“Absolutely fucking not, traitor. How am I supposed to win with you over there?”

“If you lose, I’ll make it up to you later.” His smile got wider and you started to worry what he was planning. His expression changed after an elbow from Kirishima reminded him how many people were in the room. He kissed your wrist before releasing you to the enemies lining up on his sectional.

You heard Kaminari pick up the conversation as you walked away.

“So what do I get if iiiii win?”

“You get to leave my house in one piece, idiot.”

Just random brain rot. Enjoy

Masterlist

#bakugou #bakugou fluff #bakugou katsuki #bnha #bnha fluff #bakugou x reader #bakugou drabbles #bnha drabbles #bnha imagines #bakugou imagines

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sixosix · 27 days

Text

US TRAITORS NEVER WIN | LYNEY

notes 3.1k words! hey guys, this series started before arlecchinos release, so if you're reading this post-arlecchino-release and wondering why she might be ooc — that's why!!

before you read! this chapter involves a lot of flashbacks going back and forth with the present narrative. To avoid confusion, you’ll notice the difference in tenses. hope you’ll be able to read without hassle!

warnings hostage situation, mentions of violence; it’s nothing explicitly gory, but be cautious if you want to read!

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

The stillness of the room feels like a slap to the face. As the 15-foot-tall doors shut with a thud, Lyney has nowhere else to look but in the heart of the room. There is no spotlight, but his attention is arrested by the dark claws leading up to none other than their ‘Father’.

"Lyney, Lynette," The Knave greets. Her legs are crossed, yet she takes up the entire couch anyway.

No, better yet, her presence floods the entire room, and Lyney is suffocated.

Usually, he'd have no problem with 'Father' addressing him directly; she’d done so multiple times as her successor. He could speak without stumbling, knowing he was doing his job and doing it right. But there's a new factor in play now, and he doesn't know what 'Father' would do if she finds out about you—if she hasn’t already found out about you.

A heavy weight settled over his limbs: fear, anticipation, or some emotion you’ll only ever learn when faced with a Harbinger. Lyney feels suffocated. Lyney wants to drop to his knees from the pressure of all of it. (He feels angry instead for thinking of caving in so quickly.)

He breathes in deeply and bows along with his sister. "'Father', welcome back," he says, grimly wishing he had meant it instead of this.

Arlecchino hums, her gaze icy. Lyney feels sweat gather on the back of his neck. He keeps his head hunched, and Lynette does the same. "Lovely party. I heard Tartaglia dropped by?"

"He said he was collecting debts," Lyney says.

Arlecchino laughed under her breath, though it was more like a huff from her nose. "He says that, but he's only here for personal business. Yet the Tsaritsa would let him, as usual.”

Lyney frowns. Personal? Although they could never turn away a Harbinger from entering the banquet, Lyney is positive they never invited him. And then he wonders if you only came because Master Childe was there—and he doesn’t like that thought at all.

“But,” Arlecchino says, selecting a champagne flute from the table by her feet, “we all know this isn't what we're here to talk about.”

Lyney carefully composes his expression, silent, lingering for her to say it first. Lynette’s tail flicks. Arlecchino scrutinized them.

“I heard about the mishap of a performance. That was supposed to be the night you were going to investigate the Oratrice, wasn’t it?”

Although she phrases it like an innocent question, Lyney could find the implications. You have failed.

She continues: “Were you ever planning to tell me about Y/N?”

Lyney was already expecting it, but to hear your name from her mouth made him wince. It turns out she already knew the answer.

Lyney finds his voice through some bout of a miracle. “Y/N’s not involved in this, I—”

“From what I heard, you haven’t investigated it, still, even when you performed again.”

It’s true. Lyney and Lynette could only perform safer tricks—Lyney wasn’t in the right state of mind to fully focus on his performance. And upon reconstructing their props, Lynette discovered they had used the wrong rope to tie up the water tank. It was all set up too hastily to try and rebuild it. But there was another reason: it slipped from his mind.

“She’s not part of the House anymore,” The Knave continues at Lyney’s guilty silence. “And I know you’re smart enough to realize she’s after intel. Whatever it may be, it has something to do with the Traveler after us. As a child of the House, would you irresponsibly let someone interfere with our mission like that?”

Lyney says, “It’s not like she would be against us—”

“She chose to leave. Aren’t you doing her decision a disservice by pulling her back?”

Lyney knew that this would happen. He knew well enough to predict what ‘Father’ would make them do, but still—

“We understand,” Lynette says, her eyes darting down to Lyney’s clenched fists.

The Knave stares at Lyney, and the strength of her stare has Lyney lowering his eyes to the floor. “Do you?” she asks. They wisely stay silent: Lynette’s hesitance and Lyney’s frustration. “Then I trust this won’t happen any longer.”

‘Father’ plucks an image beside her thigh, then reveals it. The Knave holds his gaze as his jaw goes slack.

You and Childe build an agreement to keep up the facade, though it was mostly because Childe owed Aether. Something about how Lord Tartaglia is a family man, you don’t really understand—he mentions many names, and you’re too hungover to remember who Tonia was.

You had never been so… chill with a Harbinger like that before, but he was alright. Discussing your previous experience as a Fatuu and understanding the terminology he threw around was nerve-wracking, but Lord Tartaglia didn't mind. He treated you as an equal. And though it was most likely because of Aether, it was a strange feeling you would never get used to.

When Childe vacated the Teapot (what the hell), Aether was on your business in a flash. He said that Childe went back to the banquet while you slept to evade suspicions but found something instead—a picture of Lyney.

“What?” You frown, inching away from Aether’s stare. “What does a picture of Lyney going around have anything to do with me?”

Never mind that you want to see it, though.

“It was a picture of you and Lyney,” Aether says. “Canoodling, like what Childe said.”

Aether grasps your horror and makes it worse by demonstrating a copy of the image blown up overnight.

It mainly was Lyney in the frame, hair mussed and looking very much like a damsel in distress with his pretty face. He was holding someone up, and you recognize who that dress belonged to right away because you’re still wearing it. If you gape long enough, you’d feel his warmth on your side. That wasn’t all, though. The picture had color, and the red mark on Lyney’s neck might as well have gouged your eyes out and called you stupid in itself.

The headlines: SCANDAL: MAGICIAN’S MAGIC WAND FOUND IN UNLIKELY COMPANY!

The reactions: Is that his lover? Is this an affair? Goodness, I’ve never seen Mr. Lyney so intimate with a woman before! Was this woman shamelessly draping herself all over him? Have some decency… Wait, what do they mean by his magic wand?

“Oh my fuck,” is all you can say, mainly because ice has begun to creep up the newspaper.

“Whoa,” Aether says, staring wide-eyed. He’s never seen you use your Vision before, even involuntarily.

You bury your face in your hands. If Aether saw the picture, who else could’ve seen it? The first name that appears to mind is Arlecchino, and although the mysterious, strangely-colored drink helped calm your headache, it was back in full swing at the flash of her face. This has to be on the highest level in the category of Fuck, this is a very Bad Situation.

“Do you show your face often?” Aether asks, gently prying the picture off your frozen hands. “I doubt anyone who doesn’t see you every day would be able to recognize you, but…”

“The only people who get to see me are customers when I’m helping out at the shop,” you say, remembering how much of a hassle it could be for Rosalie when the shop gets busy during February.

Your blood runs cold. Aether and Paimon startle when your fists slam on the table as you rush to exclaim, “Rosalie!”

It was pouring uncontrollably. The cup of tea was warm in your hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to drink it when a strange woman sat across you, staring.

“Does it not taste right?” she asked. “Or are the clothes uncomfortable?”

The clothes were comfortable, but her eagerness to please you wasn’t. It was unsettling. Reminded you too much of someone. You had been thinking about how to tell her that she should throw away the clothes you were wearing previously—you’d rather dig up a hole and bury yourself there than see it again and relive everything.

The tea was starting to feel too heated. You flinched away, and some liquid splattered on the white tablecloth. You froze, stammering a weak, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, smiling gently. Her smile was somehow warmer than your drink. “You don’t have to drink it, but it could help you warm up. Set it down on the table for a while.”

You later learned her name was Rosalie. She owned this flower shop, though it hadn’t been doing well recently. All of the flowers looked lifeless and wilted. She was about to throw away the flowers outside before she saw you.

She never demanded why you were outside, alone, with ice on your arms. She never looked at you wrong. There had to be a catch that you were missing. But there was a thunderstorm outside, and you had an inkling that Lyney wouldn’t be above looking for you in the pouring rain. You didn’t want to risk it and find out, either.

Rosalie glanced at you, sensing your apprehension. “Do you have anywhere else to go for the night?”

You hesitated. You were raised to be a liar. But did you even have a reason to lie anymore? Quietly, you murmured, “No.”

Rosalie nodded in understanding, even though she didn’t know anything. “Then, would you please do me a favor and rest here for the time being?”

Why would it be a favor to her? What kind of manipulation tactic was this?

Rosalie laughed at whatever face you were making. “It would make me feel a whole lot better if I didn’t send out a child during this storm.”

Ah. That made more sense. Although it felt like she was still trying to appease you, it was a sufficient explanation you could believe.

You sipped your tea and felt a little less cold—if not for yourself, then for this strange but nice woman.

For the first time in a long time, you slept somewhere unfamiliar. You were too tired to argue last night about who was going to take Rosalie’s bed; honestly, you might have passed out mid-word from exhaustion. Rosalie’s bed was like a cloud—tearing your eyes open pained you physically.

And to make it worse, you didn’t want to wake up. Would Rosalie walk you back to the orphanage now that the sun was shining? Would you have to face ‘Father’s disappointment? Would you have to face Lynette’s? Freminet’s? Lyney’s?

The door creaked and you hurried to flutter your eyes shut, the hair on the back of your arms standing. You listened closely to the click-click-click of heels that inched closer to your vulnerable, supposedly asleep body. Your fists clenched, preparing to summon your weapon if necessary.

Instead, you felt the weight of… something warm settle beside you.

“Wake up soon,” Rosalie whispered. “The food will get cold.”

Yet she didn’t wait for a response. You heard her heels fade away as the door clicked shut.

You turned to your side and came face-to-face with a tray of breakfast. It was still warm. Everything about this place and the strange woman felt warm. You could’ve just been hungry, but it looked different from any food you used to be served with.

(It tasted twice as good, too.)

Rosalie gazes into the depths of nothingness. Her senses creep back to her, her limbs ache, and she cries out for help. Her first instinct is to move, but then she realizes she cannot. A sliver of light floods the floor from the crack of the door, but she doesn’t need her eyes to figure out she is tied to a chair.

Before she could react, a flashlight was pointed at her face. Fear churns inside her like thunder rumbling.

“You know what we’re here for,” the voice says, deep and impatient. “You’re lucky you managed to get this far without anyone killing you first."

Rosalie watches them warily. She doesn’t want to speak.

Then a new voice chimes in, much more feminine, yet also as unfriendly. “The kid. Tell us where you hid her.”

Rosalie frowns. “Kid?”

“Don’t act stupid,” the woman says. “The kid you adopted.”

Rosalie forces her expression to fall into something more blank. She does know what they’re talking about. Although you’re no longer a kid, you’re Rosalie’s kid, not theirs. Her arms are starting to numb from the tightness of the ropes. She has to leave now.

“You think acting dumb will save you? We already have proof you have the kid. You know who we are?” The man directed the flashlight to their outfits. Had Rosalie not been biting her lip so hard it was bleeding, she would’ve gasped. “We’re not someone you want to piss off.”

“Who would’ve thought; the Fatui kidnapping a woman who was never involved with the likes of you,” Rosalie says bitterly. She tastes blood on her tongue and can only hope they don’t see how she’s trembling. She has to be strong for you—one crack and you’d be in danger.

The woman with the purple hood sneers, “You’ve gotten yourself involved the moment you kept that House runt.”

Rosalie is a little bit lost. “What do you mean?”

When Lyney asked for your presence at the banquet, you turned to Rosalie for help. She was more than pleased about this; seeing her fret over you with such passion was warming.

You felt a little stupid dressing up this much. You reasoned to yourself—and to anyone who would ask—that it was to fit in, but Rosalie made a comment about how it seemed like you were off to impress someone, and it has not left your mind since.

Who would you even impress? The other orphans? The wealthy old men who would undoubtedly eye you up? Lyney? The thought had your face flame up for a reason you didn’t want to investigate. Would Lyney also wear something different? (Would Lyney notice it if you wore something different…?)

The polearm he had gifted lay in the corner of the room. You could easily look at it from here.

As she styled your hair, you found yourself blurting out a stupid question: "Have you ever been in love before?"

"Oh?" Rosalie's smirk could be seen in the mirror. "Who is it? Don't tell me it's that Outlander boy—Aether."

"What? No."

Rosalie nodded, satisfied. "He doesn't seem like the type of boy to settle."

You wondered if Lyney was the type to settle. Then you ended up wondering if Lyney still liked you enough or was just keeping a facade; Lyney wasn't above sweet-talking. It was part of his job.

"Well," Rosalie sighed wistfully. “I’ve had conversations with countless men and women that might have led to something deeper, but I never could find myself committing to it.”

She brushed your hair gently like you imagined a mother who loved you would. “Instead, I fell in love with the articles featuring different places. Mondstadt caught my eye the most—with their Windwheel Asters. Imagine running through a field of them as they spin along with the Mondsadt wind!”

Rosalie’s eyes were sparkling; you could tell, even from the mirror. They looked so far away as if imagining what it would be like. “Having them stored neatly in pots and vases didn’t feel the same,” she said.

"Really? Then..." Your face fell. Were you keeping Rosalie here? Was it your fault that she never got to explore?

“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not true,” Rosalie said, pausing from brushing your hair to press her cheek against yours. “I also fell in love with something else one rainy day—an adorable little girl I swore I would care for as if she were my own. You aren’t keeping me bound, ma chérie.”

You held her gaze through the mirror, awestruck.

Rosalie smiled warmly, pecking your cheek. “I thought I was just sick of Fontaine—my own home. But I know if I leave you to fend for yourself, I’d get homesick.”

You and Aether reached the shop, but—

You know what it would look like, yet the sight of a chair toppled over doesn’t make it any easier. Your eyes sting the longer you look at it. Was Rosalie struggling? Were her cries muffled? Was she screaming for help while you were out drinking?

Aether warns you of any traps, but all they left is a hole in your chest at the dull air of the shop.

“She’s not—she’s not here,” you breathe. It’s the obvious, it’s clear as day: Rosalie’s been taken hostage. You should’ve seen this coming. Your past will never leave you. You should’ve never gotten involved with innocent Rosalie—you only deceived her—

“Y/N.” Aether’s voice is only a whisper, but you jolt out of your thoughts anyway. “Do you need to sit down? You’re shaking.”

Your eyes slip downwards and realize that the floor had been iced over. Some of the flowers freeze, then crumble.

You look away, ashamed to have shown your face to Aether when you’re vulnerable like a pathetic little child. “I can’t just sit down while Rosalie is out there, Aether. I can’t.”

Aether doesn’t look pleased, but he nods in understanding. “Should we get the Gardes involved?”

This would involve the Fatui—Lyney, the orphans, The Knave. Why would you drag other innocent people into this mess, too?

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “I don’t know if it would make it worse.”

Rosalie couldn’t understand a thing. These Fatui were telling her that you were a Fatuu in an orphanage called the House of the Hearth and that you betrayed them and got Rosalie involved with the bounty painted on your back. But it would explain why you were alone and didn’t have anywhere else to go, why you had bruises and scars all over, and why you had the eyes of a seasoned warrior even as a child.

But she couldn’t understand why you never told her. Were you afraid of her? Did she give you a reason not to trust her?

Her chest aches, ashamed at her ignorance.

Then she blinks at the flood of light. The knife on her neck is promptly removed; and when she looks around wildly, she realizes that the Fatui were on either side of her, bowing deeply.

Her eyes couldn’t adjust right away, only processing a blur of a tall figure. The figure made its way towards Rosalie; she won’t admit it, but she’s terrified. But then the figure kneeled before her and presented a flower.

Rosalie’s eyes widen. “You’re—the woman with the Sneznhayan—”

The Knave’s dark eyes pierce through Rosalie’s. “I believe I owe you a talk, at the very least.”

notes omg hi lmk what u think! for me i think it was... very messy... and its about to get messier!!!!! but i hope u guys at least enjoyed:D tysm for reading! and reblogs and comments will get u a kiss from thawed!mc and lyney trust

TAGLIST.

@thenyxsky @aeferkssr @1mewo1 @lacrimae-lotos @meigalaxy @hyacinth-daze @miwafei @popochakku @svasilios @heyhazelnut101 @kruinka @waveto-earth @superstar-ethereal @mxplesyrvp @achilleas-dream @episodecete @jellifizz @auranny @motherscrustytoenailclippings @lovelyevil @iawaaaaaa @rionah @esmetrees @cherryig @kzhwaif @mystiquemare @unknownlololol @sanluvssu @blvdmrcnry @kascar-chronicle @idontevenknow129 @tarathecogsci @lunavixia @beaniedoodz @wendolrea @avalordream @egoistars @rains-mae @magnificentfireball @poemzcheng @fiannee @ask-kurayami-akura @sc4rlett-letter @xxxion @wangshuu @deathkat657 @powchakko @beasalmeh @h-8chi @lovelypadisarah @unstablemiss @huanator (bold usernames can't be tagged!)

#606: THAWED #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n

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callsign-rogueone · 3 months

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keep her safe - g.t.

Garrick Tavis x Marked!Pacifist!Reader This one is for my fellow tired, chronic pain girls who just want their suffering to serve some purpose, and those who trust everyone they meet, even if they shouldn’t. wc: 4.7k -- the longest work I've ever put on this blog! second chapter is here! 🏷: spoilers for both Fourth Wing books (I’m currently 500 pages into Iron Flame, and y’all... 😭) people refer to you with she/her pronouns, canon-typical violence and torture, mentions of canon character death / death of a family member, bad coping mechanisms, Dain and his memory reading (I tried to make him more tolerable), one (1) reference to sex, I gave you a last name (Avan) and Garrick calls you angel as a pet name, because I refuse to use y/n. Your dragon's name is Tab.

Your stomach drops as your name is called for a challenge. “No weapons today.” Emeterrio adds. “I want you to work on your hand-to-hand.”

The pair of you unsheath nearly a dozen knives apiece, you handing yours to Bodhi. Disarmed, you extend a hand to the boy, as is the Tyrrish tradition before a friendly spar, but he doesn’t take it. No unmarked ones ever have.

He charges first, tangles a hand in your hair and pulls, jerking your head back, and the crowd of freshmen gasp, but you plant your feet and move with him, twisting your spine with practiced ease.

That gives you enough distance to kick a leg out at his right knee, hitting him squarely in the back of it. He releases you. Another swift kick to his legs has them sweeping out from under him. You dig a thumb into his collarbone, finding just the right spot, and he crumples, giving you a split second to wrap your arm around his throat.

He claws at your elbow with blunt nails, wasting breath as he attempts to rise to his feet, but you keep him pinned with your body weight, bearing down as hard as you can. He bucks, and your left boot skids against the mat.

You bend your knee to brace yourself in a lunge. Your arm is starting to falter, he can feel the muscle straining around his jaw, but he’s tiring too — running out of air. If neither of you moves, he’s going to die.

“Enough,” Emeterrio commands.

You release him, extending a hand to pull him up, but he smacks it away and dives straight at you, clearly not done. “I’m not letting you off that easily, traitor.”

You squeak in surprise, your back hitting the mat with a thud, and he lands another blow to your jaw. You struggle to take control back, gasping for breath from how hard you’d hit the floor.

He gathers your wrists into one hand easily, the other closing around your throat.

“You are going to die on this mat if you don’t do something, now. Use the failsafe.”

There’s one dagger you hadn’t removed, that you’d won from Garrick in combat your first year, that he’d let you win, really, and promptly ordered that you never remove it from your reach, for situations like this.

He doesn’t have your legs pinned, so you kick out, catching him in the thigh, and his grip falters. You manage to wiggle one arm free to pull the blade from the inside of your jacket, rolling onto your side and holding the point millimeters away from his chest. “Yield,” you order, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“You won’t kill me,” He snarls. “Everyone knows you’re all bark and no bite. That’s why you keep him around.”

You drag it down, just enough to tear his shirt. “Yield, or you’ll meet Malek today and you can explain to him what a cheating coward you are.” The words surprise you, but you fight to maintain the hardened look on your face, trying to convince him you’re serious.

“Fine,” he spits, “I yield.”

Heart still pounding, you move to lean against the wall with the other marked ones, Bodhi handing you back your arsenal blade by blade.

“She cheated!” Jason protests as soon as he’s standing again.

“She did what was necessary after you defied a direct order from a superior officer,” Emeterrio says narrowly.

Jason glowers, but returns to his friends without further argument. The rest of the pack takes note of their faces; they’re likely as conniving as him, and as liable to try to kill you, too.

“I’m gonna end that motherfucker,” Garrick mutters, checking you over for injuries as subtly as he can. He hands you a scrap of cloth and you wipe the blood from your nose, wincing, but grateful it isn’t broken.

“He’s been at this for months. One of these days, he’s going to kill you.” Bodhi says quietly, his gaze not moving from the next sparring pair.

“Why not kill him first?” Imogen asks. “You had a knife to his gut, you should have used it.”

“No.” You say firmly. “To kill anyone unmarked, especially an officer’s son, would confirm what everyone else in this army believes about Tyrs; that we are bloodthirsty animals.”

“Let them believe that,” she scoffs. “They’ll never change their mind.”

You sigh. Maybe she’s right.

You don’t see your friends for the next ten hours, when you’re finally excused for dinner.

“Where the hell have you been?” Bodhi asks.

“Medical wing,” you rasp, sliding into a seat at the end of the bench. “Mending infantry with Carr.”

“You should eat,” Liam says softly, pushing a plate toward you, but you shake your head no, every muscle in your body screaming.

You look like your head is going to hit the table, your neck no longer able to hold it up. Bodhi pulls you into his side and you slump against him, boneless. “Her signet isn’t fully developed yet,” you hear him explain to Violet and Liam. “She’ll be okay. She just needs to rest.”

When you wake, it’s dark out, the room nearly pitch black, but you can tell it’s not yours — the furniture is arranged differently.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, gentle one,” Tab greets as soon as you’re cognizant. He can only be this dry about it because he knew you’d pull through. “If he makes you do that again, I’ll eat him.”

You laugh, wincing at the pain in your ribs. Your entire body aches. There’s no way you got up the three flights of stairs here yourself — you didn’t even have it in you to chew food at dinner.

There’s a comforting scent to the room — all the soap and detergent everyone uses is standard issue, but something about the sheets smells like Garrick. Your theory is confirmed when he walks through the door, the hallway light illuminating the hilts of the two swords strapped to his back. “If you want me in your bed, Gare, you just need to ask,” you say in greeting.

He laughs dryly, waving a hand to activate a small mage light. “The damage can’t be too bad if you’re already cracking jokes.”

“I missed physics, didn’t I? Did you carry me up here?”

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about. You can copy Violet’s notes, they’re way better than mine.” He strips some of the weapons off, shedding his flight jacket along with them. It’s something you’ve seen many times before, but it never fails to make your heart flutter.

He sits on the edge of the bed, a gentle hand moving up to lay against your cheek. “And I did carry you. I’d do anything for you, angel. It scares me sometimes.”

He brushes a piece of hair from your face. You’d been freezing cold when you fell asleep, so he’d draped you with every blanket he owned before leaving, and it seems to have worked — your skin is pleasantly warm against his hand.

“Anything, hm?” You ask, a lazy smile on your face.

His eyes sparkle at the mischief in your tone, but he’s responsible enough to think before he acts. “Not until you’ve recovered,” he says sternly.

You yawn. “D’you have section leader stuff to do tonight?”

“That’s what executive officers are for.”

You crack an eye to look at him in disapproval. “Gare, you can’t skip duty. Melgren will have your head.”

He sighs. “Fine. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t. Your bed is more comfortable than mine anyway.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, tugging the jacket back on and strapping in the swords.

/////////

Someone is standing in front of your yoga mat. Dain. “No bodyguard today?” He asks.

You’re silent, your gaze flickering between him and the longsword by your side, the one Garrick had insisted you take with you everywhere when he wasn’t there to protect you.

“You may find this hard to believe, but I don’t want to kill you.” He says with a sigh. “I just need to-”

“Quit talking and join me, or leave.” You interrupt, settling into a deeper stretch, eyes closing as you gesture to the floor next to you with an open hand. By the grace of Amari, Carr had given you enough time off to recover, but he’ll likely be making you work another shift in the infirmary today. This will be your only pocket of calm for the next twelve hours. You aren’t going to skip it for Dain, of all people.

He chooses the first option, surprising you as he drags a mat over beside yours, attempting to copy your movements. “Do you really do this every day?” He asks, uncomfortable.

“Even a soldier must take time to be at peace. Clear your mind. Whatever you’re thinking about is so loud it’s distracting.”

He startles, his foot slipping on the mat.

“No, my signet is not mind-reading.” You say, eyes still closed, though there’s an amused look on your face. “Relax. You’re killing the air in here with that nervous energy.”

For the next five minutes, you both stretch in total silence. “Now,” you decide, bringing your arms back to your body, focusing on your breathing, “what was so important that you needed to find me here?”

He cuts straight to it. “Varrish wants me to… practice on you. He thinks you’re hiding something, that all of you are.” He doesn’t need to specify who he means by you.

You don’t seem to react to the information, instead looking at him with curiosity. “How do you feel about your signet?”

He blinks. Nobody’s ever asked him that before. “I don’t know.” He says quietly. You shift again, but he doesn’t follow you, folding his legs underneath him instead. Your silence presses him to speak, needing to fill the air. “I used to think it was cool, but now… now I’m wondering if it’s really a gift at all.”

“What do you see when you view a memory like that? Are you living it through their eyes, or from above, watching it unfold? How far back can you see?”

“Through their eyes.” He answers, throat dry. Why is he telling you this? “A day, maybe two. It depends. Varrish wants me to learn to push it farther.”

You weigh the consequences. If he’s being honest, he won’t see anything confidential — at worst, a gathering of more than three marked ones to exercise, but is he really petty enough to tell Varrish about that, when he’s giving you a warning in the first place?

“Okay.” You say, opening your eyes. Better it be you than one of the kids who can’t shield their memories yet, or Garrick or Bodhi, who would rip him limb from limb if he tried to touch them.

“What?”

“I’m going to go about my day now as if this conversation never happened,” you say, looking him in the eye, unflinching, “and you’re going to do what you have to do to satisfy Varrish’s demands — with me and only me. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” he stammers, shocked that you’re letting him do this.

“Good.” You pick up the longsword, strapping it back in along your spine. “Dain?” You call over your shoulder. “I won’t make it easy for you.” You say, and he knows that’s a promise.

“That was an incredibly stupid decision, gentle one. A noble decision, but stupid nonetheless.” Tab speaks into your mind on the way back up to your room. “You cannot always assume everyone has good intentions. It would have been your downfall by now, if not for your mate’s protection.”

“Stop calling Garrick my mate. That’s weird.” You deflect, not wanting to unpack his earlier words.

“Forgive me. Dragons do not have a word for a relationship as trivial as a boyfriend.”

You build up a mental wall like Xaden had taught you, ending the argument.

When Varrish calls you into his office that afternoon, you already know what it’s for. “Take a seat,” he says with a smile that you know isn’t meant to be friendly.

He sees the way your eyes immediately narrow at the sight of Dain — everyone knows how the quadrant’s golden boy feels about marked ones, and how you feel about him. You’re going to be doing some very good acting today.

The door closes and locks behind you, and your stomach flips as you feel the sound shield form and press up against the office walls. There’s no escape, and no screaming for help, but you know what you’ve walked into. You signed up for it this morning.

“To what do I owe this meeting, Major?” You ask respectfully, lowering yourself into the chair beside Dain.

“Professor Carr has made me aware that both of your signets have been slow to develop. We’re going to spend your leisure time today practicing, in hopes that you will finally improve.” A very convincing lie, you’ll admit. If Dain hadn’t come to you this morning, you might have believed it. “No objections?” He asks, waiting for you to protest.

“No, sir.” You say calmly, Dain answering the same a beat behind you.

“Good. Aetos, you first.”

It takes every ounce of self control not to squirm as Dain stands, stepping toward you. You lift your chin, closing your eyes -- a gesture of consent small enough to fly under the Vice Commandant’s radar.

You may be letting him try, but you’d told him this wouldn’t be easy. You block him out completely, raising your mental shield and barring the gates.

“What do you see?” Varrish asks.

Dain doesn’t answer. He does not push, does not attempt to kick the door down or dig below the foundation. He stands outside, waiting for you to give him something.

The crack of his nose breaking has your eyes flying open, the coppery scent of blood starting to fill the room immediately as he staggers back into his chair.

“Your turn, Avan."

You stand, laying a gentle hand on Dain’s jaw to tilt it up, stopping the blood from pouring down his shirt.

He looks up at you, stunned, but lets you touch the broken cartilage with your fingertips, and moments later it feels like nothing ever happened. It’s mind-bending.

“Very good. Aetos, try again. What was she doing this morning?”

Dain stands, angling his body between yours and Varrish’s so that the Major can’t see the apology he mouths before his hands touch your forehead. Whether he can see his conversation with you in the gym is unclear. He lies through his teeth either way. “She was alone,” he answers, “on a run to the flight field and back.”

“And then?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his eyes not leaving yours. “A shower, breakfast. Eggs. An apple. Toast. She sat with Tavis and two other marked ones.” He leaves out Violet from the group, not wanting to implicate her. Interesting.

That much is true, but it’s part of your everyday routine — he could have easily gleaned that from watching you across the mess hall. Is he still locked out?

Varrish stands, rounding the corner of his desk. “Let’s make this a little harder, shall we?”

Dain screams as a dagger pierces his arm, thrashing in his chair. Varrish twists the blade as he pulls it out, letting Dain’s blood drip to the floor. This is why he needed the sound shield.

Your eyes widen, and the adrenaline has you leaping to your feet to fix it. You press a hand into the wound, apologizing when he winces. It takes you longer than it should for the muscle to repair itself.

“You care more about him than I thought.” Varrish muses.

You turn to him, anger flickering in your chest. “It is my moral obligation to help the wounded.”

He tuts. “You would have made an excellent healer, had your parents not committed high treason. Aetos, again. Find something older.”

Dain trembles as he stands, and you take pity on him. You push an older memory forward, a happy one, remembering it as vividly as you can.

You watch together as you sprint through the forest, stopping dead in your tracks as you see two cadets fighting. The one losing is a smaller girl in your class whose name Dain can’t remember, a tall, muscled boy towering over her, sword ready to strike.

You spring forward, catching him by surprise and effectively disarming him, and he chooses to abandon the sword and run rather than fight the both of you. You extend a hand to pull the girl to her feet and her eyes widen further, staring up not at you, but behind you.

You feel a burst of heat against your back — not hot enough to be fire. Steam. You bow your head in deference, turning slowly to give the girl time to run… And the dragon bows back. What the fuck?

“You did not kill the boy.” It says directly into your mind.

“I did not.” You answer aloud, not sure if humans can do that.

“Have you ever killed before, gentle one?”

“I haven’t.” Should you be embarrassed? Dragons are violent, surely they would see this as a sign of weakness.

“Not all of us.”

“Holy shit, you can read my mind.”

The girl laughs in disbelief, and you realize you’ve just bonded a dragon.

“In time you’ll learn to control that. But your friend needs to get moving, and so do we.”

You wish her luck before scaling the leg of your dragon and taking a seat.

“Hold on.”

You shriek in happiness like a child as he jumps up, and seconds later you’re thousands of feet in the air, looking down at Basgiath and the valley below. When you return to the flight field, you find Garrick there with a giant brown Scorpiontail, bloodied but happy as he stands next to Xaden and the biggest blue daggertail you’ve ever seen. You pull them both into a hug, just grateful they’re alive.

“Careful, angel,” Garrick warns, grinning into your hair, “we just might make it out of here.”

You cut Dain off there, yanking back the memory before slamming your shields back up. He can have that moment, but only that moment.

“Threshing,” Dain says. Thank the gods. “She helped another cadet who was being attacked. That’s why Tab chose her, for her kindness.”

You both look at Varrish for further instruction. Your shields have been weakening with every injury you repair, but so have Dain’s abilities. You don’t know how many more rounds either of you can take.

“I think that’s enough for today,” He says, sounding pleased. “I’ll see you again on Wednesday morning, to check your progress. You’re dismissed.”

The sound shield dissipates, the door unlocking. The only evidence is Dain’s blood, smeared across his face and arms, drying on the floor and under your nails. You commit the sight to memory, tucking it into the same folder that holds the death of your parents, and slam the drawer shut.

It takes you five minutes to scrub the blood out of the cracks in your palms and from under your nails. Your fingertips are wrinkled when you step into the gym.

“Why did Tab tell Chradh that you were called into Varrish’s office with Aetos?” Garrick asks, remarkably calm as he toys with one of his smaller daggers.

“Because he’s a meddling mother hen.” You answer, avoiding the question.

“Watch it.” Tab warns. “Tell him the truth, or we will.”

You know he’s not bluffing. “He wanted us to practice our signets on each other.”

“Dain practiced his signet, his memory-reading signet, on you?” He asks, already simmering with anger.

“This morning, he came to me to warn me about Varrish’s plan, and I told him it was okay. I used my shields, and I only showed him what I wanted to. We’re supposed to do it again Wednesday.”

Your eyes communicate something else you won’t say aloud, not in front of everyone, and not when you know Dain might be able to see this conversation in two days. I did this to take the heat off of the others. You know I was the safest choice.

Garrick sighs. “I can’t tell you what to do, but I’d like to state for the record that I hate this plan. Literally everything about it. Except for Aetos being stabbed, maybe.” Of course Chradh told him about that. He’d have been delighted by the news, despising both him and Cath.

You give him a look.

“Okay, fine. I take that back.”

He doesn’t.

By Wednesday, the pain in the bridge of your nose is gone, but your arm is still tender where Dain had been stabbed. Bodhi joins you in the gym, stretching with you for a few minutes before he settles into a plank at your side, his eyes never leaving the door.

Dain does not make an appearance at breakfast, notably absent from the leadership table.

Garrick excuses himself as soon as he sees you stand with your tray, catching you by the doors. “Remember that you’re stronger than both of them in all the ways that matter,” he says quietly. “I’ll find you as soon as you’re done.” You both tap your chest twice before parting ways, as has been your tradition for years -- a reminder that even though you’re leaving, you still hold the other in your heart.

Each step up to Varrish’s office is another reminder of what’s to come when you reach the top. “Cadet Avan,” he greets with another sickening smile. “Just in time. We were beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

Your jaw drops at the sight of Dain slumped into the same chair as last time, bloodied and exhausted.

“Nothing fatal,” Varrish reassures. “Not if you act quickly. Go ahead, get started.”

The Vice Commandant’s words have you on edge as you assess him, looking for gaping wounds or broken bones. Dain winces as your hands move over his ribs, and you whisper an apology, pressing in deeper. When your chest starts to ache, you know it’s time to move on. You mend two broken ribs, dissolve a purple bruise on his arm, and fix a split lip, but Dain still hasn’t woken up.

You turn back to Varrish. “One left,” he says. “Use your head.”

Oh, gods. He’d given Dain a concussion, because he knows the migraine it’ll give you will make it harder to shield. You cradle the second-year’s head in your hands, breathing out deeply as you transfer the pain from his body to yours, healing the bruised tissue. Dain blinks himself awake as you stumble, the room suddenly spinning.

“Well done. Aetos?”

You fumble for the arms of your chair, vision blurring at the edges, but you manage to sit back down.

“Say the word, and I get your mate,” Tab offers. He can probably feel your disorientation, concerned you won’t be able to block Dain out in this state.

“No,” you rasp back. “If he shows up, Varrish will have us practice on him instead.”

You need to pick another memory to satisfy Varrish, something older, but your brain isn’t firing on all cylinders. Dain gives you a moment to gather yourself, a small gesture of mercy.

“A moment of pure happiness,” Tab suggests. “Something with the wingleader and your mate.”

You flip back in the book of your life, nearly all the way to the beginning, opening it to the right page to give to Dain and slipping it under the gate with a nod of your head — you’re ready.

Dain’s hands are warm against your freezing cheeks. A boy no older than five that he recognizes as Garrick crouches under a desk across the room, holding a finger to his lips.

“Wherever could those children possibly be?” Someone muses aloud, and you fight laughter as the voice grows closer, thinking it amusing that this adult has no idea you’re hiding in the curtains.

Footsteps retreat, and Garrick signals for you to move. You make it down the hallway before you see someone searching — presumably whatever parent you’d convinced to play with you. Small hands tug you both behind a plush velvet couch. Xaden.

You press yourselves up against it, trying to be as quiet as possible, watching as a shadow forms on the wall in front of you, then a head peers over the back of the couch — that must be your father. He looks just like you, has the same warm smile.

“One more, and then I need to get back to work,” He says, already moving to cover his eyes and starting to count to one hundred. You each run off in a different direction, and the scene fades there.

“A childhood memory,” Dain says. “Playing hide and seek in her father’s office with Riorson and Tavis.”

Not good enough for Varrish. “Give me something I can use,” he snarls, a Freudian slip, but nothing either of you hadn’t known already.

You flip forward in the book, settling on a page you never look at, that you can’t bear to, but that Varrish will revel in. You rip it out, sliding it under the gate. “Bad,” you whisper, the only warning you can manage.

Dain nods in permission, ready to watch whatever memory you’ve pushed forward.

Someone presses a small stone into your hand, an intricate overlap of shapes and lines engraved on one side, the other perfectly smooth.

“Do not put it down, even for a moment,” your father says. He’s aged between now and the last memory, starting to go gray at his temples. “Keep it in your hand until the end. It will protect you when we can’t.”

He looks next to Garrick. “She is everything good about the world.” He says quietly. “Take care of her.”

Garrick promises he will, and your father pulls you into one last embrace before he leaves. Tears blur your vision, Garrick pulling you close. “It’ll be okay,” he soothes. “They’ll come back.”

Hours pass that Dain can’t see, because you don’t remember them.

There’s an ache in your palm from clutching the stone so hard, the rounded corners digging into your skin. Garrick takes your free hand in his, interlocking your fingers. Then there’s only screaming and fire and rage, heat burning up your arm as it’s marked with inky swirls. Until the end, your father had said. This must have been what he meant.

“Her parents’ execution,” Dain says, a note of genuine hurt in his voice. “They gave each child a runestone before they left, as protection.”

Varrish’s eyes rake over to you. He leans forward, yanking on the leather cord that disappears into the neck of your shirt hard enough to pull your body with it. “A runestone like this one?”

“Yes,” you answer before Dain can, saving him the lie. You shut your eyes, wincing as the cold edge of a knife brushes against your neck and the cord breaks, a single drop of warm blood running down your collarbone. You don’t protest, you can’t, your mind still hazy and eyes wet with tears from reliving the memory with Dain.

“That will be all.” Varrish dismisses. He doesn’t make an appointment for you to come back. He has what he needs.

You stand, relying on your knowledge of the office’s layout to navigate your way forward until the door closes behind you.

“I’m so sorry,” Dain breathes once you’re down the hall far enough to avoid being heard. “If I had known,”

“It’s okay. The rune is long dead, and he has no idea how to recreate it. I’m just glad he didn’t hurt you again.” You blink, trying to clear your head. How are you going to get down all these stairs? You can hardly see.

“Here,” he says quietly, extending a hand. You take it, letting him loop an arm over his shoulders — your right, the one that Varrish hadn’t bruised black and blue on Dain — and lead you one step at a time.

You’re halfway down when you hear heavy footsteps running up the stairs. Garrick. He’d promised he’d find you when you were done. He doesn’t spare a glance at Dain, gathering you into his arms and apologizing when he puts pressure on your not-broken ribs.

Dain watches as the older boy carries you down the rest of the stairs, murmuring reassurances to you all the while. Your father’s words echo in his mind. “Take care of her.”

Garrick Tavis is a man of his word.

#garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #reader insert #fourth wing fanfic #iron flame fanfic #garrick tavis imagine #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing imagine #throwing this into the void for the three Garrick girlies out there!#liam fic next??#mine #Garrick and Angel

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