my short stories

I've always been passionate about writing, so here are a few stories I've written for ya'll

[ravenna-reid]

MASTERLIST

Jason Todd

Jonathan Crane

Benjamin Pointdexter

Josh Washington

Aerion Targaryen

Aemond Targayren

JD (Heathers)

Zuko

Leon Kennedy

Five Hargreeves

[ravenna-reid]

𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩

─── ⋆ ⋅ ࣪⌖. ࣪⋆ ───

The deep evening sun made himself known. Peeking through any gap he could find and draping himself across your quiet bedroom. Your ruffled bed and the empty space beside you.

You always slept funny, especially when you were so riddled with exhaustion you simply fell onto the bed and found comfort in whatever sleeping position your body shifted into.

The early morning birds weren't even up yet when you came home. Having been out late the night prior, sleep had come and knocked you out as soon as you pressed into your mattress.

You almost slept through the entirety of the day.

Dex would have been happier if you had've.

He hadn't been there when you came back home, and though he was home now, you had to leave soon.

Your eyelids drew themselves open despite the leftover exhaustion that still weighed upon them.

The orange sunlight streamed gently across your face.

Blinking the sleep away, you finally moved to sit up-

You screwed your face up at the movement. At the deep ache that rippled from the side of your neck, branching out across your shoulder and down your back.

A huff left you as you gingerly moved into a sitting position. The blankets fell and bunched around you.

You raised your left arm, that shoulder protesting against the motion as you began to rotate it.

The bathroom door behind you faintly clicked open. Soft footsteps padded across the carpet.

The mattress dipped as Dex sunk down on the bed behind you, one hand moving to your waist, the other moving to grab the arm you were circling, his hair damp, breath lamented with mint, and skin kissed by cologne.

Holding you steady by the waist, he tightened his hold on your arm and slowly moved it behind you, stretching out the muscles. You closed one eye as he did so, the pain coming but eventually numbing too.

"Do you have time for a hot shower?" He asked quietly. You shook your head.

After holding your arm back for a beat, Dex released it, moving his hands to knead the knots in your shoulder and back.

The relief was sweet. Even the quick soreness from the press of his hands was too. His touch almost lulled you back to sleep.

"I was gonna move you, but I didn't wanna wake you." His voice trailed off into a whisper, his breath brushing your ear as he spoke.

You turned your head a little to meet him halfway, jaw brushing against jaw.

On the other side of the room, you caught sight of his uniform as it hung across the chair by the desk. It was stained with dried blood. Scuffed at the knees.

You wondered what he had been doing whilst you were gone. Whilst you were asleep.

Did it matter if he held and touched you so gently, you asked yourself.

You found yourself asking that often.

The pain seemed to ebb, and you were able to move without wincing now. You turned to face Dex, and he settled a little further into the mattress so he could be closer.

His head lowered, eyes searching your tired gaze. A small smirk played on his lips as he watched you, "Do you have to go out tonight?" He asked.

He could barely fight the urge - all he wanted was to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you back into bed. He wanted to hold you and keep you there.

Right where he could see you. Right where you were pressed against him.

If Dex could crawl under your skin, he probably would.

"Yeah... I have to go." You gave him a weak smile. "It's almost over."

He didn't return the smile. "Is it?"

Lazily, you nodded in response. Then slipped out of bed to change before he could change your mind.

[ravenna-reid]

Dex watching you laugh with another guy and waiting until you get home until he kisses you stupid and completely melts into you.

Thing is he’s doing everything he can that will make you say his name. Not the other guys name - his. And he won’t stop until you do

PLEASE SOMEONE WRITE THIS FOR ME I BEGGG

[b4mbiseyes]

Hot stuff with Dex

[ravenna-reid]

BENJAMIN POINTDEXTER

INTERLUDE

Part One

Part Two

˖・. ݁

Stretch

[ravenna-reid]

interlude

benjamin pointdexter x forced bride reader

tw; gore, violence

⊹‧ ˚᭝ ♡ ՟ ˚⊹

Your glare could wither roses, despite it being neatly tucked behind the intricate lace veil you donned.

Your posture was relaxed, bored in a sense, the bouquet of genetically altered roses slumping over unenthusiastically in your hold. They were nearly as big as your head. It was almost clown-like.

You glanced across at your fiancé. Your soon to be husband.

Tattoos painted up the side of his neck, a hickey you never gave hidden just beneath his collar. His tuxedo was far too elaborate for a wedding. His hair far too greasy. His eyes far too dark and empty.

Dread pooled in your stomach, low and subtle, numbing with each day that passed, because what could you really do about it all?

Your soft huff blew gently against your veil.

Then he moved to pull the thin lace back over your head.

He ignored your deadpan expression. You lifted your bouquet back up.

Everyone was settled in their seats for the midsummer wedding. The wedding officiant, with his black tuxedo and slim glasses, began speaking nonsense you didn't absorb.

And then the two guards stationed at the entrance suddenly dropped like bags of cash.

The room instantly fell silent.

Something was said—or perhaps it was laughter—that echoed down the vast hall beyond the large doors.

You glanced at your family as they turned to watch the entrance doors in confusion. Murmurs laced the air and seats shifted against the floors.

Your partner turned to his men, a deep frown contorting his features as he began barking questions and orders at them. One of the men drew a gun from inside his blazer.

Then something slim buried itself into his throat - dead in the centre. Quick as a lashing.

The room erupted with chaos.

The dark figure finally approached; his walk more of a steady, confident stride. His shoulders broad, face masked, and aim lethal.

A precision that could not be replicated or understood.

It hooked your attention. You were but a fish biting the bait.

A guard was quick to grab a nearby candelabra and swing. The man dodged it and easily... neutralised the guard.

He bounced his own weapons off of his surroundings, forcing them to rebound back into the men fighting back.

One of the remaining groomsmen, with his weapon in hold and shoulder shielding your fiancé, breathed the name in fearsome realisation.

"It's Bullseye."

The masked man gave a smile.

Guests filed out of the room through the grand doors, shrieks and outcries leaving them as they ran. It seemed the man was letting them go.

They weren't his targets.

Another groomsmen was hit, falling to the floor like cement before he could even put up a fight.

Your hands clung to your bouquet as you slowly side-stepped - moving to your left as Bullseye made his way to the right of the room, working through each and every person that tried to stop him.

Your eyes clung to him like gunpowder. The same way the smell of roses clung to everything within the room - before the metallic scent of blood began to dominate.

People slipped on the marble floors. Tripped over bodies.

Dexter sensed the presence, its weight strange and immense, especially in such a situation. So after wrapping a groomsmen's belt around their own neck, he looked back over his shoulder at you.

It was something from a painting.

You stood at the precipice of the small marble stage; dipped in a soft white, a veil of lace hugging your frame from behind. Roses still in hand as they hung by your side, their large blossoms facing the floor.

Blood speckled the ends of your dress like rubies. He almost felt bad, until he saw the intrigue that lingered on your face. The soft smirk that tugged at your lips as you watched him and his ways.

Dex's whole body short-circuited.

All you could do was stand and stare in return.

Your partner, however, had other plans. Especially once it dawned on him who was here, hunting them all down.

Especially once he realised his men were dropping like flies, one by one.

He grabbed at you, desperation heavy in his actions as he gripped onto your arms and tried to pull you in front of him for protection.

Disgust riddled you.

You eventually managed to shove him off and move back, brows raised in mock amusement and cringe as you watched the man you were betrothed to beg and whine to Bullseye like a squealing piglet.

He made a sharp turn and cowered before Dex, bringing his hands together as empty promises left his lips.

But Dex didn't care, and he had just watched the entire thing - how his target tried to use his own bride for protection.

Dex moved to where the four tier cake stood, surrounded by more elaborate arrangements of large flowers, all colours of the sunset.

Your fiancé took the moment to sprint to the edge of the stage, eager to gun for the doors whilst he had the chance.

Before he could even get down, a low whistle sounded through the air, and the cake knife sunk into his chest.

You turned your head a little, and a loud thud echoed as your fiancé fell down to the floor.

An odd stillness filled the warm, evening air.

The carnage had finally come to an end as most were already gone, and the rest dead. All there was now was a simmering kind of silence. A settling of chaos. An interlude.

Dex finally turned to face his body towards you, chest heaving.

"Most brides would have fled." He frowned, his breathing heavy as he considered you with a questioning smirk. "Were you hoping I'd miss you?"

"I knew you weren't aiming for me," you replied, a subtle, deep breath leaving you as you took in your surroundings, but you didn't appear too fazed.

Dex considered this, then vaguely gestured to your fiancé's body as it laid halfway between both of you. "You knew what he was then?"

A dealer. Abuser. Scourge of society.

"Of course I knew. I was being forced to marry him against my will," Your brows raised as you gave an innocent shrug, "Now I don't have to worry about the honeymoon."

Your words seemed to unsettle Dex once he realised what you meant. He watched you for a beat, like he was trying to unpick each stitch in a tapestry without ruining it.

He didn't care for how long he was watching you. You wished you could remove that mask.

Breaking the tension - only a little - you carefully stepped down, the thick, silky fabrics of your skirts swaying with each movement. You halted your foot mid-air when you saw a body below, and stretched it out to step down over them.

Walking back down the aisle, you turned to see those fallen behind you, including the man you were forced to marry.

Sweet relief swirled within you.

Dex almost straightened when you turned back around, heading towards him as you slipped a single rose from your bouquet.

You held it out to him, and you held it like a gift.

Small drops of blood coated its stem, but your hands didn't shake. "A thank-you of sorts."

He almost snickered at it, at you - but not because it was funny, because he was perplexed.

He eyed it like it was a weapon before looking back up at you. "You mean that?"

Up close, you had a sort of quiet confidence. An unsettling elegance but genuine softness. Something lingered beneath. Something he felt he wouldn't mind digging into.

You hummed your response, 'Mhm,' and he snapped out of it.

Dex lowered his head a little as you moved past him. He caught the vague scent of your perfume. The gentle click of your heels against the marble.

But then your steps slowed. He glanced back. Gingerly, you turned a little too, looking at him in a way that was so soft and inviting. Your gaze and subtle frown almost asking, 'Shouldn't you be leaving now too?'

The police would surely be on their way.

The masked man only stared at first, but then Dex blinked, and then he began to follow behind you.

A moth lulled to a light it had never seen before.

[leonsthiccbooty]

a/n: this is my first ever dex fic🤓 i used to write fics on the orange app about other fictional men but ive been sooooo into daredevil recently and dex is my current fixation. pretty sure my writing is trash. god i love desperate pathetic men. and dex is just that. soooo whoever reads this, enjoy🩷 oh and feedback is always welcome.

pairing: pathetic needy mentally ill dex x reader

summary: poor dex crashes out thinking you've left him </3

themes/warnings: suggestive, yearning, just straight up desperate/needy/pathetic dex, self-harm (dex hits himself, makes himself bleed a little)

The sunlight filters through the blinds, cascading small slits of light onto your face. Your eyes peek open at the warmth creeping up your cheeks. You turn your face slightly. 7:00 am.

A constricting arm around your waist encloses your body. You're barely able to breathe with the vice like grip it's got on you. It feels like a large teddy bear is hugging you from behind, although it's not just any teddy bear.

It's your boyfriend, Benjamin Poindexter. His soft snores are muffled by the pillow his face is smushed into and his finger tips are slightly digging into the skin of your belly. It's not unusual for him to be on edge, even while sleeping. Even when you think he's knocked out cold, he's still half awake, listening for any kind of possible threat. Waking periodically to scan the room for any anomalies. Listening for your steady breathing to guide his own breathing pattern.

You roll over in his grasp. His face is barely illuminated by the bright sun as you're partially blocking it from hitting him directly. Mornings like these are what you live for. When both of you have the day off, sleeping in together. You love waking up before him and just taking in the sight. Seeing those lines of frustration and anxiety between his eyebrows disappear. The way his lips are slightly parted as he breathes deeply. The cute twitch his nose does when he's inside a dream.

You think what could he be dreaming about? Work? You? Something fun?

He's never told you. And you don't ask. He doesn't like to be questioned. You understand that. He already has enough on his plate as it is.

As the sun continues to rise, you decide you want to do something nice for dex. Maybe make him some coffee, wash his hair after, maybe even give him a scalp massage. Trying to pry his arm away from your torso is completely useless. He's way too strong for you. So instead, you lightly scratch your finger nail under his nose. He twitches, but doesn't budge. You do it again. Finally, he releases you from his bear hug and uses his finger to scratch under his nose. Unfortunately, this wakes him up.

His eyes barely open, "Morning baby", he yawns out.

"Hi", you say with a kiss to his nose.

All your efforts to escape are put to rest as he pulls you back into his arms again, caging you in for good. He buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply as his warm hands massage your waist. He feels you wiggling in his grip slightly and his body goes tense.

"What's wrong?", he asks.

"Nothing babe. I just wanted to go grab some coffee", you tell him.

Immediately his grip on you tightens.

"I'll go out and buy you some", he counters.

"Baby-no. I want to make it for us. Just....you stay here", you argue back.

"Why?", he automatically questions.

"Because I want to take care of you today. Go back to sleep my love. I'll come get you when it's ready", you kiss his forehead and he's staring at you like you've just killed his entire bloodline.

"You're leaving?"

"Dex...I'm not leaving. I'm just going to make some coffee. It's okay", you reassure him while pushing a few stray hairs away from his face.

You see his adam's apple bob up and down as he stares at you questioningly.

"Hurry back", he says. With that he finally releases his death grip on you and you slip from his arms. The second you're away from him, he feels cold. Doesn't matter if he's got the covers upto his chin, he needs you like he needs oxygen. His chest goes tight and suddenly he's thinking of all the reasons you could leave him.

1: He's literally bullseye. The armed and dangerously skilled psychopathic killer.

2: He stalked you for 5 months before he even spoke to you. Knew every little detail about your life. Why are you with him?

3: No one has ever wanted him. He's a defective human being, if you can even call him that. He's not right in the head. At least that's all he's ever been told. He's an outlier. No one has ever accepted him the way that he is. Always forced to fit in, to be normal.

He can think of a dozen more minuscule reasons for you to be out the door in seconds. He thinks, why haven't you done that yet? Aren't you scared? Knowing about who he is, what he's done. Doesn't it terrify you? Why aren't you running as far as you possibly can? It doesn't make sense to him. What he possibly could have done in a past life to ever deserve the love and kindness you willingly give to him.

He watches as you slip into some sweat pants and one of his old fbi hoodies.

"Promise you'll come back", he says. You can see his eyes becoming glassy and the way his fingers dig into the sheets.

"I promise, baby. Get some rest", you pad over to the bedside and lean over, giving him one last kiss before heading to the kitchen.

It seems silly. Him panicking from you being in the next room over. But this is normal for him. His separation anxiety with you is no joke. It actually physically pains him to be apart from you. And you have no problem with being his reassurance.

As you dig through the kitchen cabinets, you're disappointed to find that you've ran out of coffee grounds.

Damnit. You think to yourself.

Only thing for you to do is make a trip to the store to grab some. You put on your tennis shoes and quietly close the door behind you.

It's been too long. He thinks.

What could possibly take you so long to brew some coffee? The worry starts to stir inside of him and bile creeps into his throat. Are you hurt? Did you slip and fall? Has someone taken you? Did you actually...leave?

Dex throws the sheets off of his body that is now drenched in a cold sweat. He doesn't bother to put on pants or a shirt, he's in his own home that is. Standing only in a pair of black boxers, he throws open the bedroom door expecting to see you in his direct line of sight. Only he's met with a cold and empty apartment. No sound of you humming, no coffee maker buzzing, just nothing.

His blood runs cold. This is it, he thinks. The day has finally come that you've left. You came to your senses and realized how fucked in the head he is. How dangerous and pathetic he is. That he's a freak who will never be capable of finding a real connection with anyone. He'll be alone forever. Stuck listening to the tapes of Dr. Mercer to keep him grounded. Endlessly searching for his North Star.

He can already picture you with a new man, smiling as he makes you breakfast. Wearing that pretty red dress he likes with the slit up the side, on a date with a "normal" man. Seeing you laugh as he charismatically flirts with you. Not like Dex ever could. No, all Dex could do the first time speaking with you was stutter after every third word he said. Like some little kid that got caught in a lie. He can see you having a family. A normal life with a normal man.

His skin feels itchy and his vision starts to go black around the edges. His legs feel like jello beneath his bodyweight and he stumbles towards the kitchen counter.

"No..."

He looks around at anything. For anything. Any sign of you. A sign that you're still here and he's just imagining things.

"No."

His fingernails dig into his palm as blood trickles down his knuckles. He brings his fist upto his head, pounding it into his skull repeatedly.

"No, no, no, NO NO NO-", he screams over and over as he hits himself. Dex feels the room swaying slightly as his arm falls to his side. He looks around for the object closest to him, which happens to be his coffee mug that you set on the counter. He chucks it at the wall with all his force, creating a hole in the wall. He looks at it with disgust. Another reason for you to leave—his violent outbursts. He can never control his emotions, his reactions. He just does things as he feels.

His eyes fall to the shattered ceramic on the floor. Regret instantly hits him straight in the chest. He feels a dozen knife's ripping his heart open as he stares at the mess he's made. You bought that mug for him. It was a gift. From you. His North Star. His Angel. How could he do this? If you haven't already left him, you'll definitely leave him now.

He falls to his knees, scrambling to gather the broken pieces of a good memory. The jagged edges only slice up his fingers. He couldn't care less about it. He picks up all the pieces and places them on the counter.

His whole body is trembling as his back slides down the fridge. The metal feels cool on his skin. A nice contrast to the hot itchiness he's feeling right now. His butt hits the ground and his knees are drawn to his chest. He wraps his arms around his legs as he attempts to coddle himself.

It's okay, anyone with a decent heart will do. You just need a North Star to guide you.

Dr Mercers words ring through his ears. He recites her words over and over and over. Hoping it will do something, anything to bring him back to reality. He fails miserably.

The front door clicks. Through the buzzing noise, he hears someone humming. Soft footsteps entering the apartment. The door clicks once more. His eyes snap open and he's met with the sight of you still wearing his clothes. Only now you hold a plastic bag in your hand and you've got your shoes on.

You stop in your tracks as soon as you turn and are met with the sight in front of you. The broken mug, the new hole in the wall, your 90% naked boyfriend curled up in a ball on the floor with blood stained hands. He's visibly shaking. Chest heaving up and down as his hands paw at his chest like he can't breathe.

The bag drops from your grasp and you're frozen for a few seconds, eyes scanning around the room.

Without second thought, you run to him, crouching down in front of him so he can see you.

"Dex? What the fuck happened?"

His eyes are looking at you but he's not looking at you. He's looking through you. You place your hands on his cheeks, your thumbs rub soothing circles under his eyes.

"Dex baby look at me- what happened?", you're scrambling for words, searching his face for any kind of reaction. He looks up at you as his lips tremble, eyes overflowing with tears.

"You left me."

He really looks at you for the first time. He questions whether this is reality or if he's passed out and you're just another dream. Most night he dreams of you. Not good ones. Usually you're taken and killed. He's forced to watch and unable to save you. Or you tell him the truth. That he's a crazed murderer and you want nothing to do with him. His worst fears become a reality when he sleeps. If this is a dream, it's the first pleasant dream he's ever had about you.

"Why'd you come back?"

You let out a small laugh with no humor behind it.

"Dex what the fuck are you saying? I left for 10 minutes to buy coffee! We ran out!", you tell him.

You can see him start to dissociate again. His eyes drift towards the broken mug again and without another second, you throw your arms around him and pull him into an embrace. Your chin lays atop his head as you stroke the hair down the back of his neck.

"Dex- I'd never leave you. You know that."

You're crying now. Seeing what he's done to himself. The damage he's caused. The state that he's got himself into. It's tragic. His arms slowly but surely make their way up and around you. His sniffles are muffled by your skin and his tears run down your neck.

"I'm sorry- fuck i'm so sorry. Please don't cry", he pleads. His hands paw up and down your back as he shakes in your arms. You lower yourself further onto the ground, pushing your face into his shoulder.

This has only happened one other time before. When you left early for work and he somehow didn't wake up until after you left. He scoured the city searching for you until he burst into your job mid-panic attack. He fell to his knees, relief crashing over his body as he finally saw you. Safe and alive.

You know it's not his fault. He's had a tough life ever since he was a child. You want nothing more than to make him feel loved. To make him feel like he has a reason to live. To give him a good life, lead him towards the good side and not the bad side. He wants to be good, he really does. But when you suddenly disappear, all of the progress he's made caves in on itself and he loses it.

Eventually, he begrudgingly pulls away.

"I-I'm sorry...for-", he looks around at the mess he made, "for this."

"Shhh baby don't be sorry. We can fix it", you assure him. You're sniffling and patting his head like he's a good dog.

He looks down at the floor like he's in trouble. "I broke the mug you got me...", he barely whispers it.

Your eyes trail over to the counter where the broken pieces lay. It does hurt a little bit because you went through a lot of trouble to get that mug but in this moment, nothing matters more than Dex.

"I saw. It's okay I'll get you another one. First, let's stand up, yeah? My legs are starting to cramp", you tell him.

"Fuck- i'm sorry. Here," he grabs your hands and weakly stands up with you. With the emotional torment he just put himself through, his body feels like he just ran a marathon and his knees wobble beneath him. You catch him with an arm around his lower back.

"Let's get you patched up", you tell him. He gives you a small nod and you guide him over to the couch. He sits first. "Wait here. I'm getting the first aid kit", you urge him to wait patiently.

You return after 30 seconds with some rubbing alcohol and bandages. He sits there like a good patient while you play doctor and clean up/bandage his fingers and knuckles.

"There. All better", you kiss his finger tips, setting his hands back down beside him. His breathing has evened out by now and he has stopped shaking. For the most part.

"So...you left to buy coffee?"

You move closer to him, lowering yourself down onto the couch beside him.

"Yes. I saw that we had none. How was I supposed to make you coffee?"

He brings his newly bandaged hand up-to his face, rubbing his forehead.

"You tell me! and I go out and buy it. Or at least tell me where you're going", he looks away out of guilt.

You shake your head and thread your fingers through his slightly greying hair, gently scratching his scalp. His hand falls from his face as you see him become slightly less stiff.

"Well then that defeats the purpose doesn't it? I wanted to treat you today, Dex. Not the other way around", you tell him.

"But-" you interrupt him.

"No buts. You wake up most morning and make me breakfast and coffee. Why can't i do the same for you sometimes?"

He looks to the side. Your hand cups his jaw, guiding his sights back to your face. "Hm?", you prod.

"I-I don't know. I don't like being away from you. I like doing things for you. Seeing you happy...it- it gives me a sense of fulfillment."

You smile and pinch his cheek, giving it a soft squeeze.

"Same for me, Dex. Seeing you happy makes me happy", you agree.

He scoffs and places his hands knees.

"You wanna make me happy?"

You nod, nudging your nose against his.

"Stay by my side forever. Don't ever leave me. You have to promise."

"Dex I never left you in the first pla-", he cuts you off.

"Promise. Me." His grip on your knee is a little rough but you don't mind.

You take a deep breath and look into his eyes.

"I promise you, Dex. I'm with you forever. I love you...".

Gravity pulls him towards you and his forehead rests against yours. "I love you so much it hurts me. I don't know how to live if you're not in my life", his eyes begin to water again.

His lips barely graze against yours. His breathing is ragged, his hands are still on your knees. You lean in and press your mouth onto his. Interlocking your lips together. It's not a hot and bothered makeout, nor is it a quick peck. You just allow your lips to simply rest against his for a few moments, enjoying the intimacy of it. You pull away first and you feel him chase you.

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, pulling your face close again. "A little bit more...please-", he begs you.

You indulge in his desires for only a moment, pressing your lips to his once again. This time, he kisses you like a starved man. Slow and sensual, all tongue and no teeth. His hand travels up your thigh while his other hand tilts your head to allow better access inside your mouth. You place your hand on top of his, stopping it from going further up.

Pulling away with a bite to his bottom lip, you grin. "Not so fast Mr. Poindexter", you bring your index finger up-to his lips to silence him.

"I told you I wanted to make you coffee", you explain.

"Baby plea-", your finger digs into his lips. You can tell he likes it by the way his breath hitches.

"Be a good boy, and go take a shower. Put on some clean clothes and wait for me in the bedroom."

His jaw goes slack as he nods, "Yes ma'am".

"Good. Maybe after, I might give you a reward for behaving so well".

With that, you stand up and go to retrieve the bag of coffee you bought. He stares at you from the couch, watching every movement with precision.

"Do I need to repeat myself?", your voice breaks his thoughts.

"Uh- no, no. I'm going." He stands up and makes his way into the bathroom, though his eyes never leave your frame until he has closed the door behind himself.

If there's one thing that will calm him down and make him feel normal again, it's order. Being guided on what to do. The poor man loves it when you bark orders at him.

[ravenna-reid]

improper

Aerion and a little blood play? nothing too crazy

You had cut the palm of your hand.

When Aerion walked into your chambers that night, catching sight of you upon a chair, staunching it as blood streaked your wrist, his steps only hesitated for a moment before he continued walking across the room.

"Why didn't you send for the maester?" He unclasped his sword from his hip, tossing it onto your bed.

You gently shook your head, pressing the cloth to the still bleeding wound. The ivory fabric was beginning to turn wholly crimson.

"It's not so bad." You replied. The cut only ran down your palm, and though deep, the bleeding was a bit dramatic. You cleaned up the mess on your wrist so that it didn't look as bad anymore.

Aerion began to stalk closer; head tilting and firelight shifting across his hair. "Let me see."

You pulled the cloth back and angled your palm up towards him. When his fingers wrapped around your wrist and pulled, you stood.

After he gave an inspection - a gesture, that may have seemed kind, but you wondered if it was mocking - his eyes flickered up to yours.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not really." You shook your head again, eyeing the cut. Then you looked back at him. "Do you think I should call the maester?"

"When your prince husband is here now?" He asked, gaze heavy and daring you to look away.

You gave no answer.

His hold moved from your wrist to the bottom of your hand. Aerion slid his thumb across the blood that stained your skin.

Something stirred in your chest. Something like warning and rebuff and a strange, dark kind of want.

You frowned at the feeling. At his action and what it was doing within you.

"Aerion," your voice came out less forthright than you intended. It was breathy and low. He ignored it.

Aerion fingers played with your own. But then he grabbed your wrist again, his grip warm and sure.

You blinked as he made you step closer.

Aerion watched you with the ghost of a smirk. "Let me be the one to heal you."

He pressed his lips flush against the cut on your palm, moving them against your skin to get as close as he could.

The shock cancelled out any slither of pain it caused. Blood coated his lips, around his lips.

And he kept them there, even now as he directed his stare back to you.

Did Aerion mean well? Did he meant to comfort and aid in his own distorted way?

Maybe.

Or maybe he meant to unsettle you a little too. Snake under your skin and crawl down your spine.

Possess and claim and soothe in a primal way only a dragon could.

His eyes clung to the way yours widened, drinking in the sight and the startled expression that melted across your face. They clung to the way your lips parted and chest rose as you stared back at him.

Aerion tugged you closer.

You blinked the haze away, "Aerion, this is improper-" your argument died on your tongue, his murmur cutting you off.

"And yet your eyes cling to my mouth in such a way." His breath brushed your skin, the metallic scent faint.

His tongue ran across his bottom lip. "It's no Targaryen blood, but it will be the blood of a King one day." His voice dropped as he came closer, his blood-coated lips inches from yours. "The blood of my wife."

[ravenna-reid]

What He’d Done (pt.2)

aemond targaryen x a lady in waiting

: you have been avoiding Aemond after the incident with Lucerys, until he finally finds you.

Part One ˚ ₊ ˚ ˖ ˚

Whispers of war hung low and too close to home. 

The Red Keep was wrought with tension as council members, Alicent, and the Usurper scrambled together in preparation of a retaliation from team black. 

The Hand and Dowager Queen were clearly horrified by Aemond’s actions in Storm’s End. 

King Aegon seemed proud that his brother was now a Kinslayer. 

Helaena couldn’t stop speaking of rats. 

It was early morning when you were tending to her silvery hair. Combing the long, glossy strands before you would begin plaiting them in intricate styles. 

Her large wooden doors opened. A member of the Kingsguard entered and bowed. 

“Prince Aemond, your grace.”

A dull ache stirred in your chest. 

Your fingers stiffened as Helaena turned her head to her brother. It seemed he had been visiting her quite often as of late. 

You glanced to him. His purple gaze already clung to you. 

And it had been like this for days now. 

Aemond was always there. 

He did not become so bold again - but he entered rooms he knew you were in. 

Asked you questions in regard to Helaena just to communicate with you. During meals he searched for you. His arm would brush past yours in the halls before you had even realised he was present. 

He became even more observant, almost anxious in its nature. 

If only you knew the extent to which he watched you to gauge your reactions. 

You secured the last slim plait in place so that Helaena’s hair was beautifully styled. Then, you stepped back and bowed your head. 

“Forgive the interruption, Your Grace, but shall I fetch the green silk you wanted for the moth wings?” you gestured to the embroidery in her lap. “The weavers' guild just brought it up this morning. I can fetch it if you like?"

Her grace blinked a few times, then glanced up at you with her usual softness and gave a warm smile. “Yes, of course. Just beware the rats.”

Helaena always looked at you as though she could see through you. Like she could sense your shift whenever Aemond arrived. Like you were mere glass and she was the only once observing your clarity. 

Her and her brother had that in common. Only he didn’t watch you like he could read your thoughts, he watched you as though he wished to the gods he could. 

With a bow, you turned to do the same towards Aemond.

His eyes followed each and every movement you made, and he did not move as you walked towards the doors, hoping you would at least brush past him as you left. 

You hadn’t seen him for the rest of the day, and that night - after tossing and turning - you finally fell into a deep sleep.  ˚ ₊ ˚ ˖ ˚

The door to the antechamber swung open as heavy footsteps entered the room with haste. 

Initially, you were slow to react - sleep heavy on your mind and eyes. 

You saw the eyepatch before you registered anything else. 

A gloved hand gripped your shoulder. “Do not scream.”

Your body froze, a sleep-ridden frown dusting your features as you watched him. 

Slowly, you sat up, your blankets falling down and bunching at your waist. Your heart continuously thud against your chest like a creature bashing against its cage.

And then your ears tuned into it; the sound of outcries and boots clicking on stone outside the room. 

Something stuttered in your chest. “What has happened-?”

“Are you whole?” Aemond’s voice was a low, breathless demand, his gaze quickly sweeping over your face. 

Another guard yelled in the distance. 

You shook your head, confusion evident on your face. “What-”

“Tell me. Did they touch you?” A stark eagerness mixed with his rage, and you noted how his chest rose and fell, faster than it should. 

He needed an answer, and he needed it fast. 

“N-no…” Your fists bunched into your blankets, “My Prince? What has happened?” Your eyes cut to the door as multitudes of people filed in and out of Heleana’s bedchamber. 

And something grievous weighed in your bones. “Her grace Helaena?” You began moving swiftly; pulling the bedding back to swing your legs over the bed. Aemond stepped closer to stop you. 

“Helaena is with my mother.” His words were short and sharp. A breath escaped him at the realisation that you were unharmed, one that he’d been holding in for too long. 

Still, the events of the night clung to him like death itself. 

Under the dimming candlelight, you caught the look of anguish despite his steady tone. 

“The boy is dead. They took his head.”

You stilled. 

You stilled for a long moment. “What?”

His ruddy cheeks and little hands came to mind. Jaehaerys. 

You felt it rise at the back of your throat and simmer low within your being. How your head spun as you processed what was being said.

You thought you heard a wail come from somewhere. You wondered who it belonged to; Alicent, Helaena, or her little girl. And though thousands of questions filled your mind, your hands moved to cover your face, and you did not utter a word. 

Aemond’s grip was tight albeit grounding, but it began to loosen as he looked down at you. 

A fractured look crossed his features. “They were looking for me.” His voice was but a soft whisper that lingered gently in the cool night air. 

Your hands fell away, and for a sad, fleeting moment, you saw not the Prince, but a boy stranded within a collapsing house and worsening war. 

And now Aemond crouched down a little - slowly, hesitantly, as though he couldn’t possibly will himself not to. 

You willed yourself to not reach for him as your hands trembled. 

His hand moved from your shoulder, lightly down your arm before he rested it just beside your own hand.

Something thick like honey churned between you, and it bled into the horrors of the night that weighed on you both. 

“Y/n… if you had been in the corridor or bedchamber too…”

His slight admission had you stunned. You were stunned, comforted in an uneasy way, and grieving with and for the others. 

Tears pricked your eyes. Aemond lowered his head, his finger just ghosting the side of your hand. 

Then, so sudden it made you flinch, the deafening toll of the castle bells began to ring in warning. They were signalling lockdown. 

Your vision swam again. Your thoughts straying to the little boy and the death he suffered. 

Aemond didn’t move. He only stared at you. 

Then as if shaking off the vulnerability he had just displayed, the prince stood and easily adopted his collected exterior again. It slipped on like silk. “Do not go anywhere.”

With that, he left. 

And this time he was the one to not turn back. 

[ravenna-reid]

Someone sent me a message to let me know Vhagar is a girl in regards to my Aemond series and I accidentally deleted it 😭😭😭

just a thankyou for letting me know!!!

[ravenna-reid]

AEMOND TARGARYEN

What He'd Done

Part Two

˖・. ݁

[ravenna-reid]

What He'd Done

aemond targaryen x a lady in waiting

: you have been avoiding Aemond after the incident with Lucerys, until he finally finds you.

˚ ₊ ˚ ˖ ˚

You did nothing else but rigorously clean and serve the moment you heard what had happened in the midst of the storm on the backs of dragons.

Whispers upon whispers haunted Kings Landing. They stained the halls of the palace and every room you stepped into - whether it was whilst you laid out beautiful gowns in the morning, or when you were drawing a bath for her grace at night.

You couldn’t escape what had been done. You wondered if he felt the same.

Did guilt gnaw away at him for his heinous crime?

You gave a huff as you strode down the hall, fresh folded linens in hand.

Doubt weighed low in your stomach. Aemond would not feel guilt for such a thing. After all, he had wanted his vengeance on young Lucerys for some time.

Ever since the incident with his eye.

You were grateful you had not seen the prince since he returned. Though he lingered within the Red Keep somewhere, he had been out of sight for the past week.

And yet, it was though you could feel him watching, observing, waiting. Your heart hammered with every corner you turned and room you entered in fear he would be there.

On a slow day when the gossip had simmered down and become old news, you had been distant. Walking past knights, courtiers and those who helped the maester. Your eyes grazed past the great columns and changed banners. You were merely stuck in your head and off your guard, your steps echoing against the vast stone floors as you went on.

A flash of silver spun gold to your side. Hair long and straight. It caught your eye.

And there he was - draped in black with his sword at his hip. Limber but sure in his stance. His gaze piercing and unwavering despite the patch that covered one of his eyes.

Your heart leapt into your throat. You barely made eye contact with him, your steps hurrying in hopes that he would believe you did not take notice of him.

But you heard him speak your name behind you, his voice that usual steady, smooth cadence. You did not stop.

You had duties to attend.

You could not look him in the eye.

In two quickened, long strides, he was by your side; his grip firm on your elbow as he steered you into one of the rooms that branched off from the hall.

The door echoed as it closed behind you. You didn’t know where you were, nor did you care.

You still hadn’t turned to look back at him. Once you had entered, Aemond had released your arm, watching as you began to move to the other side of the opulent room.

The tension thickened like mud and burned like dragonfire.

Your hands moved to your hips as a stifled sigh escaped you. You could feel his eyes, heavy as weights as they dragged down your form. As they carefully considered you.

You knew he had been watching. You could always feel it.

“y/n, do not ignore me.” His tone was coated in a soft kind of plea, his words anything other than an order. “I know you've heard-“

“Is it true?” You closed your eyes, remembering your place. “My prince.”

Aemond’s lips thinned at your correction and formality.

But he did not lie to you. “Yes. It’s true.”

Your brows dipped as you bit the inside of your cheek. He let you take in his words. Let them settle over you as you began to draw further away from him.

You remembered little Lucerys from when he, his brothers and the Queen still resided in Kings Landing, with his brown curls and kind words.

Your hair shifted, appearing glossy under the dim light from the windows as you shook your head.

Aemond crept closer, “I wanted to settle the debt I was owed. The rainstorm was vicious that night.”

He was so close behind you now you felt the sheer heat of his body. His slim fingers grazed the skirts of your dress - feather-like and barely there.

You finally turned around. “I know he dealt you terrible pain by wounding your eye and taking your sight, but-“ your hand moved to your stomach. “But young Luke is no more now…” Your words trailed off.

“Lucerys’s own dragon provoked Vhagar. In retaliation, Vhagar went forth despite my order for her to stand down.” Aemond’s eye flickered between yours.

What was it he searching for? Understanding, comfort, or for someone to validate what had happened and why it had happened?

Your eyes closed at the image of it in your head.

And it made him panic. His boots shifted against the tiles.

Aemond lowered his head, his long hair sliding over his shoulder. He tried to get in your line of sight so he would be the first thing you saw once you opened your eyes again.

“I do regret what happened with Luke, y/n.” Your eyes opened, but they were drawn to the floor. His voice dropped lower. “I lost my temper that day. I am sorry for it.”

You looked up at him - gaze steady, searching, and a little fearful. He could sense the words that sat on your tongue. The response you did not wish to voice aloud.

He wanted to pull it from your lips. “Say what you mean.” He whispered.

“I can speak freely, my prince?” The waver in your voice was faint and the resolute in your stare almost worst than your constant use of ‘my prince.’

Could you not address him by name as you did before?

Aemond gave a soft ‘mhm’ in response and waited.

“Do you not believe that others fear what else your temper may do in the future? Accidental or not?”

Aemond’s head tilted to the side. A sudden slow burning sensation rippled through his body. Was it fear? Hurt? Shock?

He could not come to terms with the idea that you viewed him differently now, and yet the prospect of it gripped him by the throat.

“Do you fear me?”

“I fear offending you.” You admitted. The silence stretched out long - something unavoidable and unpleasant. The faint flicker of flames and soft downpour of rain was all that was heard. “I fear that you might want to settle a score with another one day-“

“With you?” He asked.

But you were robbed of words. You didn’t wish to respond, and you hoped he would not push it.

You bowed your head low, “I must return to my duties now, my prince.”

But as you took a step towards the doors, Aemond’s arm shot out so you could not pass.

Your pulse quickened. You both looked at each other.

He meant to ask you to finish your thoughts, but his own thoughts drifted elsewhere. “You have not spoken my name once.”

You blinked. Aemond’s chest rose steadily. “And you did not answer me,” he continued. “Do you believe I would harm you?”

You drew in a slow breath. “I believe your anger blinds you at times… Aemond.”

His jaw tightened, and finally he drew his gaze away from you and directed it to the fireplace, for he could not witness that shift in you much longer.

The ancient building groaned. Shadows from the flames danced across his complexion.

Instinct wanted you to reach out to him.

“I did not intend for Lucerys Velaryon to die.”

His words were weighted, and you believed they rung true.

Regardless, all you did was lower your head, another deep breath escaping you.

“I must go.”

Your voice was soft as the wind. Aemond did not respond for a long moment. His thumb brushed the material on your stomach - just once, and then he lowered his arm.

You exited the room without another word. You didn’t even look back.

˚ ₊ ˚ ˖ ˚

Part two out now ♥︎♥︎♥︎

[ravenna-reid]

IMBUED (pt.2)

Aerion Targaryen x fem!reader

Aerion is meant to be marrying your sister - not letting his attention drift to you...

⊹₊⟡⋆

You were trying on precious jewellery you had brought from home for the wedding.

Around your throat rested a jewelled collar so elaborate it seemed spun from frost. Strands of glittering diamonds cascaded from the top of your throat down across your collarbone and lower like frozen vines, filigreed yellow and white gold framing deep purple and navy blue stones.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, it looked wrong. It felt wrong, the precious metal and stones pressing into your skin. The same necklace your mother often wore when she was alive.

You spread your hand across it as though you mean to tear it from your throat, feeling the cold beneath your fingers.

But you could never break such a thing.

Gently, you unclasped it and slipped it from your neck, securing it back into its case and tucking it beneath the vanity table, substituting the grand piece for a simple slim steel choker and drop amethyst and fang earrings.

There were only five more days until the alliance was sealed and your sister was a Targaryen. The physical distance that would come in between you two was a given you had tried to bury, but you hadn't truly taken it into consideration how you would both be separated on a personal level now.

She would no longer be a Sterling, and you will be the only daughter back home.

A harsh whiny from a horse outside dragged you from your thoughts.

You moved from the vanity table and stood behind the thick, draped curtains, peering out the window at the ordeal that was happening down below.

There Prince Aerion was on his stallion. It seemed he had just come back from who knew where, dressed as though he was anticipating war.

His armour was steely and dark, and when he removed his dragon-esque helm from his head, his frost white hair was slick with sweat and his expression was taught with adrenaline.

A knock on the door.

Derella partially opened it to see you looking back at her, then she swept into the room in a beautiful ivory and and violet gown.

"Good, you're awake." She began.

Your gaze cut to the Targaryen kingsguard now stationed at the door.

Derella didn't seem to mind. You gestured to her purple fabrics running along the floors. "They mimic his strange eyes."

Your sister smiled back at you, "Now, you can't go talking about eyes, can you?"

Your smile tightened. "I suppose not," your glance fell down, then your brows furrowed as you met her gaze. "Have you exchanged gifts yet?"

"Well, father has presented the dowery and other finery to the crown, and Aerion's father reciprocated with his own diplomatic gifts," Derella lounged across your bed, "Whilst Aerion was off somewhere, I was presented to the nobles and ladies of the court. The council members too. One lady gave me a gift," She beamed as she turned her head to show you the ruby hairnet bestowed upon her.

You arched a brow, "I wonder what she meant by it."

Derella hushed you softly, not wanting to know the realities and politics of gift giving within the court.

"You know Aerion and I aren't meant to be acting 'intimately' with one another yet?"

You gave her a long look. "As in?"

"We can only be in each other's presence when guards are present," she gestured to the one at the door.

"Is he so crazy?" You asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Our private conversations are to be held in the gardens for the next few days," she continued on.

"And is that where you will be giving him your... gift." Your stare became a steady one at that.

When you had initially brought this up with her, Derella hadn't taken it so lightly.

"But I already have a gift for him."

"Then give him this one too."

She'd given you that funny look. "Derella," you had shaken your head, "I know you're skeptical about these things, but-"

"It's not that I don't hold the same beliefs, y/n, I am just not from the exact same lineage as-"

"Never the matter," you had waved her off. "Don't you think the man you will have to depend on for the rest of your life should be protected too?"

Come on. You'd heard what they said about those born into the House of the Dragons.

She seemed to understand now, or at least understand where you were coming from. Besides, just because she was to no longer be a Sterling didn't mean she was no longer your little sister. And you had an oath as the eldest to protect her.

Derella followed after you as you quietly moved back to the vanity table, eyeing the guard as you did so.

You pulled a small velvet pouch from your belongings, giving it a little shake before her eyes. She took it and pulled out the gift you had meticulously made for Aerion.

Inside was an elaborately made brooch, carefully decorated with the finest materials and carved with intricate etchings.

Derella looked to you as she turned it, watching the facets gleam against the early sun. The determined, though uncertain, expression on her face was the very same one she had worn when she told her father she would agree to the marriage.

˖⟡ ݁˖· ─

You were on the balcony again, arms lounging across its cool, coarse stone as you watched on.

You had spotted them in the distance a little while ago; Derella walking politely behind him with her hands folded neatly before her. Aerion leisurely walked down the slim path, leading and talking with one of his hands resting upon the hilt of the sword on his hip.

Aerion plucked a small lilac flower and turned to hold it up against the fabrics of her dress, the colours matching beautifully. Then he tossed it back into the garden.

You scoffed at his ways.

Your father appeared beside you, watching the two in the garden as well.

"I hope you are not planning anything my little blade."

"Of course not," you assured, your eyes never straying from Derella and Aerion. "I am merely observing."

"It's not proper," your father raised a brow, though an amused smile was present when you turned to face him. "Spying in such a way."

You both knew he didn't truly care. "Let me be nosey a little while longer, father."

He chuckled, placing a hand on your shoulder before turning to leave you be. Your eyes shifted back to the couple and their two guards in the gardens.

Derella finally stilled, her head lowering and lips shifting into a blossoming smile. Aerion stopped too and circled back, looking carefully at the velvet pouch she pulled from inside her flowing sleeves and held out to him. You wished you could hear what they were saying.

He accepted the pouch, pulling out the glittering brooch in one swift movement. Derella was still talking - explaining something to him as he inspected it.

Aerion looked up at her, an interestingly soft smile dusting his face.

And then his gaze easily found you. Less harsh but still sharp as it honed in on your figure high up on the balcony.

Despite the distance, it was heavy, and you gave him one last stare before turning to leave.

˖⟡ ݁˖· ─

Dinner was a little more ornate that night.

Black banners hung from the stone walls like great flags of pride and honour. The room was larger, the table longer. The food more decorative; from roasted venison and roasted goose and root vegetables, to herb-seasoned potatoes and thick sauces.

Your mouth watered at the sight of it all.

Many nobleman, ladies, and people of the court occupied the space, hands and bellies full with rich wines.

Derella seemed to be the star of the show - and this time, she didn't seem to mind. Though they would watch her fiercely, like a dragon watching its prey, she performed effortlessly - mannerisms elegant and smile charming.

You scanned the crowd. The bustling and rushing deadpanned servants with their trays. The Targaryens and your father conversing at the centre of the High Table. Your father must have already been a little inebriated; his cheeks ruddier than usual as he laughed. Harpists and lute players let their tune lace the heavily scented air.

Aerion was no where to be found. You found that to be quite interesting, for he did seem to love any kind of attention he lulled his way - whether it was good or bad.

So deep in thought, you hadn't even realised Derella was beside you until she grabbed your arm.

"Dear sister," she smiled a tight smile.

"Derella. You looked as though you were enjoying yourself over there."

"I was. You do know how I enjoy such events, especially now that they all seem to be warming up to me quite nicely." Her smile didn't reach her eyes, and she watched you as though you were meant to read her thoughts like literature.

A frown touched your brows. "So what is the matter? Did someone say something?"

"No, it's none of that." She quickly shook her head, "It isn't the courtly matters and finery." Her voice lowered, and it felt as though the entertainers were suddenly determined to make it harder for you to hear.

You leant in, "Ok Derella, so what's the matter?" Your lips thinned, then you asked. "Is it Aerion?"

Your sister's lack of response made your stomach churn. Her hold on your arm tightened. "Do not pick a fight, y/n." She warned, "He has not harmed me. I swear. It's just..."

And just like that, a perfectly fabricated alliance was dwindling before your eyes.

But what was an alliance compared to your sister's wellbeing?

You gently moved her to the side of the room - not so suspiciously that it would draw attention - pretending to examine fine tapestry that hung from the walls. You suddenly pictured your father's reaction to her wanting to no longer go through with the marriage.

"Derella, there are no easy arranged marriages. All brides feel just as you do leading up to their wedding."

"I know, I know," she began. "But Aerion has a fire in him that's alarming to me. Not that I think he would hurt me-"

"You're quite lucky," you reminded her. "Unfortunately, many are harmed by their own husbands."

Derella nodded in agreement. "Yes, but just because he has spared me doesn't mean he is kind." Her voice dropped down to a whisper, "Do you know what he does to those who disrespect him? Not even! All one has to do is look at him funny and he retaliates."

Your eyes narrowed in thought, then blinked. "Is it so bad to put people back in their place sometimes?"

Derella stared back at you, and then she was summoned by one of the older lady's of the court - the jewels on her neck ruby and her dress the same colour.

You didn't want to leave the conversation like this, but your sister merely looked back to you before letting herself be whisked away.

You caught your father's eye from across the room.

˖⟡ ݁˖· ─

You grabbed a small bit of fresh bread with finely sliced meat on top and left the Great Hall, searching for the courtyard for some for air.

A gentle, humid breeze raked through your hair, your heels crunching against the rocks in the courtyard. It was beautiful, of course, much like everything else in Red Keep.

The stars twinkled high tonight, and you wondered if there was someone somewhere far away reading and mapping them out.

The clinking of chains pricked your attention. There ahead of you lied a hunting hound on the ground, his round eyes blinking as he rested his head against his paws.

That was when you noticed the dishevelled man slouching against the wall the hunting hound was chained to. The man saw you too.

Wobbly forward and squinting his eyes to make you out, recognition finally melted across his rugged features. Recognition then also hit you.

It seemed you couldn't get away from the one that had made such a heinous toast on your first night here.

"You." He pointed his finger to you, head bowed and eyes glaring through his heavy-set brows. "You know what the Prince did to me for speaking about your sister?" He mocked, anger in his voice.

"You mean the next Targaryen Queen?" You arched a brow, "I believe he should have done more."

You were disappointed to see the man was still able to walk. Though you had to admit, he did look awful; dried blood in his brow, his right eye black and swollen and jaw bruised.

He staggered forward with vigorous momentum, and it made adrenaline race through your veins. Your body stiffened, readying itself. Then your eyes cut to the hound as its ears shot up from the man's movement. It appeared he was moving dangerously close to it.

"You've got a smart fucking mouth for a lady. Maybe you are just a bitch after all."

Something strange gleamed across your eyes. "Maybe." Your whisper was soft, and though your response and eyes took him aback, it would not deter a man drunk on wine, insecurity and rage.

You shifted to the side, hoping he would follow and consequently move closer to the dog he hadn't yet noticed. "So, what? Are you going to continue bitching about it?" You taunted evenly.

And you watched him seethe. "Fuck you."

You waited for him to come forward, and just as he stepped onto the dog chain, you added fuel to fire and threw the meat from your bread onto his shirt.

The hunting hound drove forward like a rabid animal, its calm demeanour quickly dissipating as its jaw locked around the man's leg. A wicked smile tugged at your lips as you watched him thrash and yell.

How awful you could be.

Oh well.

But that was when you saw another two men further back look over. They pushed themselves off a wall, stepping out of the shadows as they began to near you.

One of them called out. "Hey, why don't you come play with us?"

You knew when to fight, and you knew when to leave.

Turning on your heel, you decided to go the back way so that you could walk through the corridors instead of directly back into the Great Hall. Their calls didn't cease, and your head began to thud a little as you quickened your steps.

Could you somehow lure them into another trap?

You hadn't meant to gasp when you rounded the corner and slammed into yet another man. Only he was dressed in fine, bold clothes.

Only he had hair reminiscent of moonlight.

Initially, Aerion snarled, eyes darting down as his posture remained unmoved and unchanged. His arm shot out to grab at yours before he realised that it was you.

Instinctive made you throw up your own hands too, pressing them against his chest before you could will yourself not to.

You both watched each other until you pulled yourself back, shock written across your face as you stared up at him. "I didn't mean to," you rasped, eyes draping over him. "I didn't even hear you coming."

His eyes skated over your figure too. "You're fleeing. From what?" He asked the question almost as though he was annoyed.

"Nothing, I just took a wrong turn." You went to move past him, but Aerion shook his head and moved to block your path. "Bold of you to lie to a Prince, Sterling."

Your expression deadpanned, mock evident in your eyes, but before you could respond you looked over your shoulder.

He caught the shifting silhouettes behind you, and their faint, alcohol-laced taunts. You would be lying if you said your heart didn't race a little at the sound. After all, those men knew your face now.

Aerion quite easily picked up on the shift - the unease that rolled subtly off of you in waves. But he didn't ask, and you didn't explain, because you were already bowing your head at him.

"I need to go." Hastily, you slipped away with all the composure you could muster down the hall towards the doors.

You heard his heavy footsteps recede and slowed down your pace. A steady breath escaped you, and then heard the sound of impact. Yelling and loud grunts too.

You gingerly came to a stop and considered going back. Curiosity cooed in your ear as you stopped and listened to what sounded like a fight. How you itched to turn around, but you decided not to give in. Grabbing your skirts as your chatelaine shifted, you pulled them up as you began to ascend the stone steps.

Something heady laced Aerion's voice. "Don't go any further. I've been looking for you."

You rolled your eyes whilst your back was still towards him.

Why was everyone seeking you out today?

You turned to see the Dark Prince striding towards you, and he looked every bit Aerion the Monstrous with his bloody knuckles under the shadows and shifting candle light.

"You know those men?" He asked when he came to a stop before you.

"No," you exclaimed, coming off of the step. "Of course not."

His eyes gleamed as he looked back at you, and suddenly - for the first time since you ventured to these lands, you felt the full weight of his stare.

Your breathing had finally evened out, and you stood there staring back at him with a sort of confusion and intrigue melting together within you. "What did you do to them?"

Aerion tilted his head to the side. "Would you feel pity for them if I told you they were now broken little toys?"

Eyes steady, you shook your head. He was intrigued with your honesty - not many would admit such a thing.

"No." You said, and now you tilted your head at him. "Why have you been looking for me, Aerion?"

He shifted his weight onto one leg and slipped his hand into the inside of his vest, eyes pinned onto yours.

Aerion pulled something sparkling out and held it up where the candles shone brightly.

You exhaled through your nose. "My sister's gift for you?" Your heart had only a moments rest before it started beating again at the sight of it in his hold.

"I know strangeness when I see it. This reeks of it."

"It's a jewelled brooch," you replied, the ordeal of such a night chipping away at your patience. He arched a brow as if he could sense it to.

You tucked your hands behind your back. "It's merely gold, ruby and shadow glass."

"Shadow glass." He repeated. Aerion held it up closer to his eyes in inspection, then let his violet eyes snap back to you. "It has sigils all over it."

You moved in closer, "It's said to ground the mind." You explained, frustration tainting your quietened tone.

His eyes briefly grazed your lips - just a flicker - before he gave a venomous scoff. You lifted your chin as he shifted closer, black amber and a metallic scent wafting in the space between.

"Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin. Don't think of me so lowly, I've heard it too," you felt his hiss against your skin. "Grounded mind," he mocked, "I know what this gift implies."

His whisper was too smooth for such a conversation. For such a man.

Faded cheers from the Great Hall sounded in the background, followed by the faint clinks of chalices and laughter.

You shook your head at him. "I am no sorceress, Targaryen. And this isn't some scheme. I can assure you, House Sterling wants this alliance as much as House Targaryen, and I will not be the one to jeopardise that."

He purposefully stretched out the silence like honey, waiting to see if you would break under his stare. You didn't, and he knew you wouldn't, but he still enjoyed trying.

Still, you worried he was going to carry this doubts and let them build up so much so that he would call the wedding off.

"Weirwood carved beads." You said finally, "That's what Derella wears beneath her sleeves." Aerion's eyes narrowed. "It's said to quieten attention from magic." That blunt edge in your voice softened.

It made him wonder. It made him want to simultaneously lean into your presence and viciously search for a betrayal that wasn't there.

"Does she now?" He asked. His tongue ran across his teeth as he weighed up the argument you presented.

"Alright, as proof," you held out your hand to him. "I shall wear it. Give it to me."

He shook his head and ignored your offer. "I hadn't realised I was marrying someone so mystical." Something in your chest was pulled taught like string.

"She isn't," you quickly cut in. "But does this... deter you, Prince Aerion?"

A fleeting smirk touched his face. Prince. Since when did you refer to him as such?

Aerion held the brooch up before your faces again. "So, it is a gift from you then?"

Had he somehow shifted closer? You pulled your eyes away from his and gave another scoff. Aerion smirked.

"Goodnight, Targaryen."

And with that, he watched as you disappeared beneath the shifting shadows, heart heavy with something unfamiliar.

It wasn't heavy with that comfortable anger or roguish schemes. Nor with his self-proclaimed significance or thirst for violence.

It was heavy with something he would not name, but instead dream about and think about more than he should.

⊹₊⟡⋆

@heyyyyy22555673 @antobooh @cottage-princessy @tremendouschangelingneophyte @el-anythingrlly @yourvoicesareperfect @vlliinv

[melodicwriter]

[ravenna-reid]

oh so soft

Jason Todd slips into your apartment after attending a gala

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You heard the soft creak of the door as he opened it. 

A barely there light from neon signs outside diffused by sheer curtains filtered through the room. Jason gently closed the door behind him, his eyes never leaving your silhouette in the bed.

You laid on your stomach; your arms wrapped on top of your pillow and your head nestled between.

He walked over – taking in how your hair fell. The gleam of your silk sheets. The rise and fall of your chest.

You were still awake. He could always tell.

But you could never really tell when he was approaching, because big, brash Red Hood had the softest walk when he wanted to.

A sudden coolness prickled your skin as Jason pulled the hem of your shirt back, his icy fingertips grazing you. He carefully pressed a kiss to your lower back. 

You let out a breath through your nose, shifting against the silk bedding as he moved with you.

The only time Jason pulled his lips away was to take off his tie. 

You remained still, eyes open and waiting. Anticipating as a subtle heat rose to the tips of your ears. Then you felt his fingers skate across the base of your neck as he pulled the collar of your shirt down. 

Measured kisses littered the back of your shoulders now. Slow, methodical. The ends of his hair tickled your skin. 

And you let your eyes close again. 

Jason braced his hands on the bed on either side of your figure. You unfurled your arms, running your hands down his own arms until you reached his wrists. 

He stopped and glanced up from your shoulder. 

You moved, prompting him to move forward until his arms were well stretched out beside your head, your fingers still clamped around his wrists.

Jason calmly kicked off his boots before slipping onto the bed and pressing in closer. 

A soft sigh escaped him. 

The mattress dipped beneath you both as he settled his body against your back. You felt the quickening pace of his pulse beneath your fingers. 

“Someone's bold tonight,” he murmured against your ear.  

You hummed back, voice tired. “Not really.” 

Jason tilted his head as he watched you carefully. Then he leant down and let his teeth graze the area where your neck met your shoulder. 

You head lolled forward, a smile gracing your face. 

“Does it bother you?” You asked, giving his wrists two gentle squeezes. 

Jason buried his head in the crook of your neck, “No.” He tilted his head up to move his hair out of his way. “But will you turn around for me?”

You let go of his wrists. 

[ravenna-reid]

i'm askin again 🧍🏻‍♀️

I have planned out stories/more parts coming for each of these three, but which one is everyone more eager to read?

IMBUED (Aerion Targaryen x reader)

FASCINATING (Jonathan Crane x reader)

QUIET CONVERSATIONS (Jason Todd x reader)

Voting ended onJun 18

[ravenna-reid]

Quiet Conversations Continued... (Pt.2)

Religious y/n, Catholic guilt Jason…kinda?

I understand this may not be for everyone - even if you aren't religious/regardless of your viewpoint on religion, I hope you might find some enjoyment in this fic <3

⁺‧₊˚ ♱ ˚₊‧⁺

Gotham's weather howled tonight.

The wind sounded like faint whispers. Rain hailed down upon the tiled roof. Thick clouds swirled above. You wrapped your coat around your figure a little tighter tonight as the storm continued on.

No one would be visiting the cathedral on such a night. No civilian, except for one.

Jason had ventured through worse - but you were under the impression that he was waiting it out until the storm passed or at least simmered down.

Lightning danced through the stained-glass windows lining the great walls as he stood once again; back against a pew, arms crossed, watching the large open doors as if anticipating something dreadful.

You tilted your head as you watched the Red Hood. From his heavy, steady breathing. His crimson-wet gloves, bruised jaw and subtly lowering head.

He almost seemed drawn in by how the rain hit the pavement outside, and you couldn't help but wonder what compelled him to do such a thing each night - such a violent and righteous thing. Did he wish for comfort deep down? Was it all still worth it to him, or was it just a known routine?

You wondered what demons one could be plagued with to view kind gestures as a veiled threat. You wondered of the strength he must have possessed to be able to endure each lashing and every beating for the sake of others.

You wondered how you could make it so that it didn't weigh down on him so.

He could feel your presence weighing on his shoulders. It dripped down his spine - a heady kind of comfort that he wanted to lean into shrug off.

He shook his head. 'It's just lack of sleep,' he chastised himself.

But Jason turned his head to you. You were lighting something once again, seemingly gliding along the tiled floors as you did so.

"You're a bit of a pyromaniac, huh?" His voice was a gentle rasp. A slow drag across stone.

God, he was so tired.

"Yes," you replied, bringing your lit match away from the tips of incense sticks. Hopefully, the scent would ease him a little. "Don't you just love to burn things down?" You eyed him, brow raised.

Jason's lips thinned into something mixed of confusion and amusement, and he slipped away from the pew and began idly walking down the aisle. His movements were languid and slow, his gloved hand running along the sturdy wood of the pews he passed.

"Hey, Red Hood?"

His head snapped towards you.

You stood, expression soft. "I'm just going to go grab something from out back," you gestured behind you.

Jason nodded. "Sure."

He listened as the door somewhere in the back corner softly opened and closed, and the cathedral suddenly felt empty without you in it.

He continued walking down towards the front where you seemed to mostly linger. Small pamphlets were dusted along the pew seats, and in order to keep himself awake, he decided to read one. And regardless of his insistent refusal to allow himself to sink into the presence of this place, gingerly, Jason sat down and waited for you to return.

The wood groaned gently beneath his weight. The rain outside seemed to thicken. Jason slipped the pamphlet into his hand and read the front.

Go to Him, all who are weary—not all who are innocent.

He sighed through his nose and leant back. His tired eyes traced the delicate paintwork on the ceiling - a painting of the one Himself with his hand outstretched, and without meaning to - Jason fell asleep.

⁺‧₊˚ ♱ ˚₊‧⁺

A crack of thunder.

Jason snapped awake - his heartbeat in his throat as his eyes immediately cut to his surroundings. Sculpted stone and carved angels. Paintings and murals and crosses.

A sense of peace fought to be heard, and maybe that scared him a little too. That, and the fact that he had fallen asleep in the first place.

His brows knitted together, and he searched the premise for you.

There you sat on the floor - back against the front pew, head lolled sideways. Eyes closed and lashes against your cheeks.

Panic struck Jason hard as he shifted from his position. His eyes studied your chest to see if it moved under your thick coat.

"Hey," he called out, and you gave the tiniest shift.

A deep breath escaped him. Bewilderment wanted to take over, but he couldn't help but watch you in awe. The serenity that seemed to envelope you never ceased to astound him.

But to fall asleep in a cathedral, in the dead of night in Gotham. Anger suddenly crept in.

Jason suddenly manoeuvred from the pews as he urged you to wake.

You eventually did, snapping to attention with a tired glare on your face. "Hm?"

"What are you still doing here?" Agitation laced his voice. He knew you were meant to go home at 12:30am. Who knew what time it was now.

You frowned, gesturing to him. "You fell asleep."

"So, you decided to join me?"

"I sat and waited until you woke." You raised your hands, confused as to why it seemed to rattle him, "I guess the rain lulled me to sleep."

"And if someone came in?" Whilst he was asleep, he realised. His frown deepened behind his mask at the thought.

You gave him a long look, then shrugged, unbothered. "Then I hope they felt more at peace when they left then when they came." You glanced over at your candles to see if any more had been lit.

You weren't about to admit that you felt significantly more comfortable - and safe - with him here. Even if he was a little prickly - though you found you preferred it.

Jason's eyes followed yours to the candles before he gave a scoff. He glanced down at the book in your lap as he slipped his gun from his holster back into his hand, the weight of it consoling.

"Brushing up on the Bible?"

You looked up at him, then held it up so that he could see the cover. "Jane Eyre."

He didn't move for a moment - a moment too long, then he turned to leave. "You should head home." He wouldn't act as though he'd wait for you. He wouldn't let you know how he waited and watched to make sure you made it back to your apartment safely.

You gave a light scoff at his brazen bravado front. "Hood."

His steps came to a halt at that. He glanced back over his shoulder as you got to your feet.

"Before you leave..." You began.

He circled back to you as you searched for something in your pocket, pulling out a delicate rosary-like chain. He took in the red and gold and the small cross dangling from the end.

"Someone left it. I found it draped beside your candle."

"My candle?" He asked.

You nodded, "The one I gave you weeks ago with the red designs. This must have fallen whilst they were praying." You realised he made no effort to take it from you, so - teasingly - you held it up and dangled the glittering beads and chain.

"I don't suppose you have a car?" You asked. "Some hang it around the mirror."

"I have a motorbike." He replied, arms still crossed.

You hummed in response. "For your room then. Happy birthday." You joked as you extended it to him, and eventually, he gently took it from your hand.

"Hell of a coincidence." Jason's lips pressed into a thin line at his wording, and you arched a brow too, but said nothing.

Instead, you tilted your head at him, "How do you mean?"

He gestured to the beaded cross in his hand. "First birthday gift I've received in a long time."

You blinked. "Today's your birthday?"

As you glanced back up at him now, the weight of his gaze left you a little dazed.

A slow rumble amongst the clouds urged him to come back into reality.

The Red Hood nodded his thanks, and began walking towards the cathedral doors - handgun in one hand, and a rosary in the other.