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hd-junglebook · 10 days

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Does He Know?

Part 1 - Word Count 4075

Masterlist

Authors Note: before you scroll away lets pretend Vince is not a hockey player for the plot.

Summary - In this you will meet Vince and Y/N, the beginning is so cute ngl I was kicking my feet imagining this in real life. Jack is introduced later, pls lmk what you think after you read. Enjoy !

warning - cuteness, hot men, cursing, men being men. the rest I cannot write because it's a spoiler.

Next Chapter Link Here

Y/N and Vince were snuggled up on the plush, charcoal gray couch in their cozy apartment. The living room was bathed in the warm, soft glow of the floor lamp in the corner, casting long shadows across the hardwood floors.

On the television, an episode of "The 100" played, the sound of the dramatic post-apocalyptic dialogue filling the room. As the show cut to a commercial break, Vince turned to Y/N, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering light from the TV screen.

A thoughtful expression crossed his handsome face, his brows furrowing slightly as he contemplated his next words.

"Hey, I've been thinking about something lately," he said, his deep voice barely audible over the background noise of the television.

She shifted slightly on the couch, the soft fabric of her oversized sweater brushing against Vince's arm. "Mhmm? What's on your mind, baby?" she asked, caressing his curls.

Vince took a deep breath, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "What do you think about the idea of starting a family? Of having a baby together?"

Y/N's eyes widened. A mix of joy and excitement washed over her delicate features, a rosy blush coloring her cheeks. "Really? You want to have a baby with me?"

Vince nodded, his smile growing wider, revealing a hint of the dimples that Y/N adored. "Absolutely. I can't imagine anything better than creating a life with you, raising a child together."

Y/N felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, overwhelmed by the love and happiness that swelled in her heart. She threw her arms around Vince, hugging him tightly. The delicate clink of her silver Pandora bracelet filled the air as she caressed the soft strands of his hair.

"I would love that," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I've always dreamed of being a mom, of having a family with you."

Vince held her close, his strong arms enveloping her in a warm embrace. He stroked her hair gently, his fingers running through the silky strands.

"Just think about it," he said softly, his breath tickling her ear. "When you're tired from a long day, I'll come home and rub your feet, just like this."

He reached down and took Y/N's feet in his hands, massaging them gently. Y/N giggled, the sensation tickling her skin. The sound of the television faded into the background as "The 100" resumed, the dramatic music and dialogue a distant hum compared to the intimate moment they were sharing. Y/N giggled, the sensation tickling her skin.

"Keep going," she encouraged, sighing in contentment.

Vince grinned, continuing his ministrations, his fingers kneading the soft skin of her feet. "And whenever you get cranky or have cravings, I'll go to the convenience store and grab all your favorite snacks. I'll take care of you, every step of the way."

Y/N felt her heart swell with love for this man, for the future they were planning together. She gazed into his eyes, seeing the reflection of their dreams and hopes mirrored in their depths.

"And our baby," she said softly, "they'll have my face and your hair." Vince chuckled. "A perfect combination. They'll be the most beautiful child in the world."

They were in love, they were happy, and they were ready to start the next chapter of their lives together.

…

Four months later…

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft rays of gold across the spacious living room of Y/N and Vince's upscale apartment in Hoboken. Y/N stood by the window, sipping on a cup of coffee with way too much milk, her gaze fixed on the bustling city below.

"Vince," Y/N called out, turning away from the window to face her partner, who was hastily getting ready for work. The sound of Vince throwing his pajamas on the ground echoed through the room, a subtle indication of his frustration.

Y/N watched as Vince moved around the room, gathering his things and preparing for the day ahead. "Can't you stay for just a few more minutes? We barely see each other anymore."

Vince, already halfway out the door, paused for a moment, a hint of frustration flickering across her features. Vince's dark brown hair sat perfectly, catching the sunlight as he turned to face Y/N. The olive hue of his skin seemed to glow in the morning light.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Vince replied, his voice tinged with resignation. "I've got an early meeting today. I can't afford to be late again."

Y/N's heart sank at the familiar excuse. It seemed like work always came first for Vince, leaving little time or energy for her relationship.

This became an everyday occurrence, her begging for the bare minimum and him pushing her away but always finding a way to make up for it in the bedroom. And even that had gotten boring. She forced a smile, masking her disappointment.

"That's what you always say, Vince! It's always about work with you. What about us? What about our relationship?"

Vince's eyes narrowed. "You know how important my career is to me, Y/N. I'm doing this for us, for our future."

"But what kind of future will we have if we never spend any time together? You’re not doing this for us, it’s for you," Y/N countered, her voice rising. "I feel like I'm living with a ghost. You're never here, and when you are, you're too tired or distracted to really be present."

"That's not fair," Vince argued. "I'm working hard to provide for us. I thought you understood that."

"I do understand, Vince. But I have a hard job and I’m not neglecting you. There has to be a balance. I need more than just financial security and whiskey dick every once in a while. I need a partner who is actually present in our relationship."

Vince glanced at his watch, his impatience growing. "Look, Y/N, I don't have time for this right now, I can’t stand your nagging so early in the morning. Can we talk about this later?"

Y/N threw up her hands in exasperation. "When Vince? When will you have time for me, for us? Because it feels like that time is never going to come."

Vince sighed heavily. "I promise I will come home early tonight, and we will talk. I'm doing the best I can, Y/N. I'm sorry if that's not enough for you."

With that, Vince turned and walked out the door, leaving Y/N standing alone in the bedroom. She wandered back to the office, where her computer sat waiting on the desk, surrounded by piles of paperwork.

With a heavy sigh, Y/N sank into the chair, her mind filled with thoughts of the growing distance between her and Vince.

Where had it all gone wrong?

Her eyes wandered to the framed photographs scattered throughout the room, memories frozen in time—vacations, celebrations, moments of laughter and love shared between them and Vince.

Each image seemed to mock Y/N, a painful reminder of the happiness they once shared. After a moment of introspection, she finally rose from the chair and made her way out into the hall, heading towards her office.

She busied herself with work, trying to drown out the nagging doubts and insecurities that gnawed at her mind. Hours passed in a blur, the click-clack of the keyboard the only sound in the silent apartment.

As the afternoon wore on, Y/N's phone chimed with an incoming text. Her heart leapt for a moment, hoping it was Vince with good news, but her hopes were quickly dashed. "Working late again tonight. Don't wait up. - V" the message read.

Y/N sighed heavily, disappointment washing over her. It seemed Vince was always working late these days. She couldn't remember the last time they'd had a relaxing evening together, just the two of them.

Trying to shake off the melancholy thoughts, Y/N decided a hot shower might help clear her head. She made her way to the master bathroom and turned the faucet on, letting the water heat up as she undressed.

Steam began to fill the room as she stepped into the tub and slid down until she was sitting, knees pulled up to her chest, letting the spray of water cascade over her.

The heat seeped into her tense muscles, Y/N's mind drifted to happier times with Vince. She thought back to their early days of dating, how attentive and affectionate he had been.

Weekends spent exploring the city, lazy Sunday mornings tangled up in each other, stolen kisses and inside jokes. They had been so in love, so sure of their future together.

But somehow, over the past three years, they had gotten off track. The demands of both their careers meant less and less quality time together.

At first it was just dinners cut short or date nights postponed. But soon, it felt like they were two ships passing in the night, occasionally sharing space but never really connecting.

Silent tears mixed with the rivulets of water running down Y/N's face as she sat there lost in thought. How had they let things get to this point?

Was there still a way to find their way back to each other? She wasn't sure anymore. But she knew she wasn't ready to give up on their marriage yet, even if it felt like Vince already had.

With a sigh, Y/N reached forward and shut off the water, watching the last of it swirl down the drain. She couldn't hide in here forever.

Grabbing a fluffy towel, she stepped out and began drying off, resigned to another solitary evening.

…

Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with Vince. In the week since their argument, his behavior had only become more erratic.

Late nights at the office were becoming more frequent, and when he was home, he always seemed to be on the phone, speaking in hushed tones and ending the call abruptly whenever she entered the room.

She had tried to convince herself that it was just work stress, that Vince was dealing with a big project or a demanding client. But the canceled plans and missed dinners were starting to pile up, and Y/N's suspicions were growing.

Y/N felt like a detective, piecing together clues and trying to unravel the mystery of her husband's behavior. But the picture that was emerging was not a pretty one.

Deep down, Y/N feared that Vince was hiding something from her, something that could shatter their already fragile marriage.

Amidst these swirling doubts, Y/N found herself at a family gathering, surrounded by well-meaning relatives who were all too eager to pry into her personal life. Her mother, who had never been a fan of Vince, was particularly persistent that night.

"Y/N, dear, have you met Ellens second son?" her mother asked, practically dragging a tall, handsome man over to where Y/N was standing. "He's single, successful, and quite the catch if you ask me."

Y/N's mother dragged her towards Jack, who was standing next to the piano with a champagne flute in hand. Y/N cursed under her breath as she walked hastily beside her mother.

As they approached, Jack looked up, his eyes as clear as the ocean. Y/N found herself momentarily transfixed by his gaze, a mix of confidence and intrigue.

"Hello, I'm Y/N," she introduced herself, trying to maintain her composure. "I'm sure you already know my mother." Y/N plastered on a polite smile, trying to ignore the twinge of annoyance she felt at her mother's meddling.

But as Jack started to talk, she found herself drawn in by his warmth and charm, forgetting all about the encounter.

Jack's lips curled into a small grin as he extended his hand. "Jack," he said simply, his voice smooth and inviting. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N."

They shook hands, Y/N couldn't help but notice the firmness of his grip, the warmth of his skin against hers. There was something electric in his touch, a spark that made her heart skip a beat.

Her mother, sensing an opportunity, quickly excused herself. "I think I see Ellen in the crowd," she said with a knowing smile. "You two get acquainted. I'll be right back."

Y/N watched her mother disappear into the throng of guests, a mixture of relief and nervousness washing over her. She turned back to Jack, who was watching her with a curious expression.

"So…" she began, taking a sip of her margarita. "How come I haven't met you yet? I've met Quinn, but I've never seen you before."

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. "I guess we just run in different circles. Quinn's always been the social butterfly of the family." Jack sipped his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. "And what about you? What's your story, Y/N?"

Y/N hesitated, not sure how much she wanted to reveal to this handsome stranger. But there was something about Jack that made her want to open up, to let down her guard.

"Oh, you know," she said with a wry smile. "Just hangin around. I don’t really do much just work and sleep. Navigating life.

Jack's grin widened. "Aren't we all?" he said, raising his glass in a toast. "To the adventures that await us."

Y/N clinked her glass against his, feeling a rush of excitement and anticipation. There was something about Jack that made her feel alive, made her forget about the troubles and doubts that had been plaguing her.

He had a quick wit and an easy laugh, and Y/N found herself relaxing in his presence. Jack seemed genuinely interested in her, asking questions about her life and her interests. It was a stark contrast to the distant, distracted Vince she had been living with lately as they sipped their drinks.

As the evening wore on, Y/N couldn't help but notice the way Jack's eyes lingered on her, the way his hand brushed against hers as he reached for a drink. There was an undeniable attraction there, a spark that she hadn't felt in a long time.

But there was also something else about Jack, an edge of fun and mystery. He had a bit of a bad boy vibe, the kind of man her mother would normally warn her away from. Maybe that was part of the appeal, the thrill of a chase.

As the party wound down and Y/N said her goodbyes, Jack slipped a piece of paper into her hand. "My number," he said with a wink. "In case you ever want to grab a coffee and chat."

Y/N tucked the paper into her pocket, feeling a mix of excitement and guilt. She knew it was wrong to even consider reaching out to Jack, not when she was still married to Vince. But the seed had been planted, the temptation was there.

“I’m married, but I hope this isn't the last time we cross paths." y/n said as she took his hand in hers once more. "It was great meeting you, Jack."

"I hope not either," he said softly, meeting her gaze.

With a final squeeze of her hand and a roguish wink, Jack turned and melted into the crowd, leaving Y/N standing alone with her thoughts and her racing heart before she composed herself.

…

The soft click of the front door lock echoed through the quiet apartment as Vince stepped inside, a bouquet of vibrant red roses in one hand and a rustling plastic bag filled with Y/N's favorite snacks in the other.

The sweet, floral scent of the roses mingled with the aroma of buttery popcorn and rich chocolate wafting from the bag, creating an enticing blend that filled the entryway.

Vince's footsteps were muffled by the plush, cream-colored carpet as he made his way into the living room. The soft glow of the table lamp cast a warm, inviting light across the space, illuminating the cozy leather armchair and the intricately patterned throw blanket draped over its back.

As he rounded the corner, Vince's eyes fell upon Y/N, curled up on the overstuffed sofa, a well-worn paperback novel resting in her lap.

She looked up at the sound of his approach, her eyes widening slightly as she took in the sight of him standing there, an apologetic smile on his face and his arms laden with gifts.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, a myriad of emotions passing between them in the silence. Y/N's gaze flickered from the roses to the snack bag, her brows furrowing slightly in confusion.

"What is that?" she asked, her voice soft and tinged with curiosity.

Vince took a step closer, extending the bouquet towards her. The crinkle of the cellophane wrapping seemed to punctuate the moment as he held them out, a peace offering.

"I'm sorry I ditched you," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I'll be home more from now on."

Y/N's expression softened as she reached out to take the roses, her fingers brushing against Vince's as she accepted them.

She brought the blooms to her nose, inhaling deeply, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment as she savored their delicate fragrance.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, a hint of forgiveness in the curve of her mouth.

"Thank you," she murmured, setting the roses down on the coffee table with a gentle thud. The polished wood gleamed in the lamplight, reflecting the deep scarlet of the petals.

"And the snacks?" she asked, eyeing the bag with a mix of amusement and appreciation.

Vince grinned, the tension in his shoulders easing as he sensed her mood shifting. He plopped down on the sofa beside her, the cushions giving way beneath his weight with a soft whoosh.

"All your favorites," he said, rummaging through the bag, the crinkle of plastic and the rustle of packaging filling the air. "Popcorn, those little chocolate truffles you love, and..." he paused for dramatic effect, pulling out a small, familiar blue box, "your favorite tea."

Y/N let out a small, delighted laugh, the sound like music to Vince's ears. She reached for the box, turning it over in her hands, the cardboard smooth beneath her fingertips.

"You remembered," she said, her voice warm with affection.

"Of course I did," Vince replied, his tone light and teasing. "I may be forgetful sometimes, but I could never forget the little things that make you happy."

Y/N leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, the softness of her hair brushing against his cheek. Vince wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer, the heat of her body seeping into his own.

For a moment, they sat there in comfortable silence, the soft ticking of the clock on the mantle and the distant hum of the refrigerator the only sounds in the room.

"I really am sorry," Vince said after a while, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I haven't been around as much as I should be, but I promise, that's going to change."

Y/N tilted her head to look up at him, her eyes searching his face, a glimmer of hope and love shining in their depths. "I believe you," she said softly, reaching up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing gently across his skin. "We'll make this work, together."

Vince turned his head, pressing a tender kiss to her palm, the warmth of his lips a silent promise.

…

It has been two weeks since her encounter with jack, now here she sat at her desk. She couldn't deny the spark she had felt, the way he had made her feel seen and desired in a way she hadn't experienced in a long time.

But even as she replayed their conversations in her head, a nagging sense of guilt tugged at her heart. She was still married to Vince, even if their relationship had been strained lately, he had done his best to come home earlier but duty calls.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Y/N turned her attention to the pile of mail on her desk. She began sorting through the envelopes, her mind only half-focused on the task.

Bills, junk mail, a postcard from her sister's latest vacation...and then her hand stilled on a plain white envelope with no return address.

Frowning, Y/N tore open the envelope, her curiosity piqued Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded in half. As she unfolded it, her eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

It was a hotel receipt, dated from last weekend. The name on the receipt was Vince's, but the room was booked for two people. And there, at the bottom of the receipt, was a charge for a bottle of champagne and a couples' massage.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as the reality of what she was seeing sank in. Vince had been at a hotel with someone else, someone he had been intimate with. The betrayal hit her like a physical blow, stealing the breath from her lungs.

With shaking hands, Y/N reached for her phone. She scrolled through her recent calls until she found Vince's number and hit the call button.

It rang once, twice, three times before he picked up. "Hey babe, I’m really busy right now, can I call you later?” Vince's voice sounded casual, unaware of the bombshell that was about to be dropped.

"We need to talk," Y/N said, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. "Can you come home please? It's important."

There must have been something in her tone that alerted Vince to the severity of the situation because he agreed without hesitation. "I'll be there in 20 minutes."

Y/N hung up the phone and took a deep, shuddering breath. She didn't know how she was going to confront Vince, what she was going to say.

All she knew was that their marriage, their life together, was about to change forever.

…

When Vince walked through the door, Y/N was waiting for him in the living room. His clothes were scattered around the apartment and their photos had been broken, the glass shards still remaining on the floor.

The smell of a floral perfume that definitely was not hers wafted into her nose.

She held up the hotel receipt, her eyes filled with tears and her voice shaking with anger. "What is this, Vince? And don't you dare try to lie to me."

Vince's face paled as he realized what she was holding. "A receipt?”

"No, you idiot!” Y/N cried, the tears now flowing freely down her face. "You've been cheating on me? You've been lying to me, sneaking around behind my back?"

"It's not what you think," Vince tried to defend himself, but his words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

"It's exactly what I think!" Y/N shouted. "How could you do this to me, to us? You were out getting rub downs at some hotel, Vince. I loved you."

Vince reached for her, but Y/N recoiled from his touch. She couldn't bear the thought of him touching her, not now, not after what he had done.

“I would cry myself to sleep next to you and you would turn away and complain. You didn’t care that you weren’t loving me the way I deserve to be loved!”

"Y/N, please," Vince pleaded. "It was a mistake. It didn't mean anything. I’ll end it right now, just...just please stop crying."

But Y/N wasn't listening anymore. She was lost in her own pain, her own sense of betrayal. The man she had built a life with, the man she had trusted with her heart, had shattered everything with his infidelity.

Y/N shook her head. "I don't know if we can fix this one, Vince. I don't know if I can ever trust you again. What am I supposed to do?" she questioned, her voice trembling with emotion as she looked up to meet his eyes with more emotion she had ever felt in her life.

“How long has this been going on.”

Vince's gaze faltered, his expression clouded with guilt and regret. He looked down at the cream-colored carpet, unable to meet Y/N's gaze. "Remember when I asked you to start a family?" he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

A flood of memories washed over her—dreams of a future together, plans for a family they had once shared.

…

Taglist <3

@rebelatbay @destineyxo13

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lilithliliam · 5 months

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Letters from your favourite boys💜

Warnings: possibility of getting too much happiness and cuteness,losing teeth from sweetness or getting a heart attack (This is a joke 🌚) Read at your own risk.

I decided that we could all use some warmth and happiness on these cold days. guess who cried in the part with Kakashi 🥲 Please don’t pay attention to the mistakes, if they are...

Uzui Tengen:

My Dearest [Y/N],

In the grand tapestry of life, your presence stands out like a dazzling thread of silk. Every step you take is a dance, and every word you speak is a melody that resonates in the chambers of my heart. My flamboyant exterior conceals a truth that only you can unveil—I am utterly and irrevocably captivated by you.

Your strength, your grace, and the radiance that emanates from your very being have ensnared my heart. The battles we've faced together have only deepened my admiration, and in the quiet moments between clashes, I've come to realize that my feelings extend beyond camaraderie.

I find myself yearning for the warmth of your smile, the sound of your laughter, and the shared silences that speak volumes. You are the jewel that adorns the crown of my existence, and I cannot keep these emotions concealed any longer.

With all the vibrancy and passion that defines me, I confess: I am in love with you.

Yours in flamboyant devotion,

Uzui Tengen

Kyojuro Rengoku:

My Beloved [Y/N],

As the flame that illuminates the darkest corners of my soul, you have become the guiding light of my existence. In your presence, I find warmth, purpose, and an intensity that transcends the battles we wage. Each day, my admiration for you grows, fueled by the embers of respect and the tender flames of affection.

Your beauty, both outward and inward, is a testament to the divine artistry that shaped you. The moments we share, be they in the midst of chaos or the calm after the storm, are etched into the fabric of my heart. It is in these moments that I have come to acknowledge a truth that cannot be denied.

My love for you is as unyielding as the fires I command. It burns with a fervor that surpasses the limitations of words. With this confession, I lay bare my heart, hoping that its flames may kindle a reciprocal warmth within yours.

Ever aflame with love,

Kyojuro Rengoku

Shota Aizawa:

To the One Who Occupies My Thoughts,

In the realm of logic and reason, emotions often find themselves discarded like outdated textbooks. Yet, against my better judgment, I find myself grappling with a truth that defies the constraints of rationale. It is a truth that demands acknowledgment, a silent whisper in the halls of my guarded heart.

Your resilience, your determination, and the quiet strength you exude have carved a niche within my stoic exterior. In your presence, the cacophony of the world softens to a gentle hum, and I am left with the undeniable realization—I have fallen in love with you.

I admire the way you face challenges head-on, your unwavering spirit, and the moments of vulnerability you entrust to the world. It is this mosaic of characteristics that has woven itself into the fabric of my affection.

So, with a vulnerability I seldom reveal, I confess: I am in love with you.

Guardedly Yours,

Shota Aizawa

Kakashi Hatake:

My Dearest [Y/N],

In the world of shadows and secrets, where emotions are often veiled by the mask of indifference, I find myself standing on the precipice of revelation. Your resilience, your kindness, and the quiet strength you carry have dismantled the barriers around my guarded heart.

In the moments of shared silence and the subtle nuances of your gestures, I've come to acknowledge a truth that eludes the pages of my stoic narrative—I am in love with you. Your presence is a balm to the wounds I never knew existed, and your laughter echoes in the chambers of my guarded soul.

As a man of few words, I express this truth with a simplicity that belies its depth: I love you. In the quiet realm of our shared understanding, I hope you discern the unspoken sentiments that bind my heart to yours.

Quietly Yours,

Kakashi Hatake

Itachi Uchiha:

My Beloved [Y/N],

In the labyrinth of shadows and redemption, your presence has been a beacon of light that cuts through the darkness. I find myself standing at the crossroads of duty and desire, and in the silence

that lingers between our shared glances, a profound truth takes shape—I am deeply, irrevocably in love with you.

The burdens of my past, the sins that stain my hands, and the responsibilities I bear have often overshadowed the tender emotions that have taken root in my heart. Your kindness, your understanding, and the warmth of your gaze have thawed the icy resolve within me, revealing a vulnerability I seldom allow others to witness.

In the quiet moments we've shared, I've come to appreciate the gentle cadence of your laughter and the strength that emanates from your very essence. Your presence is a salve to the wounds I carry, and your love is the promise of a future unburdened by the shadows of our shared past.

As I pen these words, I do so with the sincerity of a man yearning for redemption and the courage to forge a path towards a brighter tomorrow. With all the complexities that define our existence, know that my love for you transcends the boundaries of duty—a truth I can no longer keep veiled in the shadows.

Eternally Yours,

Itachi Uchiha

Satoru Gojo:

My Enchanting [Y/N],

In the realm of jujutsu battles and sorcery, you are the vibrant anomaly that captivates my attention. From the moment our paths intertwined, a spark ignited within me, fanning the flames of a truth that demands acknowledgment—I am undeniably, unequivocally in love with you.

Your resilience on the battlefield mirrors the strength I find equally captivating in the moments between battles. The sparkle in your eyes, the playful banter we share, and the unique cadence of your laughter weave a tapestry of emotions that have ensnared my heart.

In the grand scheme of curses and battles, our connection stands as an anomaly—a testament to the unpredictable nature of the world we navigate. Yet, it is precisely this unpredictability that renders our shared moments all the more precious.

As I confess these sentiments, I do so with the candid acknowledgment that the jujutsu world is fraught with dangers and uncertainties. But amid the chaos, your presence is a constant, and my love for you is the unyielding anchor that grounds me.

Yours in the Unpredictable Dance of Sorcery,(the strongest)

Satoru Gojo

#yn #tumblr fyp #bnha x reader #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujutsu sorcerer #jujutsu kaisen #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa x reader #kakashi hatake #kakashi x reader #tengen uzui #rengoku x reader #rengoku kyojuro #kakashi sensei #tengen x reader #itachi x reader #itachi uchiha #naruto

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valaenatargaryensdragon · 7 months

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Whispers of the Dragon's Heart

pairing: Fanon!Alicent Hightower x Male OC

summary: It is time for Alicent to give birth to her first child which was secretly fathered by Daegor Targaryen.

Word count: 3,1K

Warnings: Fluff, cheating, infidelity, childbirth

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

The library was a refuge from the prying eyes of the Red Keep, a place where secrets were whispered among dusty tomes and the flickering light of candles. Alicent Hightower and Daegor Targaryen sat in a corner, their voices hushed, but their hearts pounding with a forbidden love.

The room was shrouded in an atmosphere of solemnity, the shelves filled with ancient knowledge and the scent of old parchment. Candles cast long shadows on the towering bookcases, giving the impression that they were hidden in the depths of a cavern, far from the machinations of the court.

Alicent's emerald eyes were alight with a mixture of longing and fear as she gazed at Daegor, who sat across from her. His violet eyes, so like those of his brother Viserys, held a calm determination that she found both reassuring and unnerving.

"Daegor," Alicent whispered, her voice trembling, "we cannot continue like this. The risk of discovery grows with every stolen moment."

Daegor reached out, his hand brushing against hers in a tender caress. "I know, Alicent, but I cannot deny what we feel for each other. Our love is worth the risk."

She looked down at their intertwined fingers, her heart aching with love for the man before her. "I love you, Daegor," she confessed, her voice barely audible.

Daegor's thumb brushed against her knuckles as he smiled softly. "And I love you, my sweet Alicent. I dream of a future where we can be together openly, away from the prying eyes of King Viserys."

Alicent's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her fears momentarily forgotten in the warmth of Daegor's presence. "I dream of it too, my love."

But their stolen moment of tenderness was interrupted by a sudden, sharp pain that gripped Alicent's abdomen. She gasped, her hand flying to her belly, her knuckles turning white from the intensity of the pain.

Daegor leaped to his feet, his concern overriding everything else. "Alicent, are you all right?"

She nodded, trying to hide her discomfort. "It's nothing, just a twinge."

Daegor didn't buy her reassurance. He moved closer, gently helping her to her feet. "We should get you back to your chambers. I'll find a maester."

Daegor wasted no time. He swiftly led Alicent out of the library, his arm supporting her as they navigated the Red Keep's corridors. Her contractions were growing stronger, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to hide her pain.

In a nearby hallway, Daegor spotted Maester Owen, a trusted healer of the Red Keep. Without hesitation, he approached the maester, his face etched with a look of deep concern.

"Maester Owen," Daegor called out, "I was passing by the library when I found the Queen in great pain. I fear she may be going into labor. Please, come quickly!"

The maester's eyes widened in alarm at the news. He was aware of the Queen's advanced pregnancy and the potential complications that could arise. Without a moment's hesitation, he nodded and followed Daegor back to Alicent's chambers.

As they entered her private quarters, Alicent was sprawled out on a luxurious couch, her face contorted with pain. Maester Owen immediately rushed to her side, assessing her condition with a practiced eye.

Daegor stood nearby, his expression a mixture of genuine concern and the anxiety that came with the weight of their shared secret. He watched as Maester Owen tended to Alicent, doing his best to reassure her that everything would be fine.

The maester, after a thorough examination, determined that the Queen was indeed in labor. He turned to Daegor and said, "Your timely intervention may have saved both the Queen and the child, Prince Daegor. I will do everything in my power to ensure a safe delivery."

Alicent, still in pain but relieved that they had made it this far without her secret being exposed, managed a grateful smile toward Daegor. He nodded in response, silently promising to stand by her side through this ordeal.

With the lie successfully planted, Maester Owen continued to attend to Queen Alicent, and the process of bringing a Prince or princess into the world began in earnest. Daegor watched over them, praying that their love and their secret would remain hidden, at least until the child was born.

As Maester Owen continued his efforts to assist Queen Alicent through her labor, he couldn't help but notice the unease in the room. His eyes darted between Alicent and Daegor, and the fact that Daegor was present during such an intimate moment raised suspicions in his mind.

With a furrowed brow, Maester Owen finally voiced his concerns, "My lord, while your assistance is appreciated, it is highly irregular for a man to be present during a childbirth. I must insist that you leave the room at once."

Daegor's heart sank. He knew that any further insistence on staying would only raise more questions. He couldn't risk exposing their affair or the true parentage of the child. He nodded, trying to mask the turmoil in his eyes.

"I understand, Maester Owen," Daegor replied, his voice strained. "I will go and find King Viserys immediately. He should know of the Queen's condition."

With a heavy heart, Daegor turned and slipped out of the room, leaving Alicent in the capable hands of the maester. His mind raced as he made his way through the Red Keep, his thoughts filled with fear for Alicent's safety and the memories of his past loss.

As Daegor reached King Viserys' chambers, he was greeted by a guard who informed him that the King was in a council meeting. Daegor couldn't wait, so he quickly devised a plan to inform the King of Alicent's situation without revealing too much.

Entering the council chamber, Daegor approached King Viserys, who was engaged in a heated discussion with his advisors. He leaned in and whispered urgently, "Your Grace, Queen Alicent is in distress. Maester Owen is with her, but he requires your presence immediately."

Viserys, his face pale with worry, excused himself from the council meeting and followed Daegor to Alicent's chambers. Daegor's heart pounded with anxiety as he hoped that the King's presence would ensure Alicent's safety.

Little did he know that the events set in motion by this childbirth would have far-reaching consequences for the Targaryen dynasty and the realm itself.

Hours turned into a seemingly endless wait as Daegor stood beside King Viserys outside the birthing chamber. He had convinced the King that his presence would offer comfort to Queen Alicent, drawing upon the memory of his late wife, Mya. It was a lie, of course, but one that Viserys believed without question.

Inside the chamber, the sounds of Queen Alicent's labor pains echoed through the hallway. Each scream, each cry, sent a shiver down Daegor's spine. He couldn't help but flinch with each agonizing sound, his face a mask of concern and sympathy. Viserys, preoccupied with his own worries, failed to notice the turmoil in Daegor's eyes.

As the hours dragged on, Daegor's anxiety grew. He knew that childbirth was a perilous journey, one he had witnessed end in tragedy before. He had lost his own wife, Mya, and their unborn child in such a way, and the memory haunted him still.

But for Alicent's sake, and for the sake of the child that might bear his blood, he could do nothing but wait and hope. The cries from the birthing chamber were a constant reminder of the fragility of life, and Daegor prayed silently that history would not repeat itself.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Maester Owen emerged from the room, his expression inscrutable. Daegor's heart leaped into his throat, and he exchanged a worried glance with Viserys.

The maester cleared his throat before addressing the King. "Your Grace, Queen Alicent has given birth to a healthy son."

Relief washed over Daegor, and he couldn't help but smile. He had feared the worst, but now it seemed that fate had been kinder to them. Viserys, too, beamed with joy at the news of an heir, oblivious to the complexity of the situation.

Daegor couldn't help but feel a surge of hope and love for the child he could not publicly claim as his own. He knew that the secret would remain hidden for now, but the challenges that lay ahead were far from over.

As Viserys left Daegor alone outside the birthing chamber to meet his newborn son and Queen Alicent, Daegor stood there, torn between his desire to see Alicent and their child and the need to maintain the façade of an innocent bystander.

He watched the door to the chamber, anxiety gnawing at him as he imagined the joy and relief inside. Alicent had successfully given birth to a healthy son, and Viserys would be overjoyed. Daegor's heart swelled with a mixture of happiness for the mother and child and the ache of knowing he couldn't openly share in their moment.

Minutes turned into an agonizing wait as Daegor fought against the urge to enter the room. He knew that his presence in there could raise suspicions, unraveling the elaborate web of deception they had woven. He clenched his fists, his knuckles white with the effort to control his emotions.

Finally, the door to the birthing chamber opened once more, and Viserys emerged, cradling the swaddled infant in his arms. A proud smile adorned the King's face as he looked at Daegor.

"Daegor," Viserys called out, "meet your new nephew. I have named him Aegon, in honor of our forefathers."

Daegor approached Viserys, his heart heavy with both relief and sorrow. He gazed at the innocent babe, Aegon, who bore no resemblance to him but was still his own flesh and blood.

"He's beautiful, Your Grace," Daegor said, forcing a smile as he feigned joy.

Viserys nodded, blissfully unaware of the truth. "Alicent is resting now. She has gone through quite the ordeal. We shall celebrate the birth of our heir together, Daegor."

Daegor agreed, his thoughts racing as he contemplated the challenges that lay ahead. He would continue to play the role of the loyal uncle and brother, hiding his love for Alicent and the secret of Aegon's true parentage. It was a delicate dance of deceit, and Daegor knew that one wrong step could bring their carefully constructed world crashing down.

As Viserys handed the swaddled infant Aegon to Daegor, a lump formed in Daegor's throat. He couldn't help but feel a swell of emotions as he cradled the child that was his own flesh and blood, the secret he had guarded so carefully. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he blinked them back, hoping Viserys would attribute his emotional display to the circumstances.

"Your Grace," Daegor began, his voice wavering with feigned emotion, "holding this child reminds me of my own loss. My late wife, Mya, and I lost our child in childbirth. It's a feeling of both joy and sorrow, and I can't help but be moved by the sight of this precious babe."

Viserys nodded sympathetically, unaware of the truth behind Daegor's tears. "I understand, Daegor. Loss is a difficult burden to bear, but today, we celebrate new life and hope for the future."

Daegor nodded, gently rocking the infant Aegon in his arms. He marveled at the tiny features of the child, so full of potential and promise. But his joy was tempered by the knowledge that he could never publicly claim this child as his own, and he couldn't openly acknowledge the love he felt for Queen Alicent.

Viserys placed a reassuring hand on Daegor's shoulder. "We will raise Aegon to be a great Targaryen prince, strong and wise, just like his uncle."

Daegor's heart ached with the weight of his hidden love and secret. He nodded once more, vowing to protect Aegon's identity and his love for Alicent at all costs, even if it meant living a life of deception and denying the truth to the world.

Under the shroud of darkness, when the Red Keep lay in slumber and its corridors were silent, Daegor Targaryen ventured through the hidden passages he had discovered as a young boy. He moved with stealth and purpose, navigating the labyrinthine paths that led to Queen Alicent's chambers. His heart pounded with a mixture of longing and trepidation.

As Daegor approached the queen's door, he found it slightly ajar, and his heart skipped a beat. Alicent, knowing he was coming, had stayed awake to see him. He gently pushed the door open and slipped inside, his eyes meeting those of the woman he loved and the son he had fathered in secret.

Alicent was seated near the hearth, holding their newborn son, Aegon, in her arms. The soft glow of the firelight illuminated her face, revealing a mix of exhaustion and tenderness. She looked up as Daegor entered, her eyes brightening at the sight of him.

"Daegor," she whispered, her voice filled with affection and relief. "I've been waiting for you."

Daegor crossed the room in a few swift strides, his heart overflowing with love and longing. He knelt beside Alicent, his eyes fixed on the tiny bundle she cradled. With trembling hands, he reached out and gently touched Aegon's cheek, his fingers brushing against the soft skin of his secret son.

"He's beautiful," Daegor said, his voice filled with wonder and emotion. "Our son, Alicent."

Alicent nodded, tears glistening in her eyes as she looked down at the child they had brought into the world together. "Yes, Daegor, our son. Our love has given life to this precious boy."

Daegor leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to Aegon's forehead before turning to Alicent. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had welled in her eyes. "I love you, Alicent, more than words can express. I will do everything in my power to protect you and our son."

Alicent's lips met his in a passionate and longing kiss, sealing their shared secret with an unspoken promise. In the quiet hours of the night, they were united in their love for each other and their commitment to keeping their forbidden affair hidden from the world.

As the night stretched on, Daegor and Alicent found solace in each other's arms, knowing that their love was a secret flame that could never be extinguished, no matter the challenges that lay ahead.

In the hushed moments after their shared embrace, Daegor's concern for Alicent deepened. He pulled away slightly, his hands tenderly framing her face as he looked into her eyes, searching for any signs of distress.

"Alicent," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine worry, "how are you feeling? Giving birth must have taken a toll on you. Are you in pain? Is there anything I can do to help?"

Alicent smiled weakly, appreciating his genuine concern. She reached out, placing her hand over his. "I'm weary, Daegor, but I'll recover. The maester has assured me that I and Aegon are both in good health. Holding our son, feeling his warmth against my skin, it brings me strength."

Daegor nodded, relief washing over him as he heard about their well-being. Still, he couldn't shake off his worries entirely. "Please, Alicent, promise me that if you ever need anything, if you feel unwell or if Aegon does, you will send for me immediately. I cannot bear the thought of you suffering in silence."

Alicent nodded, her eyes reflecting the depth of her trust in him. "I promise, Daegor. You've always been my refuge, my sanctuary in the storm. I will not hesitate to reach out if I need you."

Their hands remained entwined, and Daegor pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. In that moment, they found strength in each other's presence, knowing that despite the challenges they faced, their love would be their guiding light through the darkness that lay ahead.

Daegor cradled little Aegon in his arms, gently rocking him back and forth as he softly sang a High Valyrian lullaby, the words flowing with a melodic cadence

"Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor, Aegon, Dohaeriros jin arlītsos, hen jon nādīn. Skoriot avy aōha zōbrie issa, Aegon, Vezhofīli rhaeshis anhaan, ao sagon īlvi."

"Little dragon, close your eyes, Aegon, Dream of lands far and wide, where you'll go. Stars above will guard you, Aegon, With the love of your mother and father's embrace."

The soothing words seemed to work their magic, as Aegon's eyelids grew heavy, and his tiny fingers slowly unclenched. Daegor carefully placed the sleeping babe into his cot, tucking him in with great care.

Turning his attention back to Alicent, Daegor offered her a supportive arm, his worry for her well-being still etched on his face. "Alicent, let me help you back to bed. The maester was right; a bit of movement will do you good."

Alicent leaned on Daegor, her steps slow and cautious as she made her way back to the bed. The pain from childbirth still lingered, but she was determined to regain her strength for their son's sake.

Daegor gently lowered her onto the bed, his eyes filled with tenderness and concern. "Rest now, my love. I'll be here to watch over both you and Aegon. You've done marvelously."

Alicent managed a small, grateful smile, her exhaustion evident in her eyes. "Thank you, Daegor, for being here with us, for loving us."

Daegor leaned down, pressing a loving kiss to her forehead. "Always, Alicent. Always."

As the first light of dawn began to filter through the windows, Daegor Targaryen knew it was time to leave. He had spent the night in quiet vigil, watching over Alicent and their newborn son, Aegon, making sure they were safe and well.

With a heavy heart, he carefully placed a handwritten letter by Alicent's side on the bed. The letter contained his most heartfelt words, expressing his love, devotion, and the promise of their secret bond. It was a testament to the love they shared, a love that had to remain hidden from the world.

With one last lingering look at the sleeping queen and their child, Daegor turned and silently made his way to the door. He moved with the same stealth he had used to enter the room, ensuring that no one would see him, especially not Alicent's vigilant handmaidens who were likely to arrive early to tend to their queen.

As he stepped into the corridor, Daegor knew that their secret was safe for now, and that he would continue to protect and cherish both Alicent and Aegon from the shadows. He could only hope that someday, circumstances would allow their love to be openly acknowledged, but until then, their whispered affections and hidden bond would have to suffice.

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagine #game of thrones #daegor targaryen #alicent x reader #alicent hightower x reader #hotd alicent #queen alicent #alicent hightower #alicent #alicent x daegor #hotd x reader

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violettduchess · 7 months

Note

"doubt thou the stars are fire // doubt that the sun doth move // doubt truth to be a liar // but never doubt that i love (you)" x gilbert (or whoever you feel fits this best)

-revassierum

A/N: Gilbert won the poll so the first fic belongs to him.

This is the fic that comes before this one but I think that you can read this on its own.

Gilbert x Reader

WC: 2.3k

Full quote:

"Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love you. I love thee, I love but thee with a love that shall not die. Till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old. -William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act II, Scene II

His knuckles, hidden under his black leather gloves, are white as he grasps the cold gray parapet. His eye, red as a hellish comet streaking across a midnight sky, surveys the shapes he can make out below, the ones revealed by the twin luminance of moonlight and torches: the shadowy lines of the encampment tents in front of the castle; light winking weakly off the metal of soldiers’ helmets as they move around. Beyond them the ribbon of pale gray road that disappears into the imposing darkness of the treeline, so dark it drinks in all the light without leaving a single drop.

The road holds his gaze, has every ounce of his attention so thoroughly that he doesn’t react to the man who joins him, the one who is silent as he stares at Gilbert, his expression as stoic as the stone Gilbert’s gloves are so tightly clenching.

After a moment, he speaks.

“Yes, Doctor?”

Walter reaches up, adjusting his glasses.

“The night is chilled. You should be abed, resting for what is to come.”

Few people in the world can speak to Gilbert in such a way, telling him what he should be doing. But Walter is one of them. The man who carries the weight of Obsidian on his broad shoulders doesn’t answer his physician but the tightness of his jawline is enough of a sign that he has heard.

Walter finally turns his head, his pale gaze following Gilbert’s line of sight until he too is looking at the place where the road vanishes into black forest. He remembers a whispered conversation with Roderich, hushed and hurried, quick as a sparrow nervously jumping from branch to branch lest it be snapped up by the jaws of some far-quicker predator.

“If I may speak freely….”

Gilbert waves a hand. “As if that would be something new.” Though there is a faint glimmer of humor in his voice, his gaze is as intensely focused as ever and he does not glance at the doctor.

“You sent her away. Quite….forcefully, if I recall the story.”

That gets his attention. He turns away, a movement as quick and sleek as silvery clouds sliding across the face of the moon.

Walter knows him well enough to read his face. He sees the miniscule flash of surprise in the depths of his crimson eye, the slight drawing of his shoulders. Anyone else would think Gilbert had no reaction. The doctor knows that this particular subject has just set off a cascade of emotion within the Obsidian leader.

“I won’t ask how you know this or else I would be forced to deprive Obsidian of its best healer.” Annoyance lines his words as he turns back to the parapet, as if he cannot help himself, as if staring at the line between the encampment and the forest is necessary. Agitation dances across the tight line of his shoulders, the straight rod of his back.

Walter clears his throat, stifling the urge to place a hand on Gilbert’s arm.

“Rhodolite may be the enemy. But it is where she is safest.”

His statement is met with silence, as cool as the night breeze winding its way across the battlement, Gilbert’s black cloak dancing in its wake.

“I’ve taken my tonic. I believe your presence is no longer required tonight, Doctor.”

The dismissal doesn’t bother Walter. He knows Gilbert has heard him. His dark head bows in deference.

“Gute Nacht,” he murmurs, casting one last look at the man whose life he is charged with keeping safe. He may be responsible for Gilbert's body but there is no doubt that his heart is within someone else’s hands.

Gilbert waits until the doctor’s footsteps fade into the other sounds of nighttime, the ebbing murmur of his soldiers as they retire for the evening, the faint clanking of armor as guards patrol the grounds, the lone, mournful hoot of an owl. Only when he is certain he is alone does he allow his head to drop, eye closing for a brief moment.

There is little that escapes Gilbert von Obsidian. He is three steps ahead of everyone, always, the human mind a complicated puzzle he is adept at solving. And yet, when he sent you away from his tent, you with your starlight tears and petal-soft mouth, when he watched you flee, eyes as wild as a fearful rabbit, when he told you to return home to your roses and your pale-haired king…..he was not entirely certain you would listen.

The doctor is right. It was the more rational choice. But it was not the one that his heart wanted, the one it is still screaming for. You belong with him. You should be his.

He has tasted you, knows the sound of his name when it escapes your lips on a wavering sigh of want. His teeth have sunk into the soft skin of your shoulder, his tongue has traced the line of your neck. He has felt the waves of desire as they ripple through your veins, all because of him. All for him. It is all he has wanted for so very long, all that has consumed him….

And yet he had smiled, sharp as the edge of his sword, and told you to run. Sent you away even as your scent of lavender and roses lingered in his tent, settled across his black mantle like a ghost unable to find peace.

What is he even looking for, out here in the night, as the tents darken one by one like candles blown out by the wind. You are halfway back to your kingdom of roses. You chose home and you chose Chevalier.

So why can’t he tear his gaze away from the darkening road?

It becomes a phantom as the torchlight dims and the moon excuses herself, stepping behind a barricade of clouds. And still he lingers, even as the night air turns cold and unwelcoming, and he feels his muscles contracting in response, struggling to support the cry of his heart to stay….just in case.

Teeth clenched like a beast on the edge of growling, he is about to turn and head inside when he sees it. A shadowy shape bursting out of the black treeline, a spectral horse and rider charging down the ribbon of road.

And he knows.

The castle walls blur as he flies down the spiral stone steps, down down down and then out, past the startled guards. He is a tiger honed in on its prey, eyes flashing with resolve and hunger.

You’re already off your horse, speaking in that voice to a soldier with his sword raised in your direction. You are, after all, a stranger who has just flown into their camp like a banshee.

When he arrives at the scene, the soldier immediately lowers his sword and drops to one knee. Gilbert does not hear any of his stammered words. Instead he reaches out, his gloved fingers closing around your wrist as he pulls you towards the nearest tent.

“Raus,” he orders the soldier who was just getting ready to bed down for the night. The word is iron, undeniable and final. The man gathers his things quicker than he ever has before in his life and exits, the tent flap falling closed behind him with a soft whooshing sound.

It is a simple foot soldier’s dwelling with an oil lantern still burning next to the untouched bedroll. The wan light throws your shadows across the thick canvas walls, moving like images inside a zoetrope.

Gilbert is breathing hard, his chest rising and falling as he struggles to catch his breath, but there is nothing unsteady about the way his eye, the color of wine in moonlight, is fixed on you. With trembling hands you push back the hood of your cloak, white with small red roses embroidered along the hem like drops of blood. Your cheeks are flushed with the urgency and speed of your ride. Your skirts and boots are splattered with mud.

“I know….you warned me to go and I started to.” Your voice is airy but uncontrolled, a tornado forcing its way past your throat. “I got just past the border and stopped at a tavern to rest the horse. Rhodolite soldiers were there, several tankards in, and they were bragging…they’re coming, Gilbert. At first dawn they’ll be here.”

You step forward, your hands reaching to gather the soft folds of his black cloak, fingers curling into it as it could steady you, a bulwark against the storm of information you need to tell him.

“They have weapons. They intercepted an Obsidian transport and they have guns.” He hasn’t said a word yet, hasn’t had a chance in the face of all the words you’re hurling at him but now you pause, searching his face. “Gilbert, did you hear me? They have-”

He finally moves, twisting his leather glove off his hand and tossing it aside fecklessly. The next thing you feel is the cool touch of his palm against your cheek, his fingers curling to cup your face.

“You’re here.”

The words are husky, maybe because he is still catching his breath. Maybe because he can’t believe it. Or maybe because he can and he’s basking in the confirmation of his prediction.

“I…..” You need him to understand the urgency of what you are telling him and yet his hand feels so good. The last time he touched you that hand was at your throat. Now it is cradling your face with a gentleness just as dangerous.

Your words drop to a whisper. “Gilbert…..they’re coming and they–” And then, as he raises his other hand to his lips, biting into the tip of his glove and removing it with his teeth, the truth hits you like an avalanche careening down a mountain. The encampment here. Gilbert occupying a castle so close to the border and not heading home.

“You already knew.”

And now he’s holding your face in both hands, the coolness of his skin paradoxically sending waves of something unbearably hot through your limbs.

“But you didn’t. And you came back, risking everything to tell me.”

The world begins and ends in the red of his eye, the fall of dark hair across his pale forehead. Something inside you breaks, shatters like stained glass struck by stone. You reach up, curling your hands around his wrists.

“I….I couldn’t live with the thought that something could happen to you….I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to stop it, even if it meant-”

The rest is stopped by the savage press of his mouth against yours. He will not even allow you to finish that sentence. The grip of his hands tightens as he hungrily swallows any other words you wanted to say, as he drinks deeply from the gasps of your lungs and the moans of your throat. Over and over he devours you while still holding you between his hands, your own having gone slack at the very first kiss.

He kisses you until your lips ache from the crush of his mouth, the sting of his teeth. Your tongue is full of him, the rich, cool taste of him. It is the sweetest nectar, ambrosia as heady as the starlit sky. It leaves you spinning with satisfaction, dizzy with content. And yet, it leaves you parched, always seeking more and more and more of him as the hot winds of desire blow through your veins.

Gilbert is the one to break away, to gasp a lungful of air, feeling the absence of your lips as keenly as any ache. His eye burns like a singular star, swallowing up the darkness.

“Retreat to the castle.” His hands roam your body as he speaks the order, as if he can’t help but touch you even as he demands you to leave him. “The cellar is safeguarded. My men will go with you-”

You shake your head vehemently, capturing his hands in yours, holding them hostage in your own tight grip.

"I have turned against my country for you. I was ready to face whatever hell awaited me here if it meant keeping you safe.” Your voice is low, trembling as it skirts the bedrock of emotion in your chest. “I'm damn well not leaving your side now."

He recognizes a mind as sharp as his own, a will as iron. As much as he has craved your gentle heart, your kind spirit, those soft, beautiful parts of you, he is equally as drawn to the steel in your nerves, the forge of determination in your bright eyes.

He could have you sent away, dragged by his soldiers down to the underbelly of the castle where you would be safe. But as he reaches up, cradling the nape of your neck with one hand, he realizes you are right. After all, who could protect you as well as him? Who but him would trample the world for you? Would set the night ablaze before allowing anyone or anything to harm you?

One arm winds its way around your waist and pulls you close. He leans down, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear. His voice is hushed, but rough, gravelly with emotion.

"When all this is over, my brave Häschen, I will reward you.” He catches your earlobe between his white teeth, his heart fluttering at your gasp. “Over and over until your voice is hoarse with the sound of my name."

There is no time to catch the breath his words have robbed you off. The distant warning of cannon fire fills the night and the encampment is coming awake, following the carefully laid-out plan in preparation for what is coming.

“Come.” And with your fingers linked with his, you step out of the tent together, into the foreboding night.

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @portrait-ninja @queen-dahlia @scorchieart @nightghoul381 @joiedecombat @ozalysss

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #ikemen gilbert #ikemen fanfic #ikemen fanfiction #otome fanfiction #violettwrites

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zeciex · 4 months

Text

A Vow of Blood - 61

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 61: The Taste of Silence

AO3 - Masterlist

*smut*

The stern tone of his mother’s voice sliced through the quiet of Aemond’s chambers as she briskly entered, flinging open the door before shutting it with a loud bang behind her.

Aemond looked up, his expression turning into a scowl, feeling annoyance flare up within him. He continued to pour himself a cup of bitter wine, taking a gulp of it, before setting it aside, as his mother stood before him, her face etched with disapproval, eyebrows knitted together in unmistakable anger.

“What were you thinking?” She demanded, her voice laced with frustration.

He wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Like a feral dog, he was poised to bite first.

Aemond leaned casually against his desk and responded with a nonchalant drawl, “Forgive me, Mother, for merely speaking the truth. It’s not my fault they’re bastards–”

“You said it to their faces!” Alicent interjected sharply. “After the ordeal with Vaemond – what if they bring this to Viserys? What if they demand your tongue? I can’t shield you if you persist in provoking them openly!”

Her words were a mix of fear and exasperation, an attempt at conveying the precariousness of their situation and her concern for the consequences of his brash actions. Aemond, however, was less perturbed by the potential fallout, his stance and tone reflecting this.

“I am not as defenseless as Vaemond; I’ll be ready if they dare to come for me,” Aemond retorted with confidence in his own prowess. He would not cower in fear of what the bastards would do to him for telling what was plain for all to see, and for what Vaemond had lost his head for. Gone was the child who had been ambushed and overpowered. In his place stood a man, fully prepared to dispense the same level of mercy that had once been dealt to him.

“Why do you persist in provoking them?” Alicent demanded, her voice ringing in volume and sharpness, her eyes blazing with anger.

“Because we are far from being a happy family!” Aemond shot back, his response laced with frustration, burning in his chest and spreading through his body. “The entire evening was nothing but a charade, a pathetic farce for Viserys’s sake. He may want us to bury our grievances, but he only deepens them with his unfair judgements! He expects me to sit amiably across from the one who took my eye, to offer forgiveness! I cannot and will not do that!”

Alicent’s frustration was palpable as she shook her head in disbelief, her fingers massaging one of her temples as if to alleviate a pounding headache. “And this is what you choose to do? To deepen the rift between us?”

Aemond responded with a tone of petulance in his voice, “There’s no necessity for me to exacerbate the divide, Mother. I merely shed light on its depth, proving that mere words and good intentions are insufficient to mend such chasm.”

“Aemond–” Alicent began, only to be cut off.

“The thread binding this family will unravel with Viserys’ death, you know it,” Aemond pressed on. “Then, the pretense can finally end! I refuse to prostrate myself before my wretched half-sister or waste my breath on pretense, and why should I? They will never offer an apology, nor will they admit any fault for maiming me.”

“And yet, you’ve gone as far as to declare that you and Daenera are betrothed,” Alicent interjected sharply.

Aemond clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together. His declaration had been instinctive almost, driven by a desire to irk her brother’s. He had wanted to see the facade crumble, to lay bare the deep fissures hidden beneath it. He wanted to expose the truth behind the illusion and watch the ensuing chaos unravel their pretense.

Watching Daenera interact with her family had stirred a sense of disquiet in him. It was as if the months they had spent together, the intimacy they had shared, were nothing more than a fleeting dream from which she had abruptly awakened, leaving him stranded in a desolate nightmare. He felt a gnawing knot in his stomach as she offered him mere glances and polite smiles, treating him as a mere acquaintance rather than someone who knew her, someone who had killed for her, someone who had tasted her darkness and her blood, and had allowed her to infiltrate his being.

Her act of detachment had only intensified the bitterness festering within him, a poison that gnawed at his core. He yearned to shatter the veneer of civility, to reflect the decay and corruption inherent in their family. The barbed comments from her brothers, which echoed painfully in his head, combined with Daenera’s apparent indifference, only fueled his desire to reveal the true, rotting nature of their family ties.

It had been almost an instinct.

Alicent pressed on with her argument. “You must realize this wasn’t the bride you were meant to choose! You know this union with Daenera cannot happen, Aemond. Rhaenyra and Daemon will never consent to it, not after the scene you created, not after you called her and her brother’s bastards for all to hear!”

Aemond let out a derisive scoff, dismissing the gravity of the situation with a gesture of contempt.

“This is unacceptable,” Alicent declared sternly, her tone laced with reproach. “I will not tolerate it.”

Aemond’s fingers pressed deeply into the wood of the desk, blunt nails scraping over the veins in the wood, as he braced himself against the heavy tide of his mother’s disapproval.

“This dalliance with Daenera ends now,” Alicent asserted, her voice unwavering and resolute. Her hands were clasped firmly in front of her, her spine erect in a posture that exuded authority. “You are to marry a Baratheon girl – it matters not which one, but choose one of them, Aemond, and put an end to this matter.”

Her directive left no room for argument, underscoring the finality of her decision and the expectation of his compliance.

Aemond clenched his teeth tighter, forcibly swallowing down the vehement refusal that scorched his chest. The Very thought of marrying a Baratheon, or anyone other than Daenera, was intolerable to him. His mind was set on her, and he was acutely aware that if they were to marry in the presence of the Seven, their union would become irrefutable, beyond the reach of opposition or dispute. This realization fueled his resolve, even as he grappled with the constraints imposed by his mother’s demands.

With a swift turn, she exited the room, leaving Aemond to his thoughts.

In response, Aemond roughly gulped down his wine, the bitterness of the drink mirroring his mood. He set the cup down on the table with a forceful clatter and rose to his feet. As the door to the secret passageway opened with a soft click, a cool breeze caressed his skin, welcoming him into the embrace of the shadows.

The quill danced gracefully over the parchment, leaving behind a trail of ink that formed precise, deliberate strokes so meticulous and refined they would surely draw a nod of approval from Maester Geradys. The table was a mosaic of parchment scrapes, a disarray of paper balls and neatly rolled scrolls. Each fragment was an essential link in the chain of communication, carrying the weighty news of her impending departure–a decision that had not come lightly.

After leaving her parent’s chambers, a sense of unease and restlessness gnawed at her, banishing any thoughts of sleep. Instead, Daenera found solace in the meticulous planning of her departure. It was a retreat from everything she had so carefully constructed over months, a departure that didn’t align with what she had envisioned for herself.

Yet, in the current turmoil, perhaps this was a necessary pause, a chance for her to catch her breath, just as her mother had wished. And how could she refuse her mother, especially with the impending arrival of a new sibling? She had been at the birth of all her other siblings save for Jace, she would see this one into the world as well.

Her fingers traced the edge of the parchment, her mind adrift.

“I am not in the mood for company,” Daenera stated icily, lifting her eyes from the parchment to look through her lashes as Aemond slipped into her chambers through the secret passageways. “I think it’s best you leave.”

Aemond merely hummed in response, dismissing her icy glare. He casually leaned against her table, watching as she furiously continued her writing, her previously elegant writing became hurried and crude with her rising irritation until it was almost ineligible.

Daenera persisted with her writing, periodically dipping her quill into the inkwell. Each time she brought it back to the paper, a few stray drops of ink fell, splattering on the parchment and leaving unintended smudges. As her frustration mounted, she couldn't help but release a sharp exhale, breaking the silence. “What were you thinking?”

Aemond’s expression soured, the corners of his mouth turning downward slightly as he shrugged indifferently. “I was merely toasting my nephews. I didn’t know how insecure they were about their heritage.”

“You called us bastards!” Daenera retorted sharply, her patience worn thin. She discarded the quill in the inkwell, turning her whole attention towards him.

“I was merely brave enough to state the obvious,” Aemond countered, his voice laced with the same sharpness he exhibited during supper. “They are bastards.”

Daenera rose to her feet, her cheeks flushed with mounting anger. “And what does that make me, then?”

Aemond met her gaze, his posture unyielding, arms folded across his chest. “A bastard.”

“My brothers considered having your tongue removed for your insults. And they’re well within their rights to have it,” Daenera snapped, starting to regret her decision in opposing her brother’s wishes.

Aemond let out a derisive scoff. “You’d regret the loss of my tongue more than I.”

Daenera’s voice was a low growl of warning. “Be careful. The last man who dared call us bastards lost his head for it.”

Her words hung heavily in the air, a clear boundary of her tolerance for disrespect. Her fury simmered just beneath the surface, a fire raging within, clashing with the icy, mocking flame in Aemond’s sharp, blue gaze. His expression was a curated mix of scorn and amusement, clearly relishing in getting a rise out of her.

“Years have done little to improve his skill. He still throws punches like a girl.” Aemond’s retort was laced with smugness, his lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk, only serving to further fan the flames of Daenera’s anger.

Daenera’s response was laced with venom, her frustration palpable as she let out a huff, running her hand through her hair and shaking her head angrily.

“It was a well deserved hit,” she retorted sharply, tempted to demonstrate firsthand the strength of a girl’s punch. “I only wish it had broken your jaw.”

“For someone of House Strong, his punch was disappointingly feeble,” Aemond taunted, the reply dripping with malice. It was clear that he was enjoying the effect his words had on her.

“Did you intentionally seek to provoke conflict, or was it a spur-of-the-moment decision?” Daenera inquired. The answer came in the form of a smirk, its curve as menacing as a Dothraki arakh. “Well, you’ve certainly succeeded in stirring up trouble by calling us bastards–by referring to me as your wife!”

“You are my wife,” Aemond declared, his tone infused with a mix of indignation and assertion.

Daenera released a weary sigh. “It wasn’t real, Aemond.”

Aemond appeared visibly taken aback, looking almost crestfallen, and he briefly averted his gaze to compose himself, something hardening within his expression. “We said the vows, we cut our palms–”

“But the Faith doesn’t recognize it. There were no priests, no witnesses,” Daenera answered, almost softly. Her heart twisted painfully, and she swallowed the pain as it seemed to wreck through her chest and climb up her throat.

His voice dropped to a low, resonant tone, deep and dark, “You know it was real.”

In her heart, Daenera knew it was both real and unreal. A fleeting act of folly, born of desire and the thing neither of them acknowledged. It had been a dream–a fantasy. They bore the physical marks of this fantasy, and whispered the vows in the dark, with only the flames and the shadows as their witnesses. It had been a moment that belonged solely to them, detached from the rest of the world.

And now, that world was crashing in around them.

“I asked Viserys for permission for us to marry.”

Daenera’s reaction was immediate and visceral. Her head jerked up, her body momentarily frozen in disbelief. Her lips parted slightly as she absorbed his words, her eyes searching his face, delving into the depth of his gaze. Confusion and suspicion furrowed her brow, while her heart pounded so fiercely she feared its beat might echo through the room.

The air in the room seemed to thicken with the gravity of Aemond’s declaration, each second stretching out, intensifying the tumult of emotions raging within Daenera. A storm of questions and doubts raged in her mind. Was this some elaborate ruse? A way to corner her, or was it a declaration?

Her heart’s frenzied rhythm seemed to mirror the chaos of her thoughts and her throat went dry, her words hesitant as she finally spoke. “You didn’t.”

Aemond’s gaze turned steely. “I could.”

“It wouldn’t make any difference. We can’t marry, Aemond,” she answered, her voice trembling with a mixture of realism and disappointment. She could feel the prickling of tears, her heart aching. Such a union seemed impossible–was impossible. Daemon would never consent, and she suspected Alicent would oppose it vehemently as well.

In the back of her mind, the haunting prophecy whispered, a reminder of a fate seemingly preordained: Your first marriage will be loveless, and your second cloaked in betrayal. The words echoed in her thoughts, a grim harbinger overshadowing any fleeting hope kindled by Aemond’s bold assertion.

They had spoken the vows like children uttering promises whose depths they could not fathom. They had cut their palms and shared their blood with the naivete of children who could not see the storm on the horizon, but only the calm waters at their feet. They had been children playing pretend, lost in the moment of each other, neglecting the harsh reality around them and the consequences of such fantasies.

His expression had become a mask of stone, impenetrable and unfathomable. Any insight Daenera had previously gleaned from his countenance was now obscured by the cold facade he presented. The subtleties and nuances she had once been able to detect were hidden, lost behind this unyielding mask that revealed nothing of his thoughts or feelings.

The atmosphere was charged, thick with unspoken words and emotions. Daenera’s heartbeat resonated in her ears, a relentless drumming that mirrored the tension in the room. Her words, heavy with meaning, seemed to hang oppressively in the air, creating an almost tangible barrier between them. “This infatuation–”

Aemond interrupted her with a scoff, his upper lip curling into a snarl. He gazed past her, as though searching the air for the elusive words.

“It is not infatuation, and you know it,” he retorted, his voice laced with something close to contempt. “I thought I had made my intentions clear. I want you.”

His admission was laced with venom, as if the very act of confessing this truth filled him with bitterness. His gaze returned to her, cold and incisive, his look piercing her as sharply as the dragonglass arrowhead had once punctured her skin. His next words were a mix of pain and cruelty, torn between wanting to wound her with his harsh truths or to handle her with the greatest of care.

“You are insufferable,” Aemond declared, his voice dripping with venom. “Your presence is more toxic than nightshade. You’re cruel, malevolent. You’re in my veins, a poison I can’t rid myself of without being drained of life.”

He moved towards her, his steps predatory, his lone eye unyielding and ruthless.

Daenera’s heart fluttered erratically, a disordered rhythm that mirrored the chaos swirling within her. Her palms, now damp with nervous perspiration, clenched tightly in the fabric of her dress.

Aemond’s presence seemed to darken the room, the shadows coiling around him as if drawn to his mood. His hair of spun moonlight, and the soft complexity of his skin, were the only elements that stood out in the dark.

“I killed for you,” he said, his voice a mix of accusation and fervor. “I ended the lives of those who harmed you, I killed your wretched husband…I’ve spilled blood for you, I recited the vows, performed the ceremony. I want you, Daenera. Isn’t that clear?”

Aemond’s hands reached for her, grasping her with a firmness that was both desperate and tender. His calloused thumbs gently brushed across her cheekbones, as if caressing away tears that had yet to fall. His voice carried an undercurrent of raw emotion, a mixture of desperation and reverence. “I need you to look at me – look at me and see what you’ve done to me.”

Daenera’s own hands instinctively moved to his wrists, her fingers pressing into his skin as she gazed up at the wild expression etched across his face, almost feral with its intensity.

In a soft, almost vulnerable confession, he admitted, “With you, I feel more beast than man.”

Daenera’s eyes shut tightly, overwhelmed by his words. It felt as if Aemond’s fervent grip was wrenching her heart from her chest. She swallowed thickly, her voice strained as she spoke, “We cannot marry.”

The impact of her declaration seemed to resonate within Aemond. His body, taut with tension, seemed to vibrate with the force of her refusal. Abruptly, he let go of her, his sudden release almost causing her to stumble. The lingering heat of his touch remained on her skin, a scorching reminder.

Forcing herself to regain her composure, her voice became firm despite the whirl of emotions that raged just beneath the surface of her skin. “Your desire for me is one thing, but I will not allow myself to be used as a tool against my own family. And don’t pretend it isn’t part of your plan.”

Her words were a clear indictment, acknowledging the complex web of both political and personal motivations that entangled them both.

“Don’t pretend that you haven’t been using my affections as a blade against my family as well,” Aemond sneered, his voice thick with accusation.

“That isn’t what marriage is supposed to be like, Aemond!” Daenera exclaimed. Her words lingered in the space between them, heavy with meaning. She took a deep, steadying breath, gathering the fragments of her composure.

With a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the charged atmosphere, she reached out to touch him. Her hand gently cupped his face, an intimate gesture that was meant to console. He shifted ever so slightly under her touch. It seemed as though part of him yearned to pull away, yet he remained anchored under her gentle caress. His eye watched her discernibly, with a cool expression.

Her eyes softened. “That isn’t what marriage is, Aemond. If we marry, bitterness will fester between us. One of us will emerge victorious, but at the cost of destroying what lies between us”

“I would still want you, even amidst resentment…I–” Aemond’s voice trailed off. Whatever he might’ve said died on his tongue.

“I’m leaving for Dragonstone,” she revealed softly, her words carrying the weight of finality.

At her announcement, Aemond recoiled as though struck. Daenera’s hand remained suspended in the air, marking the space where his face had been just moments earlier. Her hand fell to her side.

His expression was a blend of fury and agony, his jaw clenched tightly, lips no longer in a smirk but instead in a firm line of discontent.

In the quiet that enveloped them, Daenera uttered his name, her voice soft yet laden with emotion. The simple utterance of it held a depth akin to a prayer, a silent appeal for his understanding.

“You choose your family,” he concluded, his voice filled with the bitterness of resignation.

Daenera nodded, her eyes meeting his with a sad certainty. “As I know you’ll choose yours.”

What was between them had always been destined to fall under the weight of their duty. The path had always led to ruin and destruction. Each step they had taken together, each jape and gentle touch, were always going to be bittersweet. They had danced along the edges of the destruction for a long time, and they had seen the ruins in the distance since the night they bound their souls together in a moment of hope, in the mist of dreams.

It was never meant to thrive.

But she wished that it could.

Daenera wanted to hold onto the dream a little longer. “Ask me again once my mother sit upon the Iron Throne.”

Daenera observed the tumult of emotions playing across Aemond’s face, a complex tapestry of feelings that intertwined, scoffing disbelief, disdain, and a profound, almost unbearable agony.

Within this emotional maelstrom, she saw the emergence of a cruel, venomous undercurrent, its fangs and claws ready to strike. Yet, he restrained this inner beast–this impulse to ruin, taming it with an evident effort before speaking.

“When do you leave?”

“In four days time,” Daenera replied. “There are matters I must attend to before I go.”

Aemond closed the distance between them, his hand tenderly caressing her face, gently coaxing her head back to meet his gaze. His thumb delicately traced the contours of her mouth.

“Then I have four days,” he said, his voice a resonant blend of darkness and raw emotion, “to etch myself indelibly into your soul.”

At his touch, a shiver cascaded down Daenera’s spine, the fine hairs of the back of her neck standing on end. Part of her wanted to confess that he was already an intrinsic part of her, his blood running in her veins, their hearts and souls beating and existing as one. But she held back, knowing that such admission would add more bitterness to the inevitable.

His lips lingered tantalizingly close to hers, not quite touching, in a manner reminiscent of a predator toying with its prey. There was a challenge in his hesitation, a silent dare that hung in the air between them, inviting her to bridge the gap.

A familiar smirk curved his lips, slightly parted. Their breaths intertwined in the space that separated them, a shared whisper of anticipation. Then, Daenera closed the distance, pressing her lips firmly against his. The response was immediate as he seemed to devour her, his tongue brushing into her mouth to steal her breath away.

As Daenera surrendered to the moment, the intensity of Aemond’s kiss enveloped her completely. His fiery touch seemed to scorch her lips, each kiss imbued with a desire so profound it felt as if he was trying to engrave his presence into her very soul.

It was more than a mere kiss; it was a claim, a silent declaration that she belonged to him in a way no one else could match.

His hands, both firm and gentle, found her hips, pulling her closer, molding her body against his with a natural, almost instinctive fit. He maneuvered her backwards until her spine pressed against the cold surface of the stone column.

Daenera felt his hands weave into her hair, holding her in a tender yet commanding grasp. His thumb delicately traced along the curve of her jawline, coming to rest with a gentle pressure under her chin, tilting her face up to deepen their connection. His lips, ever demanding and insatiable, moved over hers, each kiss a wordless plea for more.

Daenera’s fingers clutched the collar of Aemond’s doublet, a playful giggle bubbling from her throat as his lips began to trail down her neck. The sensation of his tongue gliding over her skin tickled and sent shivers through her. His hand, rough and calloused, gathered the fabric of her dress, gently grazing the skin of her thigh as he did so, the touch making her bite down on her bottom lip.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, a rapid rhythm that matched the quickened pace of her breaths. She shivered as his teeth delicately traced the fragile skin of her neck, revisiting the bruise he had left earlier that day, a spiteful claim meant to cause trouble. The morning felt so long ago, lost in the chaos of the day.

“Did you feel my touch linger on your skin?” Aemond’s voice was a low murmur against her, his words sending a thrill through her. His hand found the way to the apex of her thighs, his fingers weaving through the soft curls before tracing a path over her clit.

At his touch, Daenera let out a deep moan, instinctively rolling her hips into his caress. She felt consumed by a fiery need, her body responding with an eager ache, already slick with anticipation. The blend of his gentle assertive touch with the raw sensuality of the moment left her breathless, intoxicated by his lips.

Daenera’s response was a moan, deep and filled with wanton pleasure.

“Your brother’s definitely noticed,” Aemond whispered, his voice a low murmur, as he gave her clit a sharp pinch, as if to emphasize his point.

Daenera couldn’t help but moan louder, her hips instinctively rolling into the sensation, her fingers grasping at his doublet in a desperate need. “You shouldn’t have left your mark–”

“Why not?” he asked sharply. “You’re mine to claim, byka narys.”

Little poison.

Aemond, undeterred, continued his tantalizing assault, his mouth leaving her neck to trail kisses along the curve of her collarbone. His fingers, now coated in her arousal, returned to her, circling her clit with slow, deliberate movements that varied in pressure.

“I bet you could still feel me,” he teased, alluding to their earlier encounter, just before the succession of Driftmark was brought up in court. “I bet my seed was still within you–leaking out of you as your mother defended your bastard brother’s claim.”

Daenera reveled in the sensation as Aemond’s teeth gently sank into her shoulder, his smirk evident even through the touch. The resulting dull ache intensified her moan, a blend of pain and pleasure that seemed to echo their dynamic.

“Mmm, you’d think so, but I hardly even noticed you, it was over so quick,” Daenera taunted back.

Aemond’s glare was sharp, but Daenera found a certain satisfaction in eliciting such a reaction from him.

However, the moment of triumph was fleeting. Aemond’s actions turned more assertive as he pinched her clit with a firm pressure, then plunged two fingers deep into her cunt, the sensation both sudden and intense. Her body responded instinctively, her inner muscles clenching tightly around his fingers. His palm pressed against her with a deliberate force, his words a mix of accusation and desire. “Liar, I felt you clinging to me, as if you never wanted to let go.”

A shaky breath escaped her in response, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She felt a rush of arousal, the tangible evidence of her desire trickling down her thighs.

“I should have taken you on the table, right there in front of everyone,” Aemond sneered against her skin, his fingers finding the spot inside of her that made her hips buckle against him, her teeth releasing the flesh of her bottom lip to let out a moan. “Mmh–made it clear to everyone that you are mine…”

Daenera’s eyes fluttered open as he lifted his lips from her skin, her heartbeat echoing through her body.

Aemond’s hand moved to her dress, attempting to pull at the bodice to release a breast. It resisted his tug, clinging tightly to her chest, her breasts heaving with each breath. He bared his teeth in annoyance and pulled harder, managing to free one tit. He immediately latched onto her nipple, sucking and biting at it with a fervor that made her gasp and moan. His fingers continued their relentless rhythm, plunging into her with force and precision, his thumb stroking her clit in tandem.

As her hands found his hair, Daenera pulled him back to her lips, their mouth meeting in a heated exchange. She moaned into the kiss, her other hand exploring the growing bulge in his trousers, rubbing and squeezing until he hissed.

His reaction was fierce, eye blazing as he grabbed her hand, pulling it away with a grip that spoke of his own desire and frustration.

Daenera was faintly aware of the taste of bitterness on his lips.

His fingers withdrew from her, allowing her dress to fall back into its proper place. He then firmly grasped her hips, guiding her away from the column. His lips were unyielding against hers, devouring her with a passion that propelled her backward until her spine met the canopy bed.

Her hands found their way into his hair again, soft and silk-like under her touch. She gently raked her nails over his scalp, tugging at his hair. Effortlessly, she removed the leather strap of his eyepatch, casting it aside, as her body pressed against his, her hip aligning with the growing bulge in his trousers.

Aemond pulled back, his gaze shifting to the side as if to hide the scarred side of his face from view.

Daenera felt her heart falter in her chest, a frown forming on her face as she studied his rigid posture. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen what lay beneath the eyepatch before, but the set of his jaw told her everything she needed to know.

Daenera responded with a tender touch, her hand softly caressing his cheek, reassuring him in a silent gesture. She gently guided his face back towards her, meeting the intense gleam of his sapphire eye. His expression was measured and hard, a tapestry of emotion drawn taut over cool stone –anger, bitterness, and resentment all flickering across his features. His narrowed gaze seemed to hold a storm of thoughts, poised at the tip of his tongue. There was a temptation there, a temptation to lay ruin to everything.

Yet, Daenera drew him back with a tender kiss, her lips meeting his in a soft, almost pleading manner. Each gentle press of her lips seemed to ground him, pulling him back from the edge of destruction.

Gradually, Aemond’s lips began to move in sync with hers, his tongue seeking entry between her lips, slowly reigniting the passion they had momentarily lost. The kiss deepened, slowly rebuilding the fervor until it burned bright.

Daenera couldn’t suppress the hiss when Aemond abruptly broke their kiss, her lips chasing his. He spun her around, his hands moving to the laces of her dress. His movements were impatient and eager, the strings giving way under his insistent tugs. His lips traced a path down the column of her neck, teeth grazing her shoulder, drawing out a moan.

She gripped the wooden pillar of the bed for support as he continued to work on her dress, pulling it down to expose more of her skin.

His hand then encircled her neck, gently pulling her back against him, compelling her to crane her neck to meet his lips again, all the while his other hand continued to pull at the ties of her dress.

Daenera couldn’t help but feel a mix of amusement and anticipation as Aemond expressed his frustration with her dress.

“Why must your dresses always prove to be such aggravating contraptions,” he grumbled, barely holding back a curse.

Her response was light-hearted, tinged with a playful chuckle. “I suppose it’s to give us a chance to rethink our actions before it’s too late.”

Aemond’s lips grazed her ear, his voice a deep purr, stirring a shiver within her. “A mere dress will not stop me from claiming what is mine.”

Realizing the futility of his attempts to undo the laces, Aemond seemed to decide on a more direct approach. With a swift motion, he gripped the fabric on either side of the laces and ripped it apart. The sound of tearing fabric was accompanied by a moan, only seeming to fuel Aemond’s resolve.

As the remnants of her favorite dress fell away, Daenera felt a sharp chill that sent a cascade of gooseflesh across her skin. Aemond’s hand slid down her spine, following the elegant curve of her body, eventually reaching the hem of her underdress. With a gentle tug, he lifted the soft fabric over her head, leaving fully exposed to his gaze.

His lips found her shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses as his hand wrapped around her waist, sliding down the curve of her stomach to her inner thigh, smeared with arousal. She could feel the pronounced bulge of his trousers pressed against her backside, a tangible reminder of his desire, as his lips brushed teasingly against her ear.

Daenera leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed as his hands explored her body with a familiarity that felt new each time. His grip on her breast was firm, his fingers pinching the tender flesh as the pad of his thumb circled her nipple, coaxing it into a taut peak.

His command was a low, resonant sound that bordered on a growl. “Get on the bed.”

Daenera gracefully ascended onto the bed, reclining with an air of expectancy as she observed Aemond remove his clothes. He shed his doublet and undershirt, revealing the wiry, well-defined muscles beneath his skin.

Her eyes trailed his body, captivated by the fluid grace of his movements. She observed the subtle rippling of muscle beneath his skin, a mesmerizing display of controlled strength and agility, honed over years of training. Her eyes traced the path of his fingers as they skillfully worked at the laces of his trousers, noting the prominent veins that ran beneath the soft skin of his hands and up along his forearms.

As he pushed his trousers down, she was drawn to the definition of his hips, sharply contoured and unmistakably masculine. His arousal was unmistakable–erect, pulsating with an evident need, a bead of prelude glistening at its tip. Below, his testicles hung with a weighty presence, a visual testament to his pent-up desire.

The sight was both provocative and intensely arousing.

And he was beautiful, she thought. Beautiful like a well crafted blade.

As Aemond lifted his gaze to meet hers, his pale hair cascaded over his shoulders, framing his face in a way that accentuated the intensity of his expression.

The sapphire that served as his eye caught the light, mirroring the similar smugness to that of his natural eye. The gem’s deep blue gleam added an enigmatic depth to his look, a contrast that was both intriguing and imposing. This combined with the confident tilt of his head and the slight curve of his lips, created an image of him that was both striking and captivating, leaving Daenera enthralled by his presence.

Aemond caught her angle, his thumb gently caressing the bone, his gaze intense as he looked up at her. After a moment, he released her ankle and prowed over her body, his nose trailing up her breastbone, replaced soon after by the tantalizing movement of his tongue along her neck.

Daenera tenderly cradled Aemond’s face in her hands, her gaze fixed intently into his eye. Her thumb gently stroked his skin, tracing the contours of his features with a delicate touch. She observed the subtle furrow of his brow, an expression that hinted at his confusion to the sudden tenderness.

Her thumb then followed the path of his scar down to its lowest point. She leaned in, planting a soft, reassuring kiss of the scarred skin, her lips lingering just a breath away from his.

Whispering softly, she said, “Syt bisa bantis kesan sagon aōha ābrazȳrys.”

For tonight I will be your wife.

In response, something flickered and curled in Aemond’s eye. A fleeting moment of softness, quickly replaced by a surge of bitter desire that darkened his gaze once more. His lips pressed against hers, desperate and demanding, branding her flesh as his.

Before being swept away within the fire of his touch, she caught the gleam of the sapphire, a cruel and possessive glint, staring back at her with an almost tangible ferocity. It was as if it held within it the capacity to both tear her apart and consume her entirely.

“Ñuha ābrazȳrys,” Aemond sneered against her lips, pinning her down with his body, the heat of it engulfing her. “Ñuha dōna byka narys.”

My wife. My sweet little poison.

She felt his hand venture up her thigh, moving between her legs to part her wet folds, slipping his fingers between them. A finger lightly brushed her clit before moving lower, teasing at her entrance.

Daenera’s lips eagerly sought Aemond’s, yearning for more of his taste. Yet, he evaded her with a sly, calculated movement, that familiar smug smirk on his lips. His eye, sharp and focused, the pupil blown wide, never left her as he lowered his head, simultaneously capturing a nipple in his mouth and thrusting two fingers into her cunt.

A moan spilled from her lips, her hips rolling into his touch.

As Aemond lavished attention on her nipple, his teeth gently grazed it, sending waves of pleasure and pain through her. Each nibble was followed by a soothing stroke of his tongue, a tender contrast to the preceding bite.

This rhythm was mirrored in his finger’s movements; each time he sucked, his fingers plunged into her, curling to press firmly against her inner walls, heightening her arousal with each deliberate stroke.

“Mmm,” Daenera moaned, “Ñuha qēlossās.”

Daenera’s nails found their way to his back, raking across his skin with an intensity that left behind vivid trails, marks that would linger come morning–her own form of claim.

“Please,” Daenera murmured, rolling her hips into his touch. It wasn’t enough, she wanted him, desperately.

“Please what?” Aemond’s voice was a soft tease against her skin, drawing out her desire.

“I want you,” Daenera responded, her voice raspy with desire. “Jaelan ñuha valzȳrys iemnȳ yno.”

I want my husband inside of me.

Aemond’s response was a deep, resonant growl, his lips finding hers once again in a passionate reunion.

“With pleasure,” he murmured into the kiss and withdrew his fingers from her.

Her cunt clenched around empty air, weeping to be filled with his cock.

Aemond’s hand firmly grasped Daenera’s thigh, spreading her further open in a bold, possessive gesture. As he did so, her own arousal covering his hand, was spread across her skin. He hooked her leg around his hip, aligning their bodies to brush his cock over her folds.

Daenera lifted her hips to drag her cunt over his cock, smearing her arousal up the length of him, feeling him hot and heavy against her. A hiss left his throat, the veins bulging slightly as a shutter went through him.

She felt the head of his cock against her entrance, felt the slight stretch as aligned them perfectly, her cunt fluttering in anticipation.

In one fluid, decisive movement, he thrust himself into her, sheathing himself completely within her cunt. The sudden intrusion stole her breath away as pleasure washed over her. Her hips rose to meet his, lifting off the bed and rolling into him. She could feel the pulse of his arousal, a tangible beat that seemed to merge seamlessly with her own.

Aemond then slightly withdrew, only to surge back into her with a renewed intensity. Each thrust was punctuated by the twitching of his arousal, a sensation that was echoed by the responsive clenching of her own body around him.

Daenera felt his body pressed unyielding against hers. His heat seemed to radiate into her, his skin akin to a blazing inferno, as he established a relentless rhythm. His hips moved with a fierce urgency, each thrust into her core carrying an almost savage intensity.

The sound of their bodies meeting resonated through the quiet of the night, punctuated only by her gasps and moans.

Aemond’s fingers gripped her with a bruising force, his blunt nails digging into her skin, leaving behind red crescents. In response, Daenera’s own nails dug into the sinewy muscles of his back, clawing at his skin desperately as he fucked her.

Leaning in, her lips found the pulse on his neck, feeling and tasting the rhythm of his heart. As her teeth gently scraped the skin, he responded with a guttural moan, his movements against her growing more fervent.

His pace was unrelenting, each thrust a testament of passion–and a way to lay claim to her.

Daenera was swept up in the tide of sensation, each stroke of his cock igniting a deeper fire within her, waves of pleasure crashing over her, threatening to carry her away to a place where nothing existed but the overwhelming sensation of him.

In the midst of this tempest of passion, Aemond growled out the words, “Iksā ñuhon. Iksā ñuha ābrazȳrys.”

You are mine. You are my wife.

His declaration was as much a claim as it was a growl of possession, his voice resonating with a primal intensity that echoed in the depth of her soul.

In the fervor of pleasure, Daenera found herself barely able to articulate, her voice breaking as she called out his name, “Ae–ah, mph–Aemond.”

Her nails dug into his shoulder blades as she felt herself teeter close to the precipice.

“Iksā iā narys sīr dōna, ñuha byka ābrazȳrys.” You are poison so sweet, my little wife.

Daenera could feel the desperation in his touch, a raw need to be an inextricable part of her very essence. It was as if he sought to imprint himself onto her very soul–as if he hadn’t already done so, to root himself so deeply within her being that he became unforgettable

This need was palpable in every kiss, in the fervent grip of his fingers, ad the relentless rhythm with which he was fucking her. Each action was a testament to his intense longing to be permanently intertwined with her, not just in body, but in spirit and memory.

“Ah, fuck, I–” Daenera uttered, her voice breathy and wavering as she found herself on the brink of release. “–so close…”

She nuzzled her head against his shoulder, biting into the flesh as tension coiled within her, poised on the edge of eruption. He hissed at her as she left a fine imprint of her teeth on his skin.

Aemond’s response was intimate, his lips finding her pulse on her neck, just below her jaw. He whispered into her, his words gentle yet laden with meaning, as if to leave the words imprinted on her skin. “Byka ābrazȳrys.”

My little wife.

Daenera echoed back softly, “Byka valzȳrys.”

My little husband.

A moan spilled from his lips, sweet, bordering close to a chuckle, as he turned his face towards hers. Their kiss was a tender caress, slow and sensual. Her fingers pressed into the nape of his neck, caressing the fine hairs there.

“Mmm,” Daenera hummed as she felt the intense convulsions of her walls around him, waves of pleasure cascading over her, her body prickling and thrumming with it. Her cunt fluttered and clamped down around him, and she felt the shutter go through his body as she dragged him over the edge with her.

Aemond groaned, the sound deep and resonant, his hips losing their rhythm in a final, desperate thrust as he buried himself as deep within her as he could, spilling his seed. His hips rolled against her, then stopped all together.

In the quiet aftermath, Daenera felt the gentle press of Aemond’s nose tracing the curve of her neck, culminating in the shared touch of their foreheads. For a brief moment, they remained motionless, a mutual basking in the fading glow of their release, their breaths gradually steadying as they regained their composure.

Upon Aemond’s withdrawal, Daenera was acutely aware of the poignant emptiness, a sensation that seemed to twist something deep within her.

With a heavy heart, she rose from the bed and made her way to the basin. As she cleaned herself, her thoughts turned to the necessity of brewing moontea. It’s been long since she ran out, and while she’s had her moonblood, she couldn’t postpone restocking her supply much longer.

The sound of water sloshing in the basin echoed in the silent room as she wrong the cloth once more, cleaning herself with a sense of detached efficiency. Glancing in the mirror, she saw Aemond’s reflection, his demeanor pensive, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, elbows propped on his knees.

Turning away, Daenera poured a cup of wine, its aroma unsettling her stomach and making her mouth go dry. She walked back to Aemond, offering him the wine, her gesture a silent attempt at consolation.

Instead of accepting the wine, Aemond let his head drop forward, resting it gently against her lower abdomen. This simple, vulnerable gesture tugged at Daenera’s heartstrings, and she closed her eyes against the welling of tears. Setting the wine aside, she wove her fingers tenderly through his hair, offering him a silent comfort.

The fiery mix of anger and desire that had consumed them only moments earlier had burned out, leaving behind a quiet resignation, a veiled bitterness that cloaked the sadness neither was prepared to acknowledge.

Daenera softly nudged him back, her hands cradling his face, compelling him to meet her gaze. In his remaining eye, there was a cold, resigned depth, but within the blue of the sapphire, a stormy darkness lurked. The darkness seemed to curl, and she thought perhaps, that it was like a cornered animal, baring its teeth and showing its claws out of fear.

She knelt on the mattress, positioning herself astried his thighs. Her eyes met his at the same level, her hands gliding down his neck as she leaned in, her lips hovering just above his.

In her heart, Daenera knew that some flames were destined to burn out, yet she chose to keep this one ablaze a little while longer, seeking its warmth against the impending chill of her departure.

Aemond’s hands gently moved up her thighs, his brow furrowed in a silent question.

She had no answers to give, only the shared moment between them.

Their lips met in the softest caresses, a fleeting touch reminiscent of silk. As his lips parted, their breath mingled. Daenera kissed him tenderly, a mere whisper of contact, a ghost meant to haunt.

Yet within this touch, there was a mutual imprinting, an exchange of their very essence. She deepened the kiss, her tongue gently exploring the seam of his lips, her fingers caressing his shoulder, leaning into him, her body brushing against his.

Aemond reciprocated, intensifying their embrace, his fingers gripping her hips to draw her nearer.

Tears trembled on Daenera’s lashes as their lips met, her senses awash with the warmth of his heart pulsing through her, enveloped in an earthy blend of sandalwood and his innate scent. Her hand drifted to his chest, feeling the steady, strong rhythm of his heartbeat under her palm.

His hands traveled to the soft curves of her, drawing her close until their bodies melded together, a seamless union of heartbeats and breaths.

As Daenera’s lips brushed over his, she inhaled his breath, her tears mingling with their kiss, lending it a poignant saltiness. He pulled back slightly, his hand ascending to tenderly cup her face. His eye roamed her features, a calloused thumb softly erasing the trail of her tears. She leaned into his caress, pressing a kiss to the scar on his palm, her gaze locked with his in silent communication.

It had been a dream, one that would haunt her for the rest of her life, she thought. Even as the scar would fade.

Their lips reunited, igniting a familiar warmth against her skin. Daenera felt the gentle pressure of him against her, moving in harmony with his soft sigh. Guiding him with a gentle hand, she welcomed him back into her embrace, their bodies rejoining in a dance they had known before.

Every motion was deliberate and sensuous–the rhythmic sway of her hips, the firm grasp of his fingers, their chests pressed together, hearts beating as one.

A moan echoed from his chest as she moved, her body responding with a shiver that ripped through them both. Maintaining a tender pace, her lips found their way to the pulse of his neck, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin.

Daenera and Aemond once again found themselves teetering on the brink. It wasn’t long before they both succumbed, tumbling over the precipice into shared release.This time, the waves of pleasure that washed over them were softer, more tender, enveloping them in a gentle, soothing embrace.

Exhausted and content, they lay down together, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Daenera nestled into Aemond’s side, her actions gentle and affectionate. She planted a chaste kiss upon his shoulder, her fingers delicately tracing over his chest, drawing invisible patterns that spoke of tenderness and a quiet longing. Lifting her gaze to his, she found him already looking down at her, their eyes meeting in a moment of silent understanding.

The air between them felt charged, heavy with unspoken words that teetered on the edge of expression, as if it was just waiting to be released. Yet, there was a hesitancy, a pause as if both were contemplating the weight and impact of giving voice to their thoughts.

Doomed they were, should they say it.

Ultimately, Daenera chose to break away from the intensity of his gaze, seeking solace in the comfort of his presence. She rested her head against him, choosing the warmth of their physical closeness over the vulnerability of spoken words.

The unspoken enveloped them, a reality that was palpable yet remained unacknowledged. This truth lingered in every touch they shared, in every glance that passed between them, and in the intangible space that lay between their hearts.

It was there, like a world full of colors invisible to the blind, or the melodies and laughter of life unheard by the deaf. Their connection, though voiceless, were tangible in every caress, every moment of closeness. It was undeniably present, a force both terrifying and real in its intensity.

Yet, in their silence, in their refusal to give voice to this truth, they found a semblance of solace. Choosing to remain silent was like erecting a barrier, a protective measure designed to hold back the pain and chaos that giving voice to their feelings might unleash, preventing it from wrecking havoc on their lives.

It was the only defense against its agony, and the only way to limit the destruction of its fire.

And fire, it was.

Doomed they were, even in keeping the silence.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond smut

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tgmsunmontue · 2 months

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You need to learn how to fall 7/10

Hangster (and IceMav) - Bradley is too tall to be a naval aviator and instead becomes a sky diver, specialising in spin recovery. He is a civilian contractor to the military to teach pilots how to survive parachute spins from ejections. A more in-depth version of this post.

PROLOGUE 2003-2006 2007-2010 2011-2015 2016+ ~2019

>>Bradley

>>Jake

The messages start off sporadic, and he’s unsure how to respond, which tone he should use, because there’s the casual work-related and simply friendly messages, then there’s the flirty ones, and then, then, there’s downright pornographic messages going into detail what Jake would like to do to him. With him. He’s never backed off a challenge though and he can go toe-to-toe so he sends back an equal mix of messages, some bland and mundane, others his innermost fantasies. They’re soon messaging multiple times a day, sleepy early-morning selfies, photos of lunches, short videos.

… … …

>>You don’t walk like a man in the Navy, your hips have this roll to them and it drives me fucking wild watching it.

… … …

>>Had a jump today, someone passed out while falling. Scariest fucking thing I’ve dealt with in a while.

… … …

A package arrives after about three months, and Bradley hadn’t mentioned sending him anything, but he knows it’s not from his mom. Bradley had mentioned helping bake some shortbread, lemon and rosemary; Jake had said he’d love to try it sometime and now… if he’s not mistaken, there are some sitting in a little container on his kitchen bench and he gets to try some. There’s a return address and he quickly adds it to the information under Bradley’s contact in his phone. The shortbread is delicious and he sends a quick selfie to Bradley of him taking a bite with the words thank you underneath.

… … …

>>Teaching has given me a new appreciation for how dumb some people are. I feel like I need to go and apologize to my high school teachers.

… … …

>>Your tongue drives me to distraction. When you’re flicking a toothpick I can’t help but wonder what you’d do with my cock.

… … …

>>Have I told you recently how much I don’t like sweet potato?

… … …

Jake hasn’t had this much fun flirting with someone in a long time, just this continuous banter back and forth. It hasn’t reverted to dick-pics or sexting or anything more than some pretty explicit messages sent and received out of the blue. Younger him would have been impatient, but he’s now enjoying the journey. Looks forward to the little peeks into Bradley’s day just as much as he looks forward to reading how he might turn Bradley on. It’s all sorts of sweet and different and he can’t wait to see Bradley again.

… … …

>>Can I take you out to dinner next time you’re in town?

>>Think I’d be pretty disappointed if you didn’t.

… … …

Ice calls him, tells him Mav is missing and his entire world freezes. They know nothing for certain, but he was flying, and then… something classified which Ice can’t divulge, but then he’s saying Mav might be alive, but simply lost, but they have no idea where and Bradley cannot fucking deal with this right now. He’s the one with PLBs sewn into his fucking jump-suits, he cannot believe the US Navy hasn’t done something similar for one of their pilots, let alone an entire fucking plane. How do they lose a pilot and a plane? Then Ice sends him a link to an unexplained explosion and he’s glad he’s already sitting down. Fuck. He thinks he might throw up.

Then Ice is standing in the doorway, phone pressed to his ear, expression serious as he nods and says something Bradley cannot hear through the thick air he feels surrounded by.

“He’s alive.”

His heart beats.

Slowly the air returns to something less solid and he can breathe again.

“Thank fuck. God, I could kill him.”

“Get in line… think I just aged another decade.”

“You look good for a man nearing his second century, what with all the extra decades Mav must have added…”

“I definitely feel that old some days.”

… … …

Bradley’s time to return to Corpus Christi is quickly approaching and he’s feeling excited to see him again. He’s not expecting the papers that he’s handed, he’s mid-assignment, not expecting sudden redeployment and he opens them slowly.

A special detachment.

Advice to visit any family with two days of special leave.

What the fuck.

He’d otherwise be excited and rearing to go, but Bradley is meant to be flying into Corpus Christi in forty-eight hours. They’re meant to be getting dinner. The irony that he’s got to report to North Island in four days isn’t lost on him. Fuck. Can they not catch a break? Whatever this special detachment is, is going to be risky, otherwise the strong suggestion of visiting family wouldn’t be there coupled with the leave in which to make it happen.

He has a choice.

He could skip over seeing his family just to see Bradley. Or he could wait another couple of weeks because Bradley will be in North Island after his two weeks in Corpus Christi finishes. He might not be in North Island in two weeks, but he might never see his family again and as much as he wants to see Bradley, he needs to see his family.

Fuck this mature adult bullshit.

He picks up his phone and presses call, something they’ve never done before and it might break his resolve but he doesn’t want to put this through text on a screen.

“Hi… This is new.”

“Hi,” Jake says, and Bradley sounds good, relaxed and happy. So good.

“What are you up to?”

“Nothing. You?”

“I’m about to get in a plane and jump out of it with a person strapped to me.”

“You know, I think I might want to try it some time,” he says, and he means it, thinks he’d enjoy the rush, and the idea of being strapped to Bradley also holds a certain appeal.

“Yeah? You let me know the time and place and I’ll take you up.”

“Really?”

“Of course. And I don’t want to rush you, but was there a special reason for a call? I’m kind of on a time crunch.”

“Yeah. I just got new orders.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been called in for a special detachment, and you would not believe where I’m going. At least to start with…”

“North Island…”

“Yeah.”

“Talk about crap timing.”

“Yeah. I’ve been given special leave to visit family,” Jake says, and he has no idea if Bradley knows what that might mean. He knows his dad was a pilot, but he’s been dead since Bradley was a toddler and he’s only had Bradley refer to his uncles raising him.

“Fuck.”

Okay. He knows.

“I mean, I could stay here –”

“No. Jake. You have to go and see your family. If they’ve granted you that leave it’s for a damned good reason. Fuck. Okay. So. I might see you in North Island after all. If you’re here in a couple of weeks that is…”

“Yeah. Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.”

“Only the US Navy.”

… … …

His family are happy to see him, his mom organizing a quick family gathering and he’s grateful for the opportunity to see as many of his extended family as possible, although he hates the niggling in the back of his mind that resolves into telling his mom to take lots of photos. She looks close to tears, but she does as he asks, and his father grips his shoulder every time he brushes past. They all know what special leave means.

… … …

He savors the messages more now, studies each of the photos that Jake sends him, asks questions about the other people in the photos. Even has a video call when Jake’s parents apparently insist on meeting whoever it is that Jake keeps messaging. Every moment he’s not intent on teaching and training he’s messaging Jake, hoping that he stays in North Island long enough for him to get back there and scared he won’t be.

… … …

Jake’s been in North Island for ten days, and it’s been intense. Terrifying with what is expected of them, but still so exhilarating. This is why he became a naval aviator, why he worked so hard. There are just other things he’s realized he’d also like in his life. He looks at the house and it’s far bigger than he imagined Bradley having. Or needing. Maybe he shares with some others. The lights are on, he can see someone moving around inside and his stomach won’t stop swooping in anticipation. He knows Bradley gets in this evening, although he’s not sure of the exact time; not wanting to ask specifics for fear of showing his hand, wants to surprise him and also doesn’t want to wait longer before seeing him again.

Jakes wipes his hands on his jeans, nervous. He’s gone from wanting something quick and dirty with Bradley to wanting… well, he still wants quick and dirty, he’s not a eunuch, however he also wants to take him to dinner and listen to him talk passionately about military free fall physics. Wants to bring him coffee the mornings after the quick and dirty. And its mornings plural, because he’s realized over the last few months (and maybe years?) that once is likely not going to be enough. Feel the fear and do it anyway, that’s how the saying goes right?

He knocks on the door and waits, imagines what Bradley might be wearing, the look on his face as Jake surprises him with his appearance on his doorstep rather than at dinner tomorrow.

He does not imagine Captain Maverick Mitchell. Although he definitely looks surprised.

“Lieutenant. What are you doing here?”

“Uh. Captain Mitchell.”

“Yes. How did you get this address?”

“Uh. I’m looking for Doctor Bradshaw.”

“Bradley? Why?”

Jake purses his lips, shrugs and nods because at least it’s Bradley he’s looking for. It’s a good sign that Maverick at least knows who he’s talking about, but that he called him by his first name is a bit unnerving. Maverick still looks just as confused to see him and Jake’s trying to formulate the best way to say he’s just here to see Bradley…

“I just wanted to see him, sir.”

Maverick stares at him for an age that just seems to drag before his eyes widen with potential realization and Jake hopes he doesn’t blush.

“Oh. I didn’t realize you knew Bradley…”

“Pete, who is it?”

Holy shit.

Admiral Kazansky.

Jake swallows. Whose house is this? Maybe Bradshaw is currently staying with them as a guest? Maybe he’s been given the wrong address as a prank? That would be pretty humiliating. And cruel given that it’s in front of his CO and the COMPACFLT. But he can’t be a guest if he calls San Diego home. He didn’t think Bradley was cruel, had felt that their back-and-forth texting and phone calls were building toward something. But he only threw Maverick out of the Hard Deck ten nights ago and Bradley unintentionally gave him this address nearly two months ago. Maybe he’s moved? His brain can't make sense of anything.

“Lieutenant.”

He’s not in uniform, and Admiral Kazansky knows his face enough to know who he is and his rank. He has no idea how to feel about that.

“Admiral Kazansky sir.”

“He’s after Bradley,” Maverick provides, and he’s stepping away from the front door, like he’s inviting Jake in, but Jake can’t move.

“He’s not home yet. His plane is probably still in the air.”

They know Bradley. They know his schedule, they’re saying he isn’t home. So, this isn’t the wrong address. It explains nothing though.

“Come in Lieutenant,” Admiral Kazansky states, at the same time Maverick says;

“Well, you better come in.”

He was just about to suggest he come back later, however he’s just been invited and sort-of ordered to come in and he nods jerkily, his body stepping forward of it’s own volition.

“Thank you sir.”

“You can call me Tom, or Iceman if the first name is a step too far. Just at home. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a bit about you.”

Fuck. What has he heard exactly?

He nods again, takes a deep breath to settle the shakiness in his limbs, takes off his shoes, doesn’t think about what the Admiral said, implying that he’d be here, in this home, more than right now. Follows after Maverick to the lounge area and he looks around the room and sees photos, lots of photos and he feels his hairline suddenly prickle with sweat. There’s younger Bradley with Maverick, Bradley and Maverick and Admiral Kazansky on what looks like his promotion ceremony to COMPACFLT and he’s starting to see the picture the photos are painting and it’s making him nervous but it’s also answering so many questions.

NEXT PART (no time jump)

#Top Gun fanfic #Hangster #you need to learn how to fall #IceMav

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vmpiires · 4 months

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❛ THE DESIRE DISEASE — 欲望

choso x f!reader ﾉ MDNI

𑂻𑂴 summary. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𓂃ㅤ choso finally has a feeling of want, need, and deep desire..

𑂻𑂴 tags. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𓂃ㅤ choso (still a cursed spirit), modern AU, nsfw, female anatomy, mentions of abuse, smoking, possible sexual content, mentions of murder/suicide, canon/modern lore mixes, obsession, etc.

𑂻𑂴 a/n. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𓂃ㅤ new layoutttt :) but this story MIGHT be a series. if ya like it i’ll keep going. reblog to support meeee and enjoy :D (if i decide that this should be a series, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged) (and don’t steal this plot or i’ll find you.)

𑂻𑂴 misc. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𓂃ㅤ masterlist ,, AO3 — dark mode recommended. WC — 2.23K

humans have a complex mind. they can never make up their minds about anything. their wants and needs consistently change periodically and they go with whatever suits them. they may need food, a drink, new clothes or shoes just to be stylish for the occasion.

they also crave attention, drugs, money, and sex. this is what we would call the desire disease. a compelling disease that plunges you into the dark depths of life, pushing you to do the unimaginable but most important thing in your personal perspective at that moment. your impulses. those odd and horrible thoughts that cross your mind in the middle of the night, suddenly being acted on in broad daylight.

such disease develops in all living beings fairly quickly. they see what they want, they have fantasies of having such thing, they act, and receive. if one does not receive their desire, they will push extremities to have what they desire. there are four stages of this disease.

exposure, isolation, consumption, obsession.

one can jump immediately from stage one to stage four in the matter of months…days…hours…minutes….seconds.

giving in to your desires leads to infection. turning away from your desires means you have been cured. no one is ever cured, unfortunately.

choso never had a want for anything. as long as he was treated well, he didn’t mind the horrors of being so-called human and being accustomed to their ways of life. the boy could never hate anyone, for he feared being hated by everyone.

there was only one person that he had a deep hatred for. the one responsible for giving him such a terrible life. the one that took his mother from him, who he barely knew. no memories existed of this woman…but he loved her.

he’d make a vow to himself to kill his father when he was able to find him after he was left behind to live on his own. his father’s death was brutal…but it was hard to fight against the man that cared nothing for him and his brothers. it drove choso to insanity when he figured out that a young boy named yuji itadori was his brother…and his father tricked him into killing him. the male was lucky to realize this before yuji died.

bloody clothes, bloody shoes, and an apathetic expression. each step he took, there was an unsettling squelching noise while his father lied on the hardwood floor, dead.

but he left a message…signed in his own crimson fluid.

“i’ve made many mistakes growing into this body i was given. though, my words cannot express how grateful i am to be in a vessel like this…my words also cannot express how much hatred i feel for you. i’ve bent to your will before many times, unknowing of who you truly were…then i figured you out. you’ve ruined my life…so i took yours. you’ve made me capable of such power—that is what i am thankful for. but i will never forgive you for the hell i’ve been forced to endure because of your actions. if i should meet you again, i hope you die rougher than you had when i killed you. if i should cry, i cry for my mother. not you. i cannot form an apology or sympathy for you but i shall give you a goodbye and give you the gift of exposure. you wanted the attention, right?”

not that he ever craved the idea of murder, he seemed somewhat relaxed that day when he believed that he was free from the prison he called home once before. it would be considered odd behavior among humans and he’d be accused for the death of someone…but he knew he’d be full on guilty. he should’ve made it look like a suicide. he’s seen murders look like that in movies.

he’d travel to the bathroom, cleaning himself off and changing into some new clothes and shoes to avoid being found out. he’d remove the ponytails from his head, leaving his hair to hang down over his shoulders and reaching the trapezius of his back.

he would wipe the purple eyeshadow from eyes as he stared at the dark purple irises in the mirror, revealing how dead and tired he truly was. it was like his body could shut down at any moment.

now, choso had been wearing a black hoodie and a pair of pants. something so simple. it would last him a while until he would have to steal some clothes or wash them at a laundromat that he could just barely afford.

he sighed, planning his next move as he’d drag the corpse into the backyard and bury it deep down into the soil before walking back inside.

this was where he would remain…and he’d start a new life without the monster that concealed him from the world…from his own life.

PRESENT DAY — AUGUST 13TH

“see ya, kid.” the tattoo artist called after choso. the male silently lifted his hand before exiting the shop. he had gotten a new piercing just above his left eyebrow. the man that done this body art for him was his favorite and probably someone he could consider a friend.

choso had a few piercings now. a tongue piercing that nearly reached the tip of it, two cartilage piercings in his left ear with two regular earrings to accompany them, a side lip piercing, which was a simple silver ring and a nose piercing. he was torn between a septum and a simple diamond stud but he got the stud anyway. he didn’t wanna be too extra.

the male was influenced by what people would call “emo” style. he loves rock music and wearing rings on his fingers. even his clothing style stands out a lot. the band tees that blow lightly in the wind and large combat boots that slam against the floor each time he walked.

choso even cut his hair into a wolf cut. a style that he had been interested in for a while. his hair was fluffy and dyed black. different from his original brown hair. the male would also paint his nails black but the polish was a bit cheap so he was always painting over them.

he looked like the epitome of an emo boy.

knowing that he was a bit ashamed of existence, he would cover his blood mark with a bandage when he went out in public, which raised a lot of questions.

“ah, it’s just a scratch i got. it’s just healing.” he’d say simply.

pulling his hood over his head, he’d make his way to the liquor store, buying himself a pack of cigarettes, a few tv dinners, and a new lighter. the second he left, he’d immediately open the pack and take out a cigarette, the chain jingling from his jeans as he walked.

the male didn’t have any source of income at the moment, so finding money was crucial. even if it meant stealing it. inside, he usually felt bad but he would remind himself that he needed it more than the entitled humans that walked with their chins up and their chests out while he stood on the sidelines. silent and slumped over.

he knew stealing was morally wrong but something in his mind just told him to take what he needed and to never hesitate…but he always hesitated.

back at home, he would clean each of his piercings, playing with the one above his eyebrow and wincing a bit, followed by a couple of swears.

the house was quite peaceful now that there wasn��t anyone nagging at him or telling him that he was a waste of time. he was happy that he wasn’t being attacked all the time, having to physically fight back in order to avoid being seriously hurt.

this kind of behavior sent him into a state of emptiness rather than trauma or fear. it explains his dull expression. the bandages that covered his bloodied and bruised skin only reminded him of how bad he wanted to get away.

choso made his way to the backyard. it was a serene area with a tiny stony waterfall, which pooled into a small body of water. there was a large japanese maple tree in the middle of the yard…this was where he buried his father. but he entirely ignored that aspect.

instead of being locked away in his room, like he had been for most of his existence, he would come outside and sit near the miniature waterfall to find peace.

on his phone, scrolling through instagram is where he would find a beautiful picture of a girl taking a simple photo of her in her room. that girl was you. choso was instantly captivated by your soft smile and the shape and color of your eyes.

he was about to like the photo but he decided that he’d look on your account some more. you had an interesting style that heavily matched you. something that would stand out among others. if there was a large crowd in public, he’d probably notice you first.

bookmarking a few of your photos, he decided that he would save them for later to admire the new love of his life. there was one thing that held him back a bit…you were human. he was terrified, thinking that you wouldn’t like him.

‘you’d probably hate me..’ he thought. ‘i’m not like you.’

then again, how would you know? he looks just like everyone else. how would you be able to tell that he was a cursed spirit until he told you so or if he revealed his abilities to you? you won’t know. you’ll never know.

a faint smile appeared on his face as he would type a comment on your recent photo, simply complimenting you then quickly turning his phone off, worrying about how you’d react. the adrenaline was speeding through his veins.

his phone vibrates and he quickly drops it, now going into a panic about what the alert might’ve been. having a phone was always scary to him because it was always making noise.

slowly, he’d reach for the phone and turn it over, frowning a bit when he saw the small crack on the screen protector. that frown quickly turned into a smile when he seen the notification from you, replying to his comment and liking it. he also noticed that it was a pinned comment.

he didn’t know if he should be excited or horrified that he was noticed by you so quickly. he was tempted to text you now but again, he was scared…but he fell in love so quickly.

he spent his next few days on a burner account, watching your story and screenshotting the photos on you posted, smiling excitedly each time he would randomly check your account just to see that you posted a new picture or a video.

he swore up and down that you were simply a crush and that he’d move on fairly quickly once he loses interest. but deep down, he could never get rid of you. you were always on his mind. he wanted you. he needed you. he craved you.

this is the first stage of the desire disease—exposure.

it was an amazing coincidence when he saw you in public in the store he went to consistently for cigarettes. a blush settled across his cheeks as he noticed you with your friend buying some snacks for yourselves.

listening to your voice was like a song that he couldn’t get out of his head. it was memorable. but the second he realized that he was staring, he would blink and try to focus on what he was originally trying to do.

“you know her?” he heard yuji ask, making him jump.

“oh…no. she just looks familiar, that’s it.” he lied. the pink haired boy smirked before throwing his arm around choso. he was up to something.

“why don’t you go say something to her? i mean, that’s how you make friends,” yuji said. “maybe you’ll even get a partner out of it.”

“oh..uh, i don’t really want that. i don’t even like how it sounds.” choso mumbled. even though he was lying straight in yuji’s face about wanting a partner, he wasn’t completely lying.

“you obviously do, man. look, you fit most girls type. you’re tall, got cool hair, and you got a good personality. you can figure out the rest. and if they don’t like your style, they could definitely get used to you.”

‘i look too depressed to even be likable..’

“nope. i highly doubt it.” he replied. “i like being alone anyway. what’s the point of being with someone that’ll eventually leave you?”

“hey, good question.” yuji put his finger on his chin. “listen, it doesn’t hurt to try. unless you like window shopping.”

“do i look like the kind of guy to talk to women?”

yuji waved his hand, “you’ll get used to it. hey let’s go outside, i wanna show you something.”

this is how choso was introduced to porn. yuji would tell him how it was a way to ‘relieve himself’. the male was clearly confused and he didn’t understand the excitement of watching others perform such activities.

that same evening he spent watching in his room, just to see why yuji wanted to expose him to this footage so badly.

and that’s when he felt a tightness in his sweats.

#𝐄𝐗𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐈𝐀𝐍’𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𖦹゛#jujutsu kaisen #anime #jjk #choso kamo #jujutsu kaisen choso #jjk x reader #jjk choso #choso x black!reader #choso x reader

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kckt88 · 2 months

Text

The Picture of Aemond Targaryen II

Summary:

Aemond continues his life of debauchery and sin, but soon discovers that his indulgences come at a price.

Warning(s): Language, Drugs, Sin, Indulgence, Debauchery, Kissing, Smut – P in V, Murder, Death.

VICTORIAN ERA AEMOND TARGARYEN

INSPIRED BY THE BOOK/MOVIE - THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Word Count: 7157

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

As Criston Cole observed Aemond's increasingly erratic behaviour, a sense of concern gnawed at the edges of his conscience. The once noble scion of House Targaryen seemed to be descending further into a spiral of debauchery and sin, his actions betraying the darkness that lurked beneath the surface of his flawless facade.

"Aemond, my dear friend," Criston began tentatively, his voice tinged with worry as he approached his troubled companion. "I cannot help but notice a change in you as of late. Your indulgences in the pleasures of the flesh have become-excessive, to say the least."

Aemond's eyes flickered with a mixture of defiance and guilt as he met Criston's gaze, his demeanour guarded as he struggled to maintain the facade of composure. "I fail to see how my actions concern you, Criston," he replied coolly, though the tremor in his voice betrayed the turmoil that raged within.

Criston's brow furrowed with concern as he reached out to grasp Aemond's shoulder, his touch gentle yet firm. "Because I care about you, Aemond," he said earnestly, his voice laced with sincerity. "I fear that you are on a path that can only lead to ruin, that your actions will bring nothing but sorrow and regret."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Aemond's features as he regarded his friend's earnest expression, a sense of shame washing over him like a tidal wave. "Perhaps you are right, Criston," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Perhaps I have lost my way."

But even as he spoke the words, Aemond knew that the allure of his own desires was too strong to resist. For in the depths of his soul, he was haunted by a darkness that threatened to consume him whole – a darkness that could only be quenched by the fleeting ecstasy of the pleasures that beckoned him ever closer.

And as he turned away from Criston's concerned gaze, Aemond knew that he was teetering on the edge of a precipice, the abyss of his own desires yawning before him like a gaping dragon's maw. But still, he could not resist the call of the darkness that lurked within, a darkness that whispered promises of ecstasy and oblivion in the depths of his own mind.

“You’re not afraid, are you?” asked Aemond as he discarded the last of his clothes.

Alysanne shook her head slightly, she wanted Aemond, and she loved him deeply, he had promised to marry her. He’d even presented her with a ring so beautiful that she couldn’t stop admiring the way it looked on her finger, the way the stone shimmered in the light.

Aemond was to be her husband-laying with him wasn’t truly a sin. They would marry, they would have children and they would live happy-together.

Aemond placed his hand on Alysanne’s shoulder and directed her to lay down. He laid between her open legs, supporting his weight on his left arm as he reached down and took his hard cock in his hand and placed the tip of it against Alysanne’s entrance.

Alysanne shut her eyes tight and took a deep breath as Aemond sheathed himself within her.

Aemond stopped as she shrieked loudly in pain. He lifted his head and noticed that she had her eyes screwed shut.

"The pain will fade" whispered Aemond, his breath hot upon her skin.

The tears rolled down Alysanne’s cheeks as Aemond rutted against her. The pain was unbelievable, how was this supposed to be pleasurable for the woman? Was this her penance for laying with a man before exchanging the matrimonial vows?

Aemond gave a surprised moan as she involuntarily clenched around him. Alysanne grasped at Aemond’s shoulders as the pace of his thrusts increased.

Then she felt it, a gentle ebb of pleasure radiating around her body from where they were joined.

His hard cock, moving against something inside that made her toes curl.

"Aemond" breathed Alysanne, she was the edge of something-a peice of string stretched to the point of breaking-until it snapped. It felt like an explosion, her legs shaking as she came down from her high.

Aemond buried his face into her neck and let out a long low groan as he spilled his seed inside her. Eventually he pulled his softened cock from her and sat on the edge of the bed.

“A-Aemond” whispered Alysanne.

“Are you ok?” asked Aemond quietly.

“Bit sore, but I’m sure I’ll be fine” muttered Alysanne as she reached forward to take Aemond’s hand only for him to stand up and begin pulling on his clothes.

“I need to go-I’m meeting Tyland and Criston” muttered Aemond as he pulled on his cotton shirt and began doing up the buttons.

“I wish you would stay” whispered Alysanne sadly.

“You know I can’t, if your brother catches me here-he’ll not be very happy”.

“I know but maybe a few minutes” exclaimed Alysanne.

“Alys-my sweet lady. I shall linger for a moment longer” replied Aemond as he finished dressing and sat back on the bed, allowing Alysanne to embrace him.

His thoughts were never far from the painting hidden under the cloth in his attic. The reflection of his sins twisting his features like a knife. Was this another mark on his dark soul, his besmirching of Alysanne’s innocence, his lust for her clouding his mind, until he couldn’t stop. He had to have her, and he did.

But her arms around his body, felt like chains. Shackling him to a life he didn’t truly want. He was dishonest in his quest to bed her and now he would no doubt pay for his deceit, his portrait twisting with grotesque purpose even more than before.

He had to leave, he needed to be free of Alys’ womanly ideals, he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be a husband, her life goals did not align with his and he would only taint her with his darkness should he remain by her side.

“It’s getting late-I should be going” uttered Aemond.

“Shall I see you tomorrow?” asked Alys softly.

“I’m having some remodelling done-I cannot leave the workers unattended” replied Aemond as he moved away from Alysanne and took his long black coat into his arms.

“The day after?” questioned Alys.

“Maybe-“ muttered Aemond as he pressed a quick kiss to Alysanne’s forehead before leaving the room.

Ignoring the fleeting sound of Alysanne’s muffled sob as he shut the door.

As the echoes of their night together lingered in the air, Aemond Targaryen found himself consumed by a sense of unease. The connection he had once felt with Alysanne Rivera now seemed to wane with each passing day, replaced by a growing distance that he couldn't quite explain.

Avoiding her repeated attempts to seek him out, Aemond retreated further into the shadows, his heart heavy with guilt and uncertainty. What had once been a blossoming romance now felt like a burden too heavy to bear, weighed down by the weight of his own sins.

And as Alysanne reached out to him with words of affection and longing, Aemond found himself pulling away, his interest in her fading like a wisp of smoke in the wind.

But even as he turned his back on his Alys, Aemond couldn't shake the feeling of regret that lingered in the depths of his soul. For in the darkness of his own desires, he had found a fleeting ecstasy that could never truly replace the warmth of her embrace.

And as his feelings for his lady Alys faded into the distance, Aemond knew that he had lost something precious – something that could never be reclaimed. But still, he could not bring himself to reach out to her, the weight of his own sins dragging him down into the wanting embrace of darkness.

Heart heavy with apprehension, Alysanne sought out Aemond, determined to confront him about the distance that had grown between them. With each step, her resolve wavered, but she knew she couldn't ignore the gnawing ache in her heart any longer.

"Aemond," she called out softly as she approached him, her voice trembling with emotion. "We need to talk."

Aemond turned to face her, his expression guarded and aloof. "What is it, Alysanne?" he asked, his tone cool and distant.

Tears welled in Alysanne's eyes as she searched for the right words, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't understand what's happened between us," she confessed, her heart breaking with each syllable. "We had something special, Aemond. What happened to us?"

Aemond's features hardened as he regarded her, his gaze cold and indifferent. "You were a distraction, Alysanne," he replied curtly, his words like a knife to her heart. "Something to pass the time, nothing more. I told you what you wanted to hear, but it was never meant to be anything everlasting."

Alysanne's breath caught in her throat as she recoiled from his callous words, her hands trembling with a mixture of hurt and betrayal. "How can you say that?" she whispered; her voice thick with tears. "What we had-it meant something to me. I thought-I thought it meant something to you too."

But Aemond's expression remained unchanged, his eyes devoid of warmth or remorse. "You were mistaken, Alysanne," he said dismissively, turning away from her as though she were nothing more than a passing shadow. "What we had was fun, but it was never meant to last. You would do well to remember that."

With those words, Aemond walked away, leaving Alysanne standing alone amidst the wreckage of their shattered dreams. And as she watched him disappear into the distance, she knew that she had been nothing more than a fleeting distraction in his eyes – a casualty of his own selfish desires.

The air hung heavy with tension as Arthur Rivera, Alysanne's older brother, confronted Aemond, his eyes blazing with a righteous fury that burned like a beacon in the darkness.

"My sister is dead," Arthur began, his voice trembling with suppressed rage.

Aemond's facade of composure wavered for just a moment, his features contorting with a flicker of shock before settling into a mask of cold indifference.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, his voice icy and devoid of emotion.

Arthur's gaze bore into Aemond's soul like a dagger, his words cutting through the silence like a sharpened blade. "Alysanne drowned herself," he spat, his voice thick with grief and anger. "And she was carrying your child."

Aemond's breath caught in his throat at the revelation, his heart pounding in his chest with a mixture of shock and horror. But still, he remained stoic and unmoved, his expression a mask of cold indifference.

"That's impossible," he replied flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Alysanne never told me she was pregnant."

Arthur's eyes flashed with fury as he took a step closer, his fists clenched at his sides. "She didn't have the chance," he seethed. "You cast her aside like she was nothing, a mere plaything to be discarded when you grew tired of her. And now she's dead because of you."

Aemond's jaw tightened with barely contained rage as he fought to maintain his composure in the face of Arthur's accusations. "I had no idea," he insisted, though the words rang hollow even to his own ears.

But Arthur would hear none of it, his grief and anger consuming him like a wildfire in the night. And as he turned to leave, leaving Aemond standing alone amidst the wreckage of his own making, Aemond knew that he could never escape the consequences of his actions – that the darkness that lurked within his own soul would haunt him for the rest of his days, a constant reminder of the price of his own cruelty.

As the news of Alysanne's tragic death reached Criston Cole's ears, he couldn't help but notice the unsettling lack of reaction from Aemond Targaryen, his dear friend and companion. Despite the gravity of the situation, Aemond remained stoic and indifferent, his demeanour a stark contrast to the turmoil that raged within Criston's own heart.

"Aemond," Criston began tentatively, his voice laced with concern as he approached his troubled friend. "I couldn't help but notice-your reaction to the news of Alysanne's death. It's-troubling, to say the least."

Aemond's gaze remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable as he absorbed Criston's words. "What would you have me do, Criston?" he replied coolly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Her death, while tragic, is of no consequence to me."

Criston's brow furrowed with confusion as he regarded Aemond's cold indifference, this man standing in front of him was becoming more unrecognisable as each day passed. A once promising young man descending beyond the precipice of darkness to which he would never return from.

"But Alysanne was more than just a passing acquaintance, Aemond," he insisted, his voice tinged with frustration. "She was a kind and gentle soul, taken from us far too soon. How can you be so callous in the face of such tragedy?"

Aemond's lips curled into a thin line as he turned to face Criston, his eyes like chips of ice that seemed to pierce straight through to the depths of Criston's soul. "I am not callous, Criston," he replied evenly, though the words rang hollow in the silence that hung between them. "I am simply realistic”.

But even as he spoke the words, Aemond knew that they were a lie – a feeble attempt to conceal the turmoil that raged within his own heart. For in the depths of his soul, he could not shake the feeling of guilt that gnawed at him like a hungry beast, driving him further and further from the truth that lay buried beneath the surface of his own indifference. And as he turned away from Criston's concerned gaze, Aemond knew that he could not outrun the consequences of his own actions – that the darkness that lurked within him would haunt him for the rest of his days, a constant reminder of the price of his own cruelty.

But Criston would not be deterred, his freind was hiding something and he was determined to find out what it was.

Criston heart raced with anticipation as he ascended the creaking stairs to Aemond’s attic, eager to lay eyes upon the portrait that his friend had hidden away with such secrecy. But as he reached the top of the stairs and pushed open the heavy door, his excitement turned to horror as he beheld the grotesque visage that lay hidden within.

The once flawless features of Aemond Targaryen had been twisted and contorted beyond recognition, the lines of the painting reflecting the darkness that lurked within his soul. It was a macabre masterpiece, a testament to the depths of depravity to which Aemond had fallen.

Criston's breath caught in his throat as he recoiled from the twisted portrait, his hands trembling with a mixture of fear and revulsion. "What... what have you done, Aemond?" he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper.

But there was no answer, only the eerie silence of the attic as the shadows danced around him like spectres in the night. And as Criston gazed into the depths of the painting, he knew that he had stumbled upon something far more sinister than he could have ever imagined – a darkness that threatened to consume them both if left unchecked.

With a sense of dread weighing heavy on his soul, Criston wanted to flee, but he was rooted to the spot, the twisted portrait haunting his every thought like a ghost in the night.

He knew that he could not unsee what he had witnessed – that the darkness that lurked within Aemond Targaryen was far more dangerous than he had ever dared to imagine.

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as he watched Criston recoil in horror from the twisted portrait, his mind racing with desperation as he realized that his darkest secret had been laid bare before his friend's horrified gaze.

"You can't leave, Criston," Aemond pleaded, his voice trembling with feigned desperation as he blocked the doorway with his body.

But there was a glint of suspicion in Criston's eyes as he regarded Aemond's frantic demeanour, a sense of unease settling over him like a shroud. "What- what is this Aemond? This can’t be real surely" he demanded; his voice tinged with fear.

Aemond's gaze flickered with malice as he reached for a shard of broken glass that lay discarded on the floor, his mind consumed by the darkness that lurked within his own soul.

"It’s very real Criston-my portrait bears the marks of my sin whilst I remain untouched," replied Aemond coldly, his voice devoid of remorse.

“Y-You need help Aemond-“ urged Criston.

“Why?” asked Aemond cocking his head to the side.

“Something is very wrong-we must destroy the painting,” said Criston.

Destroy the painting? No Aemond could not allow that, it needed to be preserved, his soul was ensconced within the very essence of the painting.

Aemond watched as Criston seized the painting and looked wildly around the room, no doubt looking for something to aide in the destruction of his work.

With a sudden burst of violence, Aemond lunged forward, the shard of glass glinting in the dim light of the attic as he drove it into Criston's neck.

The painting slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground with a loud thump.

Criston crumpled to the ground, his lifeblood staining the floorboards beneath him, Aemond felt a sense of twisted satisfaction wash over him like a tidal wave.

For in that moment, he knew that he had silenced the only witness to his darkest secret – a secret that could never be allowed to see the light of day. And as he stood over Criston's lifeless body, he knew that there would be no turning back from the darkness that now consumed him whole.

With a cold determination gripping his heart, Aemond Targaryen dragged Criston lifeless body across the attic floor, his mind numb to his actions. With each step, the weight of his sin pressed down upon him like a leaden shroud, but his focus fixed solely on the task at hand.

Struggling against the weight of his friend's corpse, Aemond managed to hoist Criston's body into the trunk that lay discarded in the corner of the attic. The wood groaned in protest as he forced the lid closed, sealing away the evidence of his crime beneath a veil of darkness.

Heart pounding in his chest, Aemond dragged the trunk down the stairs and out into the moonlit night, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the deserted street. With each step, the weight of his burden seemed to grow heavier, but he pressed on, his mind consumed by the need to rid himself of the damning evidence.

Reaching the edge of the riverbank, Aemond paused for a moment, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he stared out into the murky depths below. With a final surge of strength, he heaved the trunk over the railing and into the water below, watching as it disappeared beneath the surface with a muted splash.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the silence broken only by the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore. And as Aemond turned away from the river, a sense of relief washed over him like a cleansing tide, the weight of his guilt lifted – if only for a fleeting moment.

But deep within the recesses of his soul, Aemond knew that he could never truly escape the consequences of his actions – that the darkness that lurked within him would haunt him for the rest of his days, a constant reminder of the price of his own cruelty. And as he disappeared into the shadows of the night, he knew that he was forever bound to the darkness that now consumed him whole.

Years had passed since the night Aemond Targaryen had silenced his friend Criston Cole, his guilt and shame driving him to flee from the city that had once been his home. In the quiet solitude of the countryside, he sought solace in the shadows, his past a dark spectre that haunted his every step.

But as the years slipped by like grains of sand through an hourglass, Aemond found himself drawn back to the city that had once been his playground, the lure of its bustling streets and glittering society impossible to resist. And so, with a heavy heart and a sense of trepidation, he returned to London once more, his arrival met with whispers of surprise and disbelief.

For while the faces of his peers had grown lined with age and weariness, Aemond remained unchanged, his features as youthful and handsome as they had been on the day he had fled from their midst. It was as though time itself had stood still for him, leaving him untouched by its relentless march.

As he moved through the crowded streets of the city, Aemond felt the weight of their scrutiny upon him, their whispered rumours like a dagger in his side. But he paid them no mind, his gaze fixed upon the horizon as he sought to reclaim his rightful place in the world that had once been his playground.

And as he mingled with the upper echelons of society once more, Aemond could not help but revel in the shock and awe that his presence elicited, his youthful appearance a stark contrast to the aging faces that surrounded him. It was a cruel reminder of the bargain he had struck so many years ago – a bargain that had granted him eternal youth and beauty at the cost of his own soul.

But even as he basked in the adulation of those who marvelled at his ageless beauty, Aemond knew that the darkness that lurked within him could never truly be escaped – that the sins of his past would forever taint the facade of perfection that he presented to the world.

As Aemond re-entered London's high society, he found himself once again drawn into the orbit of Lord Tyland Lannister. But as they reunited after years apart, Aemond couldn't help but notice the marked difference in Tyland's appearance – where once he had been a picture of youthful vitality, now he was aged and weathered by the passage of time.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" Tyland remarked with a wistful smile as he gazed upon Aemond's flawless features. "Youth seems to cling to you like a second skin, while the rest of us are left to wither away with age."

Aemond's lips curved into a practiced smile as he shrugged off Tyland's observation, his eyes betraying none of the turmoil that churned within his soul. "Luck, perhaps," he replied casually, though the words felt like ash on his tongue. "Or good genes, if you believe in such things."

But Tyland's gaze lingered upon him with an intensity that sent a shiver down Aemond's spine, his eyes searching for the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface. "There's more to it than luck, Aemond," he said quietly, his voice tinged with curiosity. "I can see it in your eyes – the weight of a secret that you carry with you wherever you go."

Aemond's heart skipped a beat at the mention of his secret, his facade of composure threatening to crumble beneath the weight of Tyland's scrutiny. But with a practiced ease born of years of deception, he pushed the fear aside, his expression remaining unchanged as he met Tyland's gaze head-on.

"You read too much into things, Tyland," he replied smoothly, his voice betraying none of the turmoil that raged within him. "Some things are best left unsaid, don't you think?"

And as they moved through the crowded halls of London's high society, Aemond couldn't shake the feeling that Tyland's suspicions lingered like a shadow between them, a reminder of the darkness that lurked within his own soul. But still, he pressed on, his secrets buried deep beneath the flawless facade of perfection that he presented to the world.

As Aemond Targaryen's youthful appearance continued to defy the passage of time, Lord Tyland Lannister couldn't shake the growing sense of unease that gnawed at the edges of his conscience. Though he had initially dismissed Aemond's flawless beauty as nothing more than luck or good fortune, there was something about his friend's demeanour that set off alarm bells in Tyland's mind.

As they mingled amongst the glittering elite of London's high society, Tyland found himself studying Aemond's every move with a newfound sense of scrutiny. There was a calculated precision to his actions, a careful mask of indifference that seemed almost too perfect to be genuine.

But it was in the moments when Aemond thought no one was watching that Tyland caught glimpses of something darker lurking beneath the surface – a flicker of malice in his eye, a hint of cruelty in his smile. It was as though he were hiding something, something that he would go to great lengths to keep hidden from prying eyes.

And as the whispers of scandal began to swirl around Aemond once more, Tyland knew that he could no longer ignore the nagging sense of suspicion that tugged at the corners of his mind. For beneath the flawless facade of perfection that Aemond presented to the world, there lurked a darkness that threatened to consume them all.

With a sense of determination burning in his heart, Tyland resolved to uncover the truth – whatever the cost. For he knew that the secrets that Aemond Targaryen carried with him were far more dangerous than anyone could have ever imagined, and it was only a matter of time before they were laid bare for all to see.

Under the cover of darkness, Lord Tyland Lannister slipped through the shadows like a ghost, his heart pounding in his chest as he made his way towards Aemond Targaryen's opulent town house. Though he knew the risks of his clandestine mission, the nagging sense of suspicion that gnawed at the edges of his conscience drove him forward, propelling him deeper into the heart of the darkness that lurked within.

With practiced ease, Tyland picked the lock on the grand entrance, the door swinging open with a soft creak that echoed through the silent halls. As he moved through the empty corridors, his senses heightened with anticipation, he felt the weight of Aemond's secrets pressing down upon him like a suffocating shroud.

And then, at last, he found himself standing before the door to the attic, with trembling hands, he pushed the door open, the air thick with the musty scent of neglect and decay.

But as he beheld the portrait that lay before him, horror washed over Tyland like a tidal wave, threatening to consume him whole. The once flawless features of Aemond Targaryen had been twisted and contorted beyond all recognition, the lines of the painting reflecting the darkness that lurked within his soul.

A scream caught in Tyland's throat as he recoiled from the grotesque visage that stared back at him, his mind struggling to comprehend the depths of depravity that lay hidden within Aemond's heart. It was a macabre masterpiece, a testament to the darkness that had consumed them both.

With a shaking hand, Tyland reached out to touch the twisted canvas, his fingers tracing the lines of Aemond's distorted face with a sense of disbelief and horror. How had he allowed himself to be deceived by the facade of perfection that Aemond had presented to the world? How had he failed to see the darkness that lurked beneath?

With a sharp intake of breath, Tyland recoiled from the painting, his heart hammering in his chest as a sense of dread washed over him. And then, to his horror, he watched as the grotesque visage on the canvas seemed to shift and contort, as if alive with a malevolent energy of its own.

A strangled cry escaped Tyland's lips as he stumbled backwards, his eyes wide with terror as he watched the twisted figure in the painting leer at him with a mocking grin.

Aemond Targaryen's heart skipped a beat as he ascended the stairs to the attic, a sense of foreboding gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled with unease as he pushed open the heavy door, revealing the twisted portrait that lay hidden within.

But to his surprise, it was not solitude that greeted him, but rather the figure of Lord Tyland Lannister standing before the painting, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. And yet, despite the horror that lay before him, Aemond felt a strange sense of calm wash over him, a serenity born of resignation and acceptance.

"Tyland," he said softly, his voice a mere whisper in the silence of the attic. "I see you've discovered my secret."

Tyland's gaze flickered to meet Aemond's, his expression a mask of disbelief and horror. "What-what have you done, Aemond?" he whispered, his voice tinged with fear.

Aemond's lips curved into a serene smile as he regarded his old friend, his eyes glinting with a madness that seemed to dance just beneath the surface. "I have embraced the darkness within me" he replied calmly, though the words sent a chill down Tyland's spine. "I have made a pact with forces beyond your comprehension, and in return, I have been granted eternal youth and beauty."

Tyland recoiled from Aemond's words, his mind reeling with disbelief at the depths of depravity that lay hidden within his friend's soul. And yet, despite the horror of the revelation, there was something about Aemond's demeanour that chilled him to the bone – a sense of calm and serenity that seemed almost unnatural in the face of such darkness.

"You dare to gaze at me with such disgust, Tyland?" Aemond's words were laced with venom, his gaze boring into Tyland's with a ferocity that left no room for doubt. "You, who revelled in the pleasures of the flesh without remorse or regret? You, who preached the gospel of hedonism to all who would listen?"

Tyland recoiled from Aemond's accusation, his own anger flaring in response. "I may have indulged in the pleasures of life, but I never stooped to the depths of depravity that you have, Aemond," he shot back, his voice thick with disdain. "You are the architect of your own downfall, driven by a darkness that I cannot begin to comprehend."

Aemond's laughter echoed through the attic, a hollow sound that sent shivers down Tyland's spine. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night, Tyland?" he sneered, his eyes blazing with a madness that seemed to dance just beneath the surface. "That I am the monster, and you are merely an innocent bystander?"

Tyland's fists clenched at his sides as he struggled to maintain his composure in the face of Aemond's taunts. "You are responsible for your own actions, Aemond," he replied through gritted teeth, his voice trembling with anger. "You alone bear the burden of your sins."

But Aemond merely smirked at Tyland's words, a cruel twist of his lips that sent a chill down Tyland's spine. "Perhaps," he conceded, his voice dripping with malice. "But you, Tyland, are the one who made me what I am. You and your hedonistic worldview, your constant insistence on giving in to temptation at every turn. allowing me to take without the fear of cencequnce"

As Lord Tyland’s eyes scanned the cluttered attic, searching for any clue that might shed light on the darkness that lurked within Aemond Targaryen's opulent town house, they fell upon a small object lying discarded on the floor – a scarf, stained crimson with dried blood.

With a sudden surge of realization, Tyland's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the scarf as belonging to Criston Cole, his dear friend whose life had been taken, his death shrouded mystery. And as he reached out to pick up the blood-stained fabric, a sense of horror washed over him like a tidal wave.

For in that moment, Lord Tyland Lannister knew the truth – that Aemond Targaryen, his once-friend and confidant, was responsible for Criston's untimely demise. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place with chilling clarity, the portrait in the attic serving as a damning testament to the darkness that lurked within Aemond's soul.

As Lord Tyland’s trembling hands clutched the blood-stained scarf, a primal instinct surged within him, urging him to flee from the attic and the horrors it contained. With a strangled cry, he turned towards the door, his heart pounding in his chest as he scrambled to escape the suffocating confines of the room.

But before he could take a single step, a cold voice cut through the silence, freezing him in his tracks. "Leaving so soon, Tyland?"

Tyland's blood ran cold as he turned to face Aemond Targaryen, his eyes wide with fear as he beheld the man who had once been his friend. But now, there was a darkness in Aemond's gaze that sent a shiver down Tyland's spine, a malevolence that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

"Aemond-" Tyland's voice was barely a whisper, choked with fear and disbelief. "What have you done?"

Aemond's lips curled into a twisted smile, his eyes glinting with madness as he took a step closer, his presence looming over Tyland like a spectre in the night. "I have done what needed to be done," he replied calmly, though the words sent a chill down Tyland's spine. "I have rid myself of those who would seek to expose my true nature."

Tyland's heart raced in his chest as he struggled to comprehend the enormity of Aemond's crimes. "Criston-" he whispered, his voice trembling with horror. "You killed him."

Aemond's smile widened into a sinister grin as he nodded in confirmation. "Yes" he replied, his voice dripping with malice. "I killed him. Just as I would kill anyone who dared to stand in the way of my desires."

With a surge of desperation, Tyland turned and lunged for the door, his mind consumed by the need to escape from the madness that surrounded him. But before he could reach safety, a strong hand closed around his wrist, pulling him back with a force that sent him stumbling to the ground.

"You cannot escape me, Tyland," Aemond whispered, his voice a menacing whisper in the darkness.

As the flames consumed Aemond Targaryen's opulent townhouse, a crowd gathered in the street below, their faces twisted with shock and disbelief as they watched the inferno rage with an intensity that seemed to defy the darkness of the night. The crackling of the flames echoed through the air, a symphony of destruction that filled the silence with a sense of foreboding.

Among the onlookers, whispers of speculation began to circulate, fuelled by the fear and uncertainty that gripped them like a vice. Some speculated that it was an accident, a tragic twist of fate that had reduced the once-grand mansion to a smouldering ruin. Others whispered of foul play, their minds consumed by the possibility of arson and murder.

But amidst the chaos and confusion, one thing remained certain – the charred remains of a body had been discovered in the attic, its identity shrouded in mystery. But as the smoke cleared and the flames died down, the body was identified only by the rings on its fingers, rings that were known to belong to Aemond Targaryen.

With a sense of solemnity, the authorities announced the tragic news to the waiting crowd, their words echoing through the stunned silence. Aemond Targaryen, once a pillar of London's high society, was now little more than a charred husk, his life snuffed out in a moment of madness and despair.

The group of girls wandered through the museum, their expressions a mixture of boredom and disinterest as they glanced over the various displays of ancient artifacts and historical relics. Their attention waned with each passing exhibit, their minds elsewhere as they idly chattered amongst themselves.

As they rounded a corner, their eyes fell upon a display showcasing artifacts discovered at a long-forgotten townhouse, the name "Aemond Targaryen" emblazoned on a plaque beneath. A few of the girls exchanged glances, their interest piqued for a moment before quickly waning again.

"Ugh, more old stuff," one of the girls muttered, rolling her eyes as she brushed past the display without a second thought.

"Yeah, who cares about some rich guy from forever ago?" another chimed in, her voice tinged with sarcasm as she continued on without a backward glance.

The girls moved on, their attention already drifting to the next exhibit, the artifacts of Aemond Targaryen forgotten in an instant amidst the hustle and bustle of the modern world. And as they disappeared into the depths of the museum, the relics of a bygone era stood silent and forgotten, their secrets lost to the sands of time.

As the group of girls continued their aimless meandering through the museum, their chatter filled the air with a lively energy. But their conversation came to an abrupt halt as they rounded a corner and collided with a figure standing in their path.

Apologies spilled from their lips in a flurry of hurried words as they stumbled backwards, their eyes widening in surprise as they took in the sight before them. Standing before them was a man of striking beauty, his long silver hair cascading over his shoulders, his sharp features chiselled and refined, the sapphire nestled in his missing eye only adding to the allure of such a man.

For a moment, the girls were rendered speechless by his arresting presence, their gaze lingering on his flawless complexion and piercing gaze. He offered them a charming smile, his eye twinkling with amusement as he took in their stunned expressions.

"Sorry about that," one of the girls managed to stammer, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she regained her composure. "We weren't watching where we were going."

The man's smile widened, a knowing glint in his eye as he inclined his head in acknowledgment. "No harm done," he replied smoothly, his voice a melodic lilt that sent shivers down their spines. "It's not every day that I have the pleasure of such delightful company."

The girls exchanged nervous glances, their hearts fluttering in their chests as they struggled to find their words. There was something undeniably captivating about the man standing before them, a magnetic charm that left them spellbound.

Emboldened by a surge of courage, one of the girls stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest as she met the man's gaze with a determined expression. "Um, excuse me," she began tentatively, her voice betraying her nerves. "I couldn't help but notice-would you mind giving me your number?"

The man's smile widened at her boldness, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes as he reached into his pocket and produced a sleek smartphone. "Of course," he replied smoothly, his voice a velvety purr that sent a shiver down her spine. "I'd be delighted to."

With practiced ease, he entered his number into her phone, his fingers dancing across the screen with effortless grace. And then, with a flourish, he handed it back to her, his gaze lingering on her with an intensity that left her breathless.

"There you go," he said with a charming smile, his voice soft yet commanding. "Feel free to give me a text or call anytime."

The girl's heart soared with elation as she thanked him profusely, her fingers trembling with excitement as she clutched her phone to her chest.

As the man prepared to take his leave, a nagging curiosity tugged at the girl's mind, prompting her to speak up once more. "Wait," she interjected, her voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty. "You didn't tell me your name”

The man turned back to face her, his smile widening as he regarded her with a knowing glint in his eyes. "My apologies," he replied smoothly, his voice as rich as velvet. "You may call me Aemond."

As Aemond prepared to depart, the girl's mind raced with a sudden realization. His name echoed in her thoughts, stirring a memory from earlier in the museum. With a furrowed brow, she spoke up once more, her voice trembling with curiosity.

"Aemond," she began, her words cautious yet determined. "As in Aemond Targaryen?"

A flicker of amusement danced in Aemond's eyes at her question, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You could say that" he replied enigmatically, his tone hinting at a deeper truth that lay just beyond her grasp.

As she watched him disappear into the crowd, her thoughts consumed by the enigmatic stranger she had just encountered, she knew that there was much more to Aemond than met the eye. And as she returned her attention to the museum display, her mind buzzing with excitement, she couldn't help but wonder what other secrets lay hidden beneath the surface of his captivating persona.

Aemond returned to his luxury penthouse, his mind still lingering on the chance encounter with the girl at the museum. As he stepped into the opulent surroundings of his home, a sense of satisfaction washed over him, a rare moment of contentment amidst the chaos of his existence.

With a graceful flourish, Aemond made his way to a reinforced room hidden away from prying eyes, his steps echoing through the silence of the empty halls. With practiced ease, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, the air thick with anticipation as he approached a large, covered object at the centre of the room.

With a flick of his wrist, Aemond lifted the cover from the object, revealing the twisted painting that lay beneath. In the years since its creation – and the sins it bore the mark of – the painting had become unrecognizable, its once-flawless visage now warped and contorted beyond all recognition. Jagged teeth protruding through festering skin, the eye rotten in the socket.

But as Aemond gazed upon the grotesque masterpiece before him, a sense of satisfaction washed over him, a reminder of the darkness that lurked within his own soul. For in the twisted lines and distorted features of the painting, he saw a reflection of his own inner turmoil – a reminder of the price he had paid for eternal youth and beauty.

As Aemond stood in his reinforced room, contemplating the twisted painting before him, the gentle buzz of his phone broke through the silence, drawing his attention away from the dark thoughts that had consumed him. With a curious glance, he picked up the device, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the name displayed on the screen – Cerelle.

A smile tugged at the corners of Aemond's lips as he read the text message from the girl he had encountered at the museum, her invitation to join her for a drink filling him with a sense of anticipation. Who was he to turn down such a beautiful young lady, after all?

With a swift reply, Aemond accepted Cerelle's invitation, his fingers flying across the screen as he typed out his response. As he set the phone down, a sense of excitement coursed through him, a flicker of anticipation igniting in the depths of his soul.

For in that moment, Aemond knew that his encounter with Cerelle was only the beginning.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #aemond x oc #hotd fic #aemond x original female character #aemond #aemond one eye #aemond smut #hotd smut #hotd #criston cole #tyland lannister

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v-rg1l · 6 months

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I so deeply love trans people it is hard to express I love us like I love the stars, the way the summer loves the monsoon winds, the way the spring loves the flowers, the way sidewalks love the fallen leaves and the way life loves the sun. I love us all, even if here i speak specifically to trans mascs, I love every single one of us dearly. You are Loved.

I love trans men, trans mascs, I love us when we have full chests and when we have flat ones, I love us in skirts and suits and shorts and pants and dresses that flow like a stream. I love us in binders in bras pre post and no op i love us with deep growly voices like the rushing waterfalls and I love us with gentle voices like birdsong on the wind and I am so in love.

I love fat trans men I love thin trans men I love us toned and muscular I love us soft and squishy I love us so deeply. I love disabled trans mascs I love mentally ill trans men I love chronically ill trans men I love Black trans mascs I love Indigenous trans men I love Asian trans men I love European trans mascs I love mixed trans mascs love us all so dearly I can barely take it.

I love us with scars and I love us with freckles and I love us with acne i love us with facial hair, with beards and mustaches and stubble that just won’t seem to grow out but it will love I promise and you’ll be so handsome and even if it doesn’t you glow like the mid afternoon sun hasn’t anyone told you ? You are beautiful, to your very core.

I love sunny and bright trans men who reflect the colours of the rainbow like a prism I love scene and goth and punk and alternative trans mascs I love plain trans men who wear t shirts and shorts I love showy trans men in their frilly shirts and corsets.

I love us roaring with laughter and crying out in anger I love us singing until our throats are hoarse I love us in the waves of pleasure I love us in the quiet content like sitting on the earth as the gentle breeze tickles our skin.

I love us in love, I love us who have one, two, any number of partners or no partners at all I love us no matter what faith we hold I love us without any faith at all I love us who feel the energy of the universe and I love us who do not.

I love us taking part in the joy of creation i love us who create art i love us who build cars or fix roofs i love us who educate i love us in theatre and music i love us making scientific developments i love us in hardware software the brilliant machine that is the human body I love us saving lives I love us creating new ones I love us so much.

I love us like we hung the stars and the planets I am so in love I feel as though the word cannot possibly contain the true and full depth of my feelings for us. I do not have the vocabulary to thoroughly express how much I love us, how deeply in love i am with being trans.

There is so much more I could add but if you are trans, if you are a trans man or are trans masc or anything at all I love you so much. We will be happy, we will thrive. We are beautiful and valuable and we are, dare I say it, divine. You do not have to make it into the history books to be so valuable. You are of the greatest worth of anything for simply being. I wish you nothing but happiness and a life that you love. Be well, you who I gladly share my soul with. You are more than words could ever describe.

#bug speaks #transgender #transsexual #queer #trans man #trans masc #trans male #ftm #transmasc #nonbinary #nonbinary man #transmasculine #transisbeautiful #trans joy #trans pride #trans boy #long post

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miguelswifey04 · 9 months

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wait I just had a random idea

Miguel x Siren!reader idk why but it popped up in my head and I cannot get it out

But anyways how have you been doing? You been posting lots!-🪼 anon

oh my god yes i can definitely do that tehe

it’s because i have a lot of requests and i write them BUT i save them to my drafts and post like every hour or so to space them out 😭— lin 🧚🏽‍♀️

miguel o’hara x siren! reader

what happens when spider-man meets and falls in love with a siren 🧜🏽‍♀️

miguel had always been captivated by you, drawn to your ethereal beauty and enchanting voice. but it was your siren nature that truly intrigued him – the magic and mystery that surrounded your every movement and melody. he couldn't suppress his growing feelings any longer and felt a burning desire to express his love.

one evening, miguel gathered his courage and decided it was time to confess his feelings to you. he found you sitting by the waterfront, your voice carrying across the waves as you sang a haunting melody. as your last note echoed through the air, miguel approached, his heart racing.

with a nervous breath, miguel spoke, his voice filled with sincerity. "i may not know you personally but, there's something i need to tell you. i have fallen deeply in love with you. your siren nature, your beauty, and your voice... they've enraptured my heart." he paused, searching for the right words. "i want you to know that i am willing to adjust my life to accommodate your unique siren lifestyle. i want to be with you, to support you, and to create a life where we can both thrive."

your eyes shimmering with emotion, listened intently to miguel’s declaration. you had guarded your heart for so long, fearing rejection due to your siren existence. but in miguel, you saw a kindred spirit, someone who embraced your uniqueness and offered genuine love and understanding.

a smile bloomed on your face as you responded, your voice as melodious as the waves crashing against the shore. "miguel, your words fill my heart with joy. i have yearned for someone who would accept me for who i am, sirensong and all. to know that you are willing to journey alongside me is a gift beyond measure."

with your hearts now laid bare, miguel and your embarked on a new chapter of your lives together. miguel cupped your face and sealed a kiss that would be a testimony of the beginning of your relationship and for many years to come. both of you worked together to create a home that would accommodate your siren needs. miguel studied the lore and legends surrounding sirens, seeking knowledge and finding ways to blend the human and siren worlds.

your home became a sanctuary, a place where your enchanting voice could echo freely and where miguel found solace in your song. he embraced the shifting tides of your lives, determined to navigate the challenges and celebrate the magic you shared.

you charted a course of love and discovery, with miguel supporting your siren lifestyle every step of the way. on moonlit nights, you would stroll along the beach, hand in hand, sharing tender moments as your voice harmonized with the crashing waves.

as you embraced your intertwined destinies, miguel and you found solace and a profound sense of belonging in each other's arms.in your loving union, you discovered a harmony that transcended the bounds of reality, a love story guided by the song of your hearts, forever entwined by your shared passion and desire to explore the depths of your connection.

in your siren song, you wove a melody that would resonate throughout your lives, an eternal reminder of your love and the promise he had made to accommodate and embrace all aspects of your unique union.

tags 🏷️!! @meeom @astro1bloom @obi-mom-kenobi @sabcandoit @kairiscorner @emiemiemiii

#spiderman atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #atsv x reader #🌱 lin writes #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara x y/n #lin’s asks #♡´･ᴗ･`♡ lin answers #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara x female reader #miguel o’hara x siren!reader #miguel o’hara fluff

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vaniloqu3nce · 1 year

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Yoko Headcanons Pt 2

Yoko’s parents are an extremely wealthy and notorious vampire coven from Japan. They put plenty of expectations on Yoko throughout her childhood to be perfect and uphold their family’s image.

Yoko knew she was gay from a very young age but knew her parents would never approve. She played the perfect daughter but really she was sneaking girls home, partying, generally prioritizing her own happiness once she was old enough to understand what makes her happy.

Yoko’s parents had no idea what she was up to until she was caught. She was sent to Nevermore to reform.

She did NOT reform.

Yoko flirts shamelessly, with anyone. Even Wednesday occasionally (though playfully) up until she realizes Enid has a crush, then she tries to befriend Wednesday in order to make sure she’s good for Enid.

Wednesday and Yoko actually become decent friends and bond over their in depth knowledge of old horror media.

Yoko LOVES Wednesday’s books she’s basically the number one fan after page one.

Yoko: Is your girlfriend done with chapter twenty nine yet Enid i cannot wait this long

Enid: Yoko its three am STOP TEXTING ME

Yoko and Wednesday are an awesome sarcastic duo.

Thing Enid Yoko and Wednesday have horror movie nights in which the gfs cuddle and our favorite man and Yoko criticize outfits, set design, camera angles, how realistic the blood is, and so on.

Enid is terrified so she’s mostly hiding in Wednesday’s chest while scrolling through her phone and Wednesday holds Enid the whole time and Wednesday will occasionally comment on Thing and Yoko’s conversation if she has something to add.

Wednesday: It’s not that easy to hold a severed head. They’re quite heavy.

Yoko has a lot of trouble focusing and finding interest in school, so Enid helps with homework and classwork because Yoko’s parents will kill her if her grades don’t remain perfect.

Yoko is very confident and charming when it comes to flirting with someone she has no interest in romantically pursuing. Which is basically ever girl ever.

Yoko gets very nervous and flustered when she actually likes someone. She can trip over her words (very unlike her) or just completely brain fart.

Divina: Yoko, are you listening

Yoko, who was just staring and thinking about how pretty Divina is: wha?-I mean yes absolutely.

I raise you demiromantic Yoko.

I raise you Yoko who has a hard time expressing herself emotionally because her parents didn’t allow it.

I raise you Yoko being absolutely smitten with Divina out of all people and hates herself for it because love scares her.

I raise you Divina not wanting anything with Yoko to be public because Yoko gets around and she’s not ashamed of it, and Divina is worried about her image/what people would think/her parents finding out.

I raise you Yoko for the first time in a long time realizing she wants someone forever and that terrifies her so she never makes anything official.

I raise you them both learning how to work through their fears and vulnerabilities together. Yoko teachers Divina how to prioritize her happiness instead of doing whatever her parents want and being unhappy. Divina teachers Yoko how to open up, helps her stay organized and on track in school, teaches Yoko how to keep herself organized with little neat schedules and notes.

Yoko’s love language is very physical.

I raise you Enid being the best friend possible and supporting her best friend despite Yoko hiding her relationship with Divina for some time.

I raise you Wednesday telling Yoko to get her shit together when she’s flirting with other girls because shes scared of committing to Divina.

Finally I raise you Yoko and Enid being the worst possible pair of lesbian best friends ever.

Yoko: Divina can step on my throat and id thank her

Enid: Wednesday is so pretty id let her run me over twice

#wenclair headcanon #wenclair #enid sinclair #wednesday addams #yoko tanaka #headcanon #fancanon #enid x wednesday #yokovina #yoko x divina #thing addams #wednesday x enid #eniday #wenid #there is not enough yoko content #i truly belive yoko enid and wednesday are the worst pair of friends ever #wednesday and yoko BOTH have limited patience for bs and they are so protective over enid #oh yeah enid me and your gf hung someone from the flag pole for making fun of your scars xoxo #wednesday acting annoyed with Yoko all the time and Yoko is always making fun of her affectionately #they’re a healthy friend group except two of them are dating and yoko is there barfing #but secretly she’s obviously happy for them #Yoko calls them her bitches and Wednesday elbows her so hard in the stomach. that never stops her.#oh these two? these are my lesbians dont worry they dont bite #Wednesday is exasperated. Enid is used to it.

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daphnefisherofficial · 7 months

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bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER NINE

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Avatar Fem!Reader

masterlist | previous | next chapter

CHAPTER NINE - FORGOTTEN MEMORIES & INEVITABLE TRUTH.

You summoned and stepped through another portal, the world around you twisted and shimmered like a mirage as you returned to the solitude of your residence in Surrey, England. The familiar scent of aged books and ancient relics greeted you as you crossed the threshold of the study once more.

Your ceremonial suit of armor shifted seamlessly back into your olden clothes as the punong babaylan (head priestess), marking the end of another night's service as Mayari’s avatar. The soft, silver glow of the moonlight bathed the room, casting eerie shadows on the bookshelves and arcane artifacts that lined your study. Mayari's divine presence filled the room once more, and you turned to face her as she materialized at your side.

"Salamat sa iyong paninilbihan ngayong gabi," Mayari spoke, her voice filled with gratitude like the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind. Both her luminous and blind eyes held a warmth that seemed to reach deep into your soul. "Nalalapit na ang kabilugan ng buwan sa mga susunod na linggo, kaya’t maghanda ka"

Thank you for your service tonight. The next full moon is approaching in a few weeks, so make the necessary preparations.

“Paghahandaan ko ito, aking diwata”, you replied with a nod, knowing that another night of rituals and magic awaited you.

I’ll be ready, my goddess.

But as Mayari's words hung in the air, your thoughts were already drifting into the depths of your own mind. A nagging unease suddenly crept into your heart as vague, unsettling memories of the full moon from two months ago began to plague you like fragments of a forgotten dream. The furrowed brow and worried expression on your face did not go unnoticed by the moon goddess.

"May bumabagabag ba sa iyo, aking anak?" Mayari inquired, her silvery hair cascading like liquid moonlight around her shoulders.

Is something troubling you, my child?

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether to voice your concerns. After all, you had come to trust Mayari with your life and your secrets. "Hindi ko magawang maalala ang tunay na wangis ni Darius,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "Para bang ang alaalang iyon ay unti unting nawawaglit sa aking isipan"

I... I still cannot remember Darius’s face, not clearly. It's as if his memory is slipping away from me.

Mayari's eyes widened, and for a moment, a shadow of concern flitted across her radiant features. She reached out, her cool fingers touching your cheek in a soothing gesture. "Kaunting paghihintay pa, mahal kong Mira" she said gently. "Pinagtutulungan nating mapanumbalik ang iyong mga alaala nitong mga nakaraang buwan. Nalalapit na ang mga kasagutang ating hinahanap, kaya’t manalig ka"

You need to have patience, my dear Mira. We are working to restore your memories these past few months. We are nearing the answers you seek, so have faith.

But you couldn't let it go so easily. The thought of never being able to remember Darius's face, the warmth of his smile, or the love in his eyes was almost unbearable. You loved him with all your heart, and the fact that this man who had perished right before your eyes was now just a hazy figure in your mind didn’t sit well with you. It frightened you a great deal, and you needed answers as to why and how it happened.

"Ngunit bakit ito nangyayari sa akin?" you pressed, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and frustration. "Bakit hindi ko maalala ang kanyang wangis, Mayari?"

But why is this happening to me? Why do I forget his face, Mayari?

The moon goddess hesitated for a moment, her silvery eyes clouded with a sadness you couldn't quite comprehend. "Ikinalulungkot kong ang mga nangyayari sa iyo ay dulot ng pakikipagtulungan mo sa mga diwatang pinaglilingkuran ng iyong namayapang asawa," she finally spoke, her voice carrying a weight that seemed to pull at the very fabric of reality. "Hindi mo ito natatandaan, ngunit isang mintala ang iginawad sa iyo ng diwatang si Set bilang kaparusahan sa iyong pagiging tapat kina Darius, Anubis at sa Ennead”

I’m afraid what’s happening to you is a consequence of you and your late husband’s alignment with Anubis and the Ennead, my dear. You do not remember it, but the god Set has cursed you as punishment for your choices.

Your heart sank at her words. Set, the god of chaos and disorder, was known for his ruthless punishments. You had been warned by Mayari of the dangers of dabbling in the affairs of the gods, but your love for Darius had driven you to help him in joining Anubis’s cause to prevent Set’s destruction from wreaking havoc on Earth. And now, it seemed, you were paying the price.

"Ginawa ito ni Set sa akin?" you whispered, feeling a chill run down your spine. "Anong klaseng mintala ito, Mayari? Ang makalimutan ang wangis ng lalaking aking pinakamamahal?!"

Set did this to me? What kind of curse is this, Mayari? To forget the face of the one I love?!

Mayari's gaze remained steady, but her voice quivered ever so slightly as she replied, "Isang makapangyarihang mintala na nagbubura sa iyong isipan ng wangis ng iyong pinakamamahal, at nag-iiwan ng isang huwad na alaala na hindi maipaliwanag. Isang mapaghiganting diwata si Set, at pinaparusahan niya ang kahit sinong umaanib sa kanyang mga kaaway."

It is a curse that erases the memory of your beloved's facade, leaving only a void in its place. Set is a vengeful god, and he does not take kindly to those who align themselves with his enemies.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you turned away, unable to bear the weight of your own grief and despair. "Hindi ito maaaring mangyari," you muttered, your voice choked with emotion. "Pakiusap, Mayari, kailangang may gawin tayo."

I cannot let this happen. We must do something, Mayari, please.

Mayari's hand reached out to touch your shoulder, her touch gentle and comforting. "Narito ako para sa’yo, aking anak," she said softly. "Gagawa tayo ng paraan upang alisin ang mintalang iginawad sa’yo, ipinapangako ko iyan. Hindi kita pababayaan na mag-isa sa iyong pagdurusa"

I am here for you, my child. We will find a way to break this curse, I promise you. Until then, know that you are not alone in your suffering.

You nodded and accepted her answer, grateful for her support, though a lingering doubt gnawed at the edges of your mind. Something in Mayari's words, in the tremor of her voice, had struck you as odd. But you chose not to press further, not wanting to burden her with your doubts.

With a final reverent bow, you turned away from the moon goddess as she vanished from the study. The night had been eventful, but your duties as the avatar of Mayari were far from over. As you left the study and descended the grand staircase, the moon's silvery light bathed your path, and the mysteries of your past remained shrouded in darkness.

You made your way to your sanctuary in the master’s bedroom, magically shedding your ancient head priestess robes on the way in favor of the modern clothes you previously wore that night. As you lay in bed, the image of Darius Carter slipped further from your grasp, and tears welled in your eyes as you missed his presence the most. The weight of the curse bore down on you, but you were determined to undo Set’s punishment on you and avenge Darius’s death at his hands.

Outside, the moon bathed the world in its gentle light, a silent witness to the secrets and sacrifices of those who served the gods. And in the stillness of the night, you closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the challenges that awaited you in the days to come.

Meanwhile, as the chill of the London night embraced him, Steven Grant made his way through the bustling streets of the city. His thoughts were consumed by the delightful evening he had just experienced, still basking in the warmth of your company. He had just returned to his modest flat in London, a cozy haven amidst the cacophony of the city. It had been a night of revelatory conversation and shared laughter, all with the one person who had become a source of intrigue and affection in his life.

He couldn't help but gush to Marc about how the dinner went as they settled into the familiar rhythm of their shared existence.

"Marc, you wouldn't believe it," Steven exclaimed, a dreamy smile on his face. "Tonight has got to be the best night of my life ever"

Tell me about it. Marc’s voice echoed in Steven’s head, his voice slightly groggy as if he just awoke from his slumber in their shared headspace.

"It was splendid, mate," Steven enthused, stepping into the comfortable living room of their flat as his eyes met Marc Spector’s reflection in the nearby mirror. "Mira and I talked about almost everything under the sun - the history of Ancient Egypt, and even about her home country. She’s been an absolute delight."

Sounds like you had a fantastic time. Marc replied in his head with a hint of a smile, quietly listening to Steven's effusive commentary on their dinner companion. Despite being more reserved, cautious and always considering the potential consequences of their actions, Marc couldn't help but feel genuinely happy for Steven. Try as he might, he couldn't deny the genuine connection that had been forming between the two of you.

“I really did”, Steven said happily as he slowly changed into his indoor clothes. “She showed me the mockup of her upcoming exhibit, me! I mean, she must have shown it to all the tour guide applicants since it was a part of her evaluation, but still. And she has some really nice feedback from the guided tour I gave, even though I almost fainted…”

Marc listened intently to Steven rambling, appreciating the genuine happiness that radiated from him. It warmed him to know that his headmate’s budding relationship with you was flourishing. However, as Steven continued to gush about you, Marc's thoughts drifted toward the inevitable discussion that had been looming over them for some time.

That sounds wonderful, Steven. Marc replied, his voice tinged with a hint of approval. I'm glad you and Mira are becoming fast friends.

Steven's enthusiasm was contagious, and he seized the opportunity to broach a subject that had been on his mind for a while now.

"You know, Marc," Steven began cautiously, "I can feel how strongly you're drawn to her, and she seems to feel the same way about you. We can't keep avoiding this conversation forever."

Marc sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair as he knew this conversation between him and Steven was inevitable. He had always been more guarded as their shared existence had always been a complex circumstance that not many people can understand.

I know, Steven. Marc conceded, his voice tinged with frustration. But you know how I feel about this. I can't just bring her into our mess. What if she can't handle it? What if she leaves?

"You're selling her short, mate”, Steven shook his head in mild frustration, his British accent accentuating his exasperation. “She's shown nothing but kindness and understanding to us both, separately. You can't keep her at arm's length forever, I mean. Life's too short for regrets, and you should know that"

Feeling conflicted, Marc decided to avoid pursuing the topic altogether. He and Steven finally changed gears, allowing Marc to be on the driver’s seat of their shared body. Glancing at their shared desk, Marc noticed your calling card neatly placed there. It had been a parting gift from your delightful time together on the plane back to London, and after Steven already used it for his benefit, Marc had been unsure of what to do with it next.

It had been a simple and innocent gesture on his end, inviting you to meet for coffee on Sunday. But with his conflicting feelings currently in the forefront, Marc simply cannot deal with seeing you again right now.

“I can’t do this”, Marc muttered, picking up the card and studying it for a moment. “I can’t meet her tomorrow.”

Why? She must be looking forward to it. Steven's eyebrows shot up in surprise from his reflection in the desk. Mate, don’t do this, you’re being very dramatic.

Ignoring Steven's protest, Marc’s fingers poised over his keypad. Briefly saving your phone number in his contacts, he then swiftly typed out a text message to cancel your plans for tomorrow. He pressed send on the message, and a small sense of accomplishment washed over him. The message was simple enough, but it carried the weight of Marc's internal struggle.

Hey, Marc Spector here. I’m really sorry to do this, but something urgent came up for me and Steven tomorrow. Rain check on our coffee lunch?

You really are a nutter, Marc. Steven sighed, shaking his head in disbelief as he retreated into the depths of their shared consciousness. You can't live your life in fear like this - give it a chance. Give her a chance.

Feeling the weight of his alter's words, Marc sat there for a moment as he allowed himself a moment of reflection. His heart then raced with a mix of anticipation and anxiety, briefly second guessing his earlier actions. What had he just done? Had he been too ahead of himself and painstakingly obvious for pushing you away?

Of course, Marc, I hope it’s nothing too serious. We can definitely reschedule, just let me know. It's no problem at all.

Your reply loomed over his screen, prompting Steven’s words about your true depth of understanding to circle his inner thoughts once more. Marc couldn't help but give what his head mate said some thought: maybe he had been too cautious, too guarded.

He could no longer deny his growing feelings towards you, and perhaps there will come a time when he can finally let you in. To let you see the complexity of his existence. After all, he had already taken a huge step toward bridging the gap between his two selves.

And perhaps, just perhaps, you would be willing to meet him halfway.

The sun painted the London skyline with hues of gold and pink, heralding a new day for Marc Spector and Steven Grant. As the day's first light streamed through the window of their modest London flat, Marc awoke, the muddled memories of the previous night's recurring vivid dreams lingering in his mind.

He stretched, his muscles protesting the slumber's grip, and sat up in bed. In contrast to the Chicago life he once knew, London had become his new home, thanks to Steven. His British alter had embraced this city as his own, and Marc had slowly come to terms with that. Sometimes, he even found solace in the bustling streets and the gentle cadence of British life.

With a sigh, Marc swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his temples. Today, he decided to venture out to the nearby Tesco's to buy groceries for both him and Steven. It was a routine task that allowed him to have some semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos of their unique existence.

As Marc strolled down the aisles of the supermarket, a sense of calm serenity washed over him. He felt in control, disconnected from the relentless turmoil of his mind. He picked up a few boxes of Twining’s, his hand momentarily steadying as he remembered that it was Steven's favorite.

But fate had something else in store. As Marc turned a corner, his heart leaped into his throat, and he felt as if the ground had been ripped from beneath him. There, standing in the fruit section, was you, dressed in a casual, cream-colored Sunday dress, your hair arranged in a messy bun. You were engrossed in selecting quality fruit, your laughter filling the air as you discussed your shopping choices with another young woman who he suspected to be your secretary. William “Bill” Jones on the other hand, the middle-aged man Marc had been introduced to not long ago, was on your other side, observing the girl banter before him with a polite smile.

Panic surged through Marc as he ducked behind a shelf of canned goods. He watched you from afar, hidden in the shadows as his heart pounded in his chest. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring him face to face with you once more, against his wishes. What were you doing here? Why was fate so intent on entwining your lives?

Steven, lurking in the corners of Marc's consciousness, was equally bewildered and frustrated by this unexpected encounter.

Marc, mate, we need to get out of here. He muttered urgently, remembering Marc’s not so good alibi on today’s canceled coffee lunch. This is not looking good for us.

But Marc couldn't tear his eyes away from you. He was drawn to you like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the magnetic pull of your presence. With a reluctant sigh, he murmured back to Steven, "Just a few more minutes. I need to see what they're doing."

As you continued your shopping, oblivious to Marc's hidden presence, he discreetly trailed you like a silent specter. His military training and mercenary instincts had honed his ability to remain unseen, a skill that now served him well in this clandestine pursuit. The tightrope he walked between curiosity and caution threatened to snap at any moment.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you and your companions checked out with a massive amount of shopping bags before heading for the exit. Marc hurriedly paid for his groceries and followed you from a distance out onto the bustling streets of London. His heart pounded in his chest as he kept a safe distance, careful not to alert you or anyone else to his presence.

To Marc's astonishment, you led them to a place he hadn't expected: St. Mungo's, a homeless shelter that he and Steven had heard of but never visited. They collectively watched from a discreet vantage point outside the window as you walked inside with a radiant smile on your face. Bill and the other young woman followed, their expressions mirroring your own.

From the shadows, Marc and Steven observed the scene unfolding before them. You greeted everyone in the shelter with genuine warmth and kindness, your happiness infectious. It was as if a ray of sunshine had descended upon the homeless souls gathered there, dispelling the darkness that clung to their lives.

As you began distributing the numerous shopping bags filled with groceries, both Marc and Steven felt an unfamiliar tug at their hearts. It wasn't just attraction or curiosity anymore; it was something deeper, more profound. Your selflessness and compassion resonated with them in a way they hadn't anticipated.

"Steven, do you see this?” Marc was the first to break the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “She's… she's incredible. The way she cares for those people."

Aye, mate, she’s a literal ball of sunshine. Steven, too, was moved by the scene before them. It’d be hard not to fall for her after seeing this.

Marc nodded, his eyes never leaving you. Their shared realization hung in the air, binding them together in a newfound purpose. As you continued your acts of charity inside St. Mungo's, Marc and Steven knew that their lives had taken an unexpected turn. They were no longer mere observers; they were drawn into the orbit of someone who had touched their souls in ways they couldn't explain.

It was a revelation that left Marc both awestruck and conflicted, unsure of how to navigate the intricate web of emotions that had entwined his and Steven's lives with yours. As he continued to watch you from the shadows, Marc could no longer deny the undeniable truth.

He was falling for you, and there was no turning back.

END OF CHAPTER NINE.

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zeestarfishalien · 11 months

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Part 10: I Want My Mouth So I May Howl

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He was wary of the magic lady at first. “A ghost’s reaction to magic users is something like instinct,” the words echo in his mind in a voice not his own. It should be familiar, the tones are warm, but he still doesn’t remember.

This magic user is nice. She’s addressing him, calling him by the nickname The Man gave him, and most importantly of all, The Man trusts her. There’s no increase in his wariness at her approach and casual touch.

If The Man trusts her, Danny will too.

~*~

Time spent by The Man, no it’s Jason. His name is Jason.

Time spent by Jason’s side is slowly bringing a more humanoid awareness back into Danny’s mind. He eats when Jason eats, exercises when Jason exercises, he washes right before Jason (it’s more that Jason gives him a bath since he doesn’t exactly have opposable thumbs). Danny even tries to emulate sleep when Jason sleeps. It’s a slowly established routine that has Danny remember what it is to live.

Standing on the table, staring down at himself feels disorienting now. The haze of instinct protecting his mind from the pain of memories is lifting and more and more he desires, craves his human form. He wants to wake up from this waking daydream because it’s starting to feel more like a nightmare.

~*~

Voices come to the forefront of his mind now. They aren’t him, but they’re familiar, people he knows, people he loves. He knows this even while he cannot place faces or names to the voices drifting in and out of his semi-wakeful mind.

The first clear memories come when he releases his astral form for the night. It’s his version of sleep. Jason goes to bed and Danny retreats into his own comatose body.

As he sinks into the depths of his subconscious this night, his mind decides the first memory it should pull forth is that of his death. It is not a memory he enjoys reliving; the hot zing of nerves being fried with enough volts and amps to kill an elephant. The ectoplasm acts like a superconductor and the electricity and his death bind that to his body and soul. He’s so hot. He’s burning alive. He’s dying. He’s living. He’s dying again. Neither option sticks and after some form of infinity, the portal spits out his smoldering corpse.

When he wakes, even the sound of electricity in the walls sets him on edge. The buzzing hum feels louder the longer he thinks about it and he dives back into his own body, into that special void in his mind where he’s safe from the sounds around him.

Once Jason is up, nearly an hour passes before he’s able to coax Danny out of hiding.

With Jason, the electricity isn’t so loud. Danny can focus on the steady beat of Jason’s heart. It helps to push all that other stuff to the background. Danny can breathe again. He doesn’t need to breathe but he’s been doing it lately to mimic Jason.

The mimicry ticks something in his brain that feels right and familiar. Jason talks to him, tells him all sorts of little things. Danny wants to respond but words sit at the tip of his tongue in a body incapable of speech, expressions he cannot quirk lips and brows into rest uncomfortably beneath his skin.

He shifts closer to Jason when they sit together on the small two-person couch as if being closer to someone human will make him more human…more alive.

He wants to go back.

He does not know how.

~*~

Memories of scathing threats and nights spent piecing himself back together thread through his dreams. Needle and thread. Needle and thread. There’s green everywhere. He’s sitting in a pool of it. It splatters the walls.

Memories shift to stitching outside with the knowledge that he can sleep sooner if he doesn’t have to spend an hour scrubbing the walls and floor.

Sometimes there’s other faceless people helping him. Black hair. Red hair. Gentle hands brushing hair off of his sweaty forehead. His mind won’t let him see them, remember them fully but he vividly remembers an argument on meat versus greens that turned into a fight against human sized meat monsters.

He also remembers their screams from the day he died…

When he wakes this time, there’s a moment where he’s stuck in the void, trapped within the flesh and ectoplasm that is his body. Panic floods him and he frantically breaks loose. He should have stayed but he can’t bear to be stuck in dark confines. It’s too reminiscent of nightmare memories that sit at the edge of his mind, not yet remembered but never fully forgotten.

Danny is more aware of time now. Another week passes and he can better tell what hours versus minutes versus days feels like. Throughout it all, Jason is there. His habits, his little quirks all becoming familiar to Danny. All becoming endearing.

~*~

There’s hands on him, hands that he associates with love and safety, but their hurting, hurting, hurting. Why are they hurting him?! Stop! Please! It’s Danny! It’s Danny. Please…please no more.

Soft hands, bigger than his. Always bigger than his no matter how much he grows, but she’s always there, always loving.

Soothing fingers card through his hair with whispered promises that she’ll get him out. She’s almost ready. She’s so close to freeing him.

There’s voices yelling and flashes of green and he’s panicking, but not for himself. For her. Where is she? WHERE IS SHE?! He’s fighting and screaming and struggling because She’s GONE. So he screams and screams and screams until darkness overtakes him.

Flickering fluorescents are the last light he sees for a long long time.

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Yeets this out and races back to my hole.

Ya, so we be getting somewhere. It took me a while to figure out how to get to where I want this to go and I had the crisis of wanting to change where I wanted it to go and the ultimate decision to not change it (it may change in the future again. Lolol) But mostly it was the new fic I started that held this one up. That and actually getting some temp work (of course it ended up being manual labor again and so I went from doing almost nothing to running around for 8 hours and carrying heavy things).

We all good now tho. I’m finally adjusted. My lil bro be graduating next week tho so I might be busy again with that and the pet sitting. Either that or I’ll be extra using writing as my escape. It’s one of those fifty-fifty things.

[the new fic isn’t out yet. But it’s Dead On Main and a sort of horror comedy with a fair bit of gore involved.

@akintoabitch @snowblub @isaactheautobot @jaguarthecat @ventureingonwings

@dannyphantomphan @nonbinary-disaster @depressed-bitchy-demon @8-29pm @addie-lover-of-stories @lifefilledwithstories @apointlessbox @skulld3mort-1fan @katgirl05 @spookytragedyshark @mandyne-1001 @ascetic-orange @booklover9114 @qualifiedpasta @mouzerequis @fleeting-mists @gin2212 @rollthatcritical @kaitouhime @itsloveleo @litlecameron @phantom-dc @hippityhoppity-iownyourbones @pastalavistamf @kokoroluna @legowerewolf @riasthelustful @agreatcheesecakestudentstuff @mysterimax

@rangerhorsetug @treepainting @thatonegirl10 @demiourgias @spooky-fm @antagonisticly @fluffy23sblog @manglethemingle @kyrianclawraith @layyeschips @shepardking @asphyxia778 @ballzfrog @fluffen-spooky @drowningroane @deathsdaisy @malaayna @mistyaltair @potatoeofwisdom @heartsong18 @nixthenerd @icedbluesoul @the-church-grimm @overtherose @sara0055

#church grim danny au #danny phantom crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #the black dog danny #remember folks danny is an unreliable narrator

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sirowsky-stories · 6 months

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The Old Prince

Part 7

Author's Note: This is nice and cozy at first, but do not be fooled. Here there be monsters... Also, I'll be working on my follower celebration for a while now, which is why I'm so sorry for how this part ends.

Description: Oberyn tells you what he can remember of his human life and how he became what he is. But tranquility is sparse in your lives, and as has become custom, you're soon in trouble once more.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, AU fic, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses. Descriptions of the death of a child, as well as people being violently murdered. Angst. Reader experiences shock. Word Count: 5865 Author's Masterlist

He doesn’t need nearly as much sleep as humans do, so even after the exhaustion of three releases and a total of two and a half hours of lovemaking, Oberyn remains wide awake. Calm and pleasantly satisfied, with a harmony in his blood that knows no equal, but still not tired in the sense that he requires sleep to recover. So instead, he watches you. And stars above… what a sight you are.

Heavy with total relaxation, without a single crease of worry, tension or stress to your expression, you look only peaceful. Peaceful in the most precious of ways, a feeling born from the knowledge that you are safe, trusted and loved. He is proud to be the one to give you this serenity, but also immeasurably grateful that you have chosen to trust him with your heart, because he knows how closely you have always guarded it from others.

It has fascinated him from the start, the nearly immediate trust you had showed towards him, and he wonders sometimes if there could be a deeper truth behind it. If perhaps the transformation that he triggered in you was always there, just waiting for him to initiate it. Such a thing would suggest that the two of you are linked by much more than circumstance or coincidence. That you were always destined to cross paths in this manner. Which is a both comforting and endlessly frightening thought.

Because it would mean that the cosmos has a path laid out for you and that nothing you do will be of your own volition. That even this night was not a choice for each of you to make, but rather a compulsion, entirely beyond your conscious perception. He refuses to believe that anything could have such influence over you. Over him, certainly, but not you.

There is a power to your being which cannot be seen or even sensed, merely perceived at the very fringes of perception. A whisper carried across the globe by a million different voices since the day you were born, so scattered and distorted by now that it can no longer be heard, other than by the most sensitive instruments of the ether: the soul. Barely even there, and yet he does not doubt its existence for a moment.

The hours pass with ease, even though you do not move or even twitch in your sleep, so satiated that every muscle has succumbed to the depths of unconsciousness. Resting on your belly with your lower arms hidden underneath the pillow, and your head turned to the man beside you. Nothing but your eyes moving underneath your heavy lids indicates that you are merely asleep. At least, not to a human’s senses.

Oberyn, however, can also hear your heart beating and the steady flow of your slow and tranquil breaths. He can smell the dried sweat on your skin and even the mild, musky scent of your earlier arousal. And like everything to do with you, these smells are incredibly pleasant to him, in a way that nothing has been in the past.

It’s not like he has never before smelled the tantalizing aroma of a person’s desire, but to his sensitive nostrils, those scents have always seemed exaggerated and almost overpowering sometimes. Not yours though. Thus far, every smell or taste he has detected from you has only increased his affection for you, as if your very chemistry appeals to him. And perhaps that is exactly what it does. Perhaps your bodies truly do complement one another.

In any case, what is certain is that you have become integral to his very survival. He may not have aged much in his many years, but he is not incapable of dying. The dragon is nearly indestructible, but the human form is weaker. He heals quickly, but a severed limb would not grow back, for instance, so if one were to cut his head from his shoulders, he would die.

There have been many occasions in his six millennia on this Earth when he has come close to the jaws of death. But for all his episodes of depression, when the endless toils of eternal life have left him unwilling to fight for even one more day, he has never truly wanted to end his own existence. The thoughts have been there, loud and hounding at times, but more often like a growling dog in the corner of the room, as though waiting to rip his throat out. Yet it never has.

Somehow, his life has retained a sliver of value to him, despite the many horrors he has witnessed, and been responsible for, and now that he sees you beside him, he cannot help but think that you have always been that value. That some part of him has been waiting for you, knowing that you would come to exist and that if he just held on for long enough, he would be rewarded with finding you.

It is well after sunrise that you finally stir, twisting your head around and then slowly pulling your arms out from under the pillow, so that you can turn on your side. You don’t appear to be aware that you’re moving, and your body is clearly terribly sluggish and unwilling to leave the restful softness of the bed, so he shifts himself closer and helps you finish the movement, before he settles in behind you, molding his body after your contours.

And when you sigh and lean into him as though it is the most natural and obvious thing to do, as though something you have done a thousand times before and now come to out of habit and familiarity, he cannot help how his embrace tightens as his body responds, not with lust, but with unfathomable awe. That you can be so at ease with such a creature as him, to let you rest beside him without fear or discomfort, even though his touch is largely new to you. Even though you have not slept beside another living being in years.

Another hour passes before you begin to wake, and as you do, you reach for his hand which rests over your waist, pulling it up to your mouth for a few light kisses of your dry lips.

“What time is it?” you ask, and your voice is raspy from the many hours that have passed since you last used it, and the fresh memory of your wordless vocalizations as he had found your most delicious spots of pleasure, fill his ears while he replies.

“Almost lunchtime.”

“Ugh…” you groan, and then start shifting to your back so that you can see him. “I don’t even know what time I fell asleep last night… or was it this morning?”

You can barely keep your eyes open, but it seems less to do with fatigue and more like you are simply too comfortable to want to return fully to the waking world.

“It was around 2 am,” he recalls, and you frown.

“Haven’t you slept at all?”

“No. The dragon and I are in some ways quite separate, but we are also one and the same, which is why I have his strength and the potency of his senses, even in this form.”

“So, the dragon doesn’t need sleep?”

“Not nearly as much. I can stay awake for several months if the need arises, but generally, I’ll sleep around four hours in a fortnight,” he explains, to which you grow silent for a minute.

“You talk about it like it’s a separate being. Is that how it feels?” you ask then, seemingly curious while also apprehensive regarding his alter ego, no doubt because of the discomfort he has displayed each time you’ve asked about his past before.

“In a way, yes. When I transform, it’s not simply my body that changes, it’s everything else as well. From my emotions to my thought-process and even my basic instincts. It took me centuries to learn how to not let him out at every spike in emotion, and then even longer to figure out how to retain rational thought and control those same emotions, in order to prevent massacring people everywhere I went.”

“Right, you’ve mentioned before that you were born human. So, what happened? Were you bitten by something as well?” you question, clearly looking for common ground and answers about your own transformation.

Unfortunately, he still doesn’t have those answers, because his own experience was entirely different.

“No. I don’t remember the details, and I believe that this is by design, but I know that whatever happened, it was done to me by someone or something much more powerful than anything walking this Earth today.”

“What do you mean?”

“Call it a god or supernatural being, but whatever it was, it vanished after doing this to me,” he says, and you look only more perplexed.

He has not spoken of these things with anyone else before, because there has never been reason to, nor has he ever had cause to think that anyone would believe it. But you deserve to know as much as he can remember, so that you may make up your own mind about what he is or isn’t anymore.

“I have told you before that I can’t recall much of my human life beyond my mother’s face, and this is true. But I do remember a few things quite clearly. For instance, that there was a conflict between our family and another tribe of people, whose origins I have forgotten but who were rich in numbers and therefor a considerable threat to the safety of the people under my family’s rule. Whether we enraged them by attempting to force them into our ranks or if they attacked for their own reasons, I don’t know anymore, but the outcome was too devastating to forget,” he ponders, trying in vain to keep the terrible images away from his inner sight, as they always cause him such anguish.

“There was a war?” you guess, and he nods while you shift around to your side, facing him, getting comfortable as you realize that he is willing to tell you everything now, which probably means a lengthier conversation.

“Our peoples clashed so forcefully and with such rage that even after the battles were won, the losing army continued to be executed until none was left standing. There was so much blood in the sand that it remained red for months after each violent clash. And the reason why I still remember this, even after my own family has been forgotten, is because as much as I might wish to, I will never forget what happened after our final victory.”

This subject always tortures him, even to merely think of, let alone speak of out loud for the first time, so he pauses to check himself. To make sure that he is in control of his senses and not at risk of harming you.

“Every time I hear a small baby crying,” he continues, unable to keep the unfathomable regret from filling his voice with pain, “I remember what was either my sister’s or brother’s newborn and how it cried when it was wrung from their arms and thrown on the floor to be stomped to death by the assassins who had infiltrated our home. Defeated, they had decided to take their revenge upon our family, by means of blood and torture. Thankfully, I cannot recall the imagery, only the sound. But that’s more than enough.”

His pulse jumps as his heart reacts to the memory, and he pauses again.

“I know that I was made to watch this, because that was where my rage was born. A rage that would become a companion of mine for the next two millennia. Because it was in that moment, when this helpless child was killed, that the desert turned from night into day in a single second. Not by sunlight… but by fire. This I remember more clearly than anything else. How it erupted everywhere at once, as if drawn from the depths of the earth itself, covering our lands as far as the eye could see in every direction, even though there was nothing but blood-drenched sand to fuel it. And once every living thing had turned to ash, somehow leaving me untouched even as I stood among the flames, they did not go out. Instead, all that fire was drawn into me, making a home for itself within my chest, where it burned and stoked my anger, my rage, for what I now know to be at least five centuries.”

“But… where did it come from? What conjured it?” you ask, teary-eyed even just hearing this, because your empathetic heart almost feels his pain and despair as if it was your own.

“That I do not know. But as it flooded into me, I felt as though something else detached itself from it. Something vast and incredibly old. Millions of years, if I had to venture a guess. It seemed to let go and fade away as the fire took hold of me, and the one theory I’ve managed to come up with, is that it was also a dragon. Perhaps there can only be one of us at a time. It would explain why there are no others like me anywhere in the world.”

You merely nod in agreement, at a loss for words, because what could anyone say to such a thing?

“It took me five hundred years to bring the beast under control after the initial transformation, and in that time, I flew across the entire world, burning it everywhere I went. But this I know only because of the aftermath. I have no memory of that time at all. When I finally managed to calm myself enough to return to my human form, which I had not yet realized that I could do until that moment, I was met by nothing but charred lands everywhere I went. And while I could not remember it, I knew in my heart that it was all my own doing. The child’s screams, which still echoed through my being, now paled in comparison to the countless thousands that I had burned alive in my maddened state, and to this day, I don’t know why any of this has happened.”

He must close his eyes again for a bit, not for fear of losing control now, but simply because the pain in his being is too overwhelming. These words have never left his lips before. Never entrusted to another living soul, never even spoken aloud to the cold stones of the castle, which have surrounded him for hundreds of years now.

You say nothing at first, content to merely rest beside him as he attempts to stomach the horrifying memories before locking them away once more. But when you do eventually speak, your voice is so soft and warm that he feels as though it must be a thick blanket, enveloping not just his person but his mind and heart as well.

“I’m so sorry for everything you’ve suffered. But perhaps, if we do manage to figure out what’s happened to me, we might find some answers for you along the way as well.”

“I hope so. But… I am also afraid to learn more,” he admits, and you frown again, so he elaborates. “That being, the one I felt within the flames, it was so old.”

“And you’re worried that you’re gonna have to live that long as well?” you correctly deduce, to which he nods.

“If I… replaced that being somehow… then whatever it was that kept it alive for that long is now inside of me. And I have no idea what it is, much less how to free myself of it.”

He has cried countless times before, and often much more devastatingly than he does now. This time it’s a mere trickle of a few tears down the side of his face, brought out only by the fear of the unknown, rather than any real pain within him. And yet, this time feels different. These tears feel purposeful in a way he has never experienced before. Perhaps merely because you are here, and he’s never cried in front of another person before, but it feels like it’s about something bigger than that.

“I think that you are exactly what you’re supposed to be, Oberyn,” you say then, while gently wiping the wetness from his face. “And I think that I am too. Whether to darken the world or not, I think we’re both on the path we’re meant for. I just hope that we get to choose how it ends.”

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

After a large brunch, the two of you return to the discussion about your transformation and everything that your partner knows about Darklings, and you end up learning about his bizarre realization that the pull coming from the basement has seemingly vanished.

“See? I told you that it disappeared,” he says, sounding mildly surprised himself where he stands beside you in front of the basement door.

“Yeah, and I believed you even before we got here, I’m just worried about the why.”

“Indeed. Which is why I feel it’s necessary to investigate.”

You have to swallow against the bile that rises in your throat at the mere thought of going back in there, but he’s right. The last time you’d stood here, you’d been practically enchanted, drawn inside despite all the warning signs along the way, from the smell to the sounds and finally the sight of those things. But now, there’s nothing.

Nodding to let him know that you agree, he opens the door, and you try to brace yourself for the odor, but it still hits you like a sledgehammer. It’s somehow even worse this time, probably because there’s nothing to dull your senses now.

“Oh, god…” you breathe in between your body’s attempts to react to the assault on your olfactory functions. “Your senses are stronger than mine, how can you stand it?”

“Sadly, this is not the worst thing I’ve ever smelled,” he replies nonchalantly before stepping inside.

You pinch your nose shut with your fingers and then follow him, but it still feels like you’re just eating the disgusting scent instead. He could’ve gone down here alone, but the creatures don’t react to him the way that they do to others, and he wants to gauge their reactions in full, so that he might be able to figure out what could’ve changed to stop them from emitting the pull.

When you’d walked through this corridor before, it had felt much shorter than it does now, even though you’d walked much slower then. Which leaves you wondering just what the pull had done to your brain in those few minutes that you’d been under its influence. You forget all about that, though, when you eventually round the corner at the end of the corridor and see the cages once more.

“Oh, god…”

This time it’s Oberyn who breathes the words, brought to a stop by the sight before him because this is so much worse than either of you could’ve imagined. All the cages are empty. No doors have been broken open, no holes have been dug through the concrete floor, and yet, they’re all gone.

“It’s starting,” he says as he takes a few steps forward, slowly looking from one side to the other. “The darkness is already spreading.”

“Wait, are you saying that… I did this?” you question, already trembling at the thought that it could be true.

That you could’ve freed these monsters without even knowing it. You’d felt their hunger when you’d met them. Their need to consume and destroy life. If this is somehow your fault…

“Valya, listen to me,” he says, coming back to you and putting his hands around your upper arms when he sees you begin to spiral. “Whatever happened here, what matters is that we must find and stop these creatures.”

“But if I freed them, if this fucking darkness inside of me can set them loose even from a prison, how can we hope to stop them?”

“I don’t know, but we must try. That’s as much as we can do, my love.”

He pulls you along, out of the basement and back to his room, where he asks you to get dressed for the cold weather outside. But you don’t start right away. You need a minute. Just a few moments to think and try and understand what’s happening. Because if you are responsible for this then there’s every chance that even if you manage to capture the creatures again, the same thing will happen.

Oberyn had noticed the absence of the pull when he’d passed the basement door on his way to find you over three days ago. Before you’d been attacked and almost died, so if you somehow freed them, it must’ve happened while you were at the Thanksgiving party. But what could’ve triggered it? This darkness you apparently possess. What could’ve drawn it out and allowed these monsters to feed off it?

“I’m not sure that I should go with you,” you say to him, while still just standing there in the middle of his bedroom, afraid of so many things now that you can’t even name them.

He’s been looking through his weapon’s drawer with his back to you, so he hasn’t noticed that you haven’t started getting dressed yet. But he realizes what you’re doing as soon as he hears you speak.

“Whether you caused this or not, I need you to help me find them. And if we do, then that will give us some answers.”

“How?”

“Because if you do possess the qualities of a Darkling, they’ll be drawn to you. Whereas if you don’t, they will merely wish to destroy you.”

“Oh… great.”

“I know that this is frightening, but we need answers. So, please, dress warmly and let us be on our way.”

You don’t argue. He’s right, nothing’s gained from hiding, especially when you don’t even know what you’re really trying to hide from. A few minutes later, you’re back out on the courtyard watching Oberyn transform once more, and this time you’re able to enjoy the sight a bit more, since you’re no longer scared of the beast. Even the weapons he’s chosen to take with him are engulfed by the scales as they emerge. It truly is a mesmerizing thing to see.

But it also reminds you of how far away from yourself you’ve gotten. There’s no real comparison to be made anymore. Nothing about your life has remained the same ever since your own transformation. And as much as you try not to, you can’t help but think about the horror you could, and probably will, unleash if you are a Darkling. These creatures would only be a sidenote if you end up covering the world in death.

He picks you up like before, cradling you to his chest with his front paws. He’d told you earlier that he’d like for you to ride on his shoulders but that he fears the deadly spikes that his hair become whenever he gets agitated or even just startled, so you stick to this form of transportation for now. It makes little difference to you. His broad chest and the comforting thumping of his heart within, soothes your worries and brings your mind back to a lighter tone.

The sound, and the breeze, takes you to fond memories of summer mornings, and all the lovely treks you’ve taken into the seven hills. The rustle of leaves, the rhythmic thumping of your feet, or Casper’s hooves, against the ground, the birds singing and the sun rising along your back. If only life could be that simple again.

He circles outwards from the castle, increasing the circumference of each circle on every turn so that he covers all directions. From this height, you can barely even see the ground much less what might be moving across it, but his eyesight is better than yours. You worry about people, though. Because it’s broad daylight and anyone that looks up could spot his large form against the cloudless sky. Which does tell you something about the urgency of his need to find these beings and stop them.

It somehow feels like only minutes have passed since you set off, when he suddenly ducks his head and falls into a dive, folding his wings down along his body to enable him to cut through the air like a razor. The wind seems to pass by your mouth so fast that you can’t inhale it, but only a few seconds later it’s already over.

He opens his wings so close to the ground that it takes all his strength to break your fall and land, rather than crash, but it’s still a rough touchdown after only three powerful pushes of his wings. And the moment you’re down, he drops you and leaps after something that scurries off through the streets.

You never have a chance to land on your feet after he releases you, because he does it when he’s already moving away from you, so by the time you’ve gotten up and oriented yourself, both Oberyn and his quarry have disappeared around a corner. That’s when you realize that you’re in a city, somewhere in the outskirts but it must be a bigger city, because the buildings are tightly packed, and the streets are long.

Afraid that he won’t find you again, you don’t move from the spot where the dragon dropped you off, except for leaving the alley where he landed so that you can look up and down the street, which is thankfully not particularly crowded at the moment. He ran off to the north, and you can see a few people staring down that way in what appears to be mild shock, but he probably passed them so quickly that they never managed to get a good look at him, or what he’s chasing.

You keep to the shadows in the corner that leads to the alley while you wait, but it doesn’t take long before something happens. Unfortunately, it’s not what you’d expected, or hoped, would happen. Directly across the street from you there’s another alley which is even narrower than the one you’re waiting by, and from the protective shade of the buildings and waste bins, something strikes at a person passing by.

You only notice it because you were watching the man that got attacked even before it happened, since he was one of those who had likely seen the green streak of scales pass him, and you were checking to see that he wasn’t on his way to alert anyone about it. He’s pulled into the alley so quickly and harshly that he doesn’t manage to even scream in fear, and despite the shadows, you can see what happens to him next.

Another one of the creatures is here, and once it has the poor man in its claws, it rips him to pieces. Literally. You can see the blood spray clear across the entire alley as his arteries are ripped open when the monster tears him in half, from his right arm down to his left hip. His organs spill out over the ground and then the fucking thing picks up his heart and gulps it down in one big mouthful, before just leaving the rest of him there for the rats and crows to feast on.

You’re too scared to do anything. You just stand there and stare in absolute shock, because what can you do? What can you ever hope to do against something like that? For your safety, and your partner’s, you don’t carry a mobile phone anymore, but there’s a payphone halfway down the block, next to a bus stop, and you don’t need money to be able to call the emergency services.

Slowly, hindered by some form of haze that seems to cloud your mind, you walk towards the phone, picking it up without a clue of what you’re gonna say to whoever picks up at the other end, but dialing the emergency number anyway. The responding voice is soft and warm. A woman, middle-aged by the sound of it, practiced and at ease with her task. She asks if you need assistance, and when you don’t reply, she asks if you’re hurt.

“No…” you finally manage to say. “No, not me. I need… There’s a man in the alley. He’s been killed…”

“Where are you, miss?” the operator asks, and you realize that you have no idea what city you’re even calling from.

“Uh… I don’t know where I am. What city is this?”

“You’re in Chicago, miss. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just… a little shocked. I saw it happen. I saw him get torn apart,” you explain while trying to expel the images from your mind, entirely without success.

“Are you with the man now?”

“No, I’m across the street and a little further down the block, this was the nearest phone.”

“Okay, can you see any street signs?” she asks, and you suddenly feel stupid.

There are signs fully visible on every cross-street. Apologizing, you give her the names and she starts a new line of inquiries, focusing more on the victim now.

“You said that the man was torn apart, what did you mean by that?”

“I mean literally. He’s in at least two pieces. And I think the…” you pause, looking for a suitable way to address the thing responsible.

You simply can’t call it a man, but you also can’t call it a thing without spurring the operator into even more questions that you can’t answer.

“…assailant,” you finally settle on, “ate his heart.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say that the person who did this ate the man’s heart?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply, stifling the urge to add that it wasn’t a god damned person who did this.

“Is the assailant still on the premises?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay. I’m gonna need you to remain where you are until emergency services arrive. What’s your name, miss?”

You can’t stay there because you don’t have time for the police to question you, and you can’t give her your name because that would just complicate things so much more. So, you drop the phone without ending the call, letting it dangle while you walk away, back into the alley where Oberyn had dropped you off, moving far enough away that no one investigating the murder will be able to spot you.

It doesn’t take long before you hear the sirens, but just as the vehicles begin to arrive, the thing re-emerges from the shadows of that alley. From your hiding spot less than two hundred yards away, you see the police and ambulance personnel step out of their vehicles, the former shielding the latter in case the assailant is still there, and head towards the alley, leaving you with a terrible dilemma.

If you try to warn them, you’ll put yourself in danger, and potentially increase the risk to their lives by whatever darkness it is that you might possess. But if you remain hidden and say nothing, they’ll definitely be killed. You don’t know that you could live with the cowardice of not even trying to warn them, so you set off running towards them, screaming as loud as you can.

“NO! Don’t go in there! It’s still there, it’ll kill you!!”

They react, turning to see who’s yelling at them, and that’s when the creature strikes. The two policemen have their weapons drawn, and when the thing takes down one of the paramedics, tearing the young man to shreds in a matter of seconds, they both try to shoot it. Unfortunately, it moves too fast for the bullets to find their mark, and within moments, the policemen are meeting the same fate.

By the time you’ve run the two hundred yards to reach them, all four of them are dead, and the monster is working on ripping their bodies apart just for the fun of it. It doesn’t eat anything from them this time, so the heart must’ve just been a random act of destruction, rather than some compulsory ritual or feeding requirement. None of the creatures in those cages had been fed anything for years, so clearly, they don’t actually need to eat to survive. Consumption must serve some other purpose for them.

It stops tearing at the bodies as you reach the street, refocusing on you instead, and you freeze to the spot just as more sirens can be heard approaching. In the bright daylight, it somehow looks even worse than it had in the sparse lighting of the basement. Its sickly broken skin and black oozing blood seeping out of every crack, its broken bones poking out at odd angles throughout its crouched form. Not quite walking on all fours, but so deformed that its original human shape can no longer be discerned.

You stand there, as if locked together with the thing, neither of you moving an inch while the additional emergency vehicles get closer. And when they reach your odd little standoff and screech to a halt, the creature finally breaks eye-contact with you. It appears almost enraged by the metal and plastic cars that stand between it and its prey and attacks the newly arrived firetruck with a fury unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

Mere seconds is all it takes before its carved its way through one of the doors and is inside the cabin, after which nothing but blood can be seen inside. Two of the firemen manage to get out before it reaches them, but then it pauses its efforts to kill the ones its already gotten started on, so that it can go after those that escaped its clutches.

Evil, malicious beings, with no purpose save for destruction and pain. That’s how Oberyn had described them, and that is exactly what you’re seeing.

“Stop…” you whisper, unable to get your voice to cooperate while you watch the monster finish with the firemen and then set after the second pair of policemen, who like their coworkers have opted to try and shoot the thing rather than just flee.

This can’t be your doing. You can’t be the one that set this in motion, you could never live with that if it turns out to be true.

“STOP!” you roar at the creature just before it reaches the desperate policemen, who have now taken refuge in their car, even though they’ve seen that thin metal doesn’t keep it out.

Amazingly, unbelievably, it does stop at your command. For one fraction of a second, time seems to slow as the thing halts and turns its head to glare at you. The moment ends, however, when the giant green dragon crashes through the corner of a building further down the street, while in pursuit of the other creature.

And that’s when everything goes horribly wrong.

Part 8

The Ten Spirits of the World Air - Forest - Water - Stone - Night - Autumn - Winter - Spring - Summer.

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