So, I haven't exactly been active the last few months - very big apology to all my amazing followers and mutuals🫶🏼
I have been burned out thoroughly after exams, but am slowly getting back into writing. Until I find my groove, I wanted to share with you all what has me so distracted.
Last year, I started writing my own book, and I've decided to revise it and finish it - whether it will go anywhere, or stay hidden on my laptop is undetermined.
But I'm willing to give it a go.
Thank you guys for all the support, I'm hoping one day soon I'll be back full time❤️
I am in the midst of a very horrible reading slump and writer's block and genuinely feel like I'm in a brain fog and am finding it hard to have any creative inspiration - for that reason I'm not trying to put too much pressure on myself to add onto current series that are WIPs, but i am so so sorry for the long wait, and hope you guys can understand.
I still want to push out some posts here and there, and was thinking about maybe writing some series based on C.ai scenarios as I know it's getting very popular amongst fandoms now.
If anyone is interested, please let me know xx
And of course C.ai creators will be tagged/linked with the corresponding post xx
Characters listed in tags (feel free to comment suggesstions xx)
Sorry for the long, long wait my loves, but I hope this was worth it!
There are probably going to be around 2/3 more chapters as I start drawing this series to an end👀
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Masterlist
No one spoke for a long while, eyes darting over the wilting pair as Aurora avoided their gazes, and Jay ached for her own to meet his pleading one.
It was Aurora who broke first, voice hoarse as she forced a cough past her lip and broke out of her stupor.
"I'm going to grab the last of my stuff, and then we can head out." She looked at Voight as she spoke, not even waiting for him to answer before she turned away and returned the same way she came. It did not go unnoticed how Kim mirrored her every step, as though she was unwilling to let the girl get too far.
Jay's bloodshot eyes met Voight's, unable to even try and translate his frustration in the form of narrowed eyes, furrowed brows and a clenched jaw.
He was an open book of raw emotion, stumbling like a toddler learning to take their first steps as he grew unsure of how to navigate the circumstances held before him.
Was this not what he had wanted? Was this not what he had been asking for- pleading and praying for since the day she had left?
And yet, it felt as though he was drifting through a dream - like she was an echo or a ghost of the girl who once roamed this very office, who now haunted his home and his dreams. And now she haunted this office.
Voight looked solemn as he met Jay's gaze, "I would've told you, Jay. But I didn't know when you'd be back."
"Why is she here?"
It was all he could say. And it was all he could do to hope that perhaps she had come on her own volition, that she had come because she had missed him. That she had heard his voicemails, every single one.
That she saw his regret, that she felt his misery and his sorrow, that she understood his guilt and forgave him.
That she came back for him.
But he knew from the look in Voight's eyes that he was way in over his head, that his wishes were simply unkempt desires and she hadn't come back for him at all.
Her flinch and stoic expression were evidence enough.
Aurora hated him, he was sure of it.
But he was also sure no one could hate him as much as he hated himself in that moment. So undeserving and unworthy of her love.
"I needed someone to go undercover in the Volkov case - she's the best."
She is, of course she is.
But to know she came back for a case, and not for him, hurt.
To know she saw Voight's call and answered him, when she had ignored his every call, hurt.
Jay knew she saw every call, it was why he never stopped. He prayed she listened to his voicemails and saw his regret, recognised his remorse and heard his devotion and his love.
But she came to help Voight, not him.
And that was a sign of its own that perhaps he was too late, that perhaps Aurora no longer wanted him - that she no longer needed him.
That she never needed him, not the way he needed her.
Not the way he wanted her- not anymore.
Jay shook his head free from such thoughts, grounding himself in the present as he chanted in his mind - she's here. She's here, and he has a chance. He has to have one. He has one until she looks him in the eyes and tells him he lost every single one, and lost her too.
His mind had finally processed Voight's words - finally, he thought.
Finally, an emotion so foreign but familiar seeped through his blood. No longer was he full of misery and grief, regret and shame. His muscles stiffened with the familiar sensation of disbelief, something so small yet euphoric as it tumbled through him as though it was unsure of how to navigate in the confines of his tortured body.
"You want her to go undercover for him? To get close to him?"
Jay couldn't believe what he was hearing - they knew how dangerous Volkov was. His only casualties were not those who touched his tainted drugs, but men, women and children who dared to defy him.
A glance at the board near Voight's office proved his fears, the surface littered in a mass of photographs with the victims of his anger and his crimes.
This was the man they wanted to send her into the arms of, this was the man they wanted her to trap.
They brought her here, so close to him, only to send her to her death.
"She's a good cop Jay, an even better undercover operative," Adam spoke now, a supportive hand placed upon Jay's shoulder as he spoke consolingly, "if anyone can take this guy down, it's her."
Jay shook his hand off as anger bubbled through him, a comforting feeling that settled at the base of his throat as he struggled to fight off his nausea.
"Are you kidding me? We know how dangerous this guy is, how can you even think about sending someone undercover to get close to him? Especially her."
Adam put his hands up in surrender, "you're letting your emotions talk for you Jay - you know just as well as we do, with her track history she is the best person for this job."
Jay shook his head vehemently, "no, you're wrong. I know what I'm talking about, and this is too dangerous. She's going go get hurt."
"You can't stop her," Voight took a step closer, brows furrowed in disappointment knowing had Jay been here from the start they would've been able to ease him into the idea better and prevented such an outburst, "she knows the risks, and she's agreed to the terms. She wants to do this."
"She doesn't know what she wants!"
Jay's heart stuttered to a stop for a second, so sure that she would've heard his raised voice.
For a moment, he hoped it was enough to make her come find him.
His fleeting eyes were enough to confirm that it wasn't.
A scoff sounded before him, his shoulders stiffening as a familiar voice rang from behind him. He knew that voice, knew it so well from the hours she would spend outside his door or on the phone pleading for his attention, for his love and his heart.
But his heart wasn't his to gift anymore, it was Aurora's. It had always been Aurora's.
And if he had been in possession of the ill-fated thing, he was sure he would protect it fiercely from Hailey.
"Are you sure you're not just saying that because she decided she doesn't want you?" Her words were harsh, they were vile and brutal but true. They stung deeply because they echoed his greatest fears and resounded through the room.
He turned towards the blonde woman, green eyes flickering between her set of blue as he was taken aback again by just how closely they mirrored one another. How her thoughts reflected his own. How his fears were picked and pulled apart by her with ease.
And he wondered to himself why he had let her get close enough to him to allow such a thing to happen in the first place.
Yet, looking into her eyes and seeing a pool of misery and anger that matched his own, he knew he would never have been able to stop such a thing.
Jay Halstead was not in love with Hailey Upton.
He was never fascinated by her.
He didn't want to be her friend because he was a good man.
He wanted to learn her entire being thoroughly because had he been born a woman, he was sure it would be her face he saw in the mirror every morning.
They had lived the same life at different paces, faced the same horrors and the same setbacks, they navigated the same shortcomings and were plagued by the same nightmares. They had loved the same and lost the same and were so intimately designed like one another, it was difficult not to find distorted version of himself staring back every time he glanced at her.
And yet, she was so different to him.
Where he was filled with anger and fury, rules and stipulations, she was happy and joyous and free, she was optimistic and kind in a way he ached to be.
In the way Aurora deserved to have him.
Jay knew why he became her friend, he knew why he confided in her, he knew why he let her kiss him and touch him, and he knew why he did the same.
Jay wanted to be healed like Hailey. He wanted to be the man Aurora deserved. But such a reality was not possible, and Aurora did not deserve the twisted and broken man that he was.
But Hailey was a reflection of his own horrors, standing untwisted and preserved.
Jay didn't deserve Aurora, he wasn't enough for her. He never was.
At least he didn't think he was.
Not until after that night with Hailey, when he saw Aurora pull away and distance from him. Not until that night where she confessed she had always known and feared she was the reason he had done such a thing - that she was not enough.
It was then Jay realised that it didn't matter how alike him and Hailey were, because no one could understand him the way Aurora did.
No one could comfort him and hold him and love him like she did.
Jay didn't need to be fixed like Hailey was. He didn't need to overcome his past like she had. Because he wasn't like Hailey, no matter how many similarities they shared in their lives.
He didn't need Hailey to show him how to become a better version of himself, because he had realised much too late that Aurora had been the one that was mending his cluttered mind and brittle soul one fragment at a time.
He didn't know how to answer Hailey, he could only stare at her as he wondered how he had let their friendship twist upon itself to sour the bond they shared.
It was also then when he realised he would have picked Aurora every time. That he should have picked Aurora every time.
He blinked himself out of his daze, blinking furiously as he turned away from Hailey the same way he should have months ago now.
He met Voight's gaze, his own filling with determination as he spoke, "just let me speak to her-"
"Jay," Kevin sighed from behind him, a pitying look colouring his face, "we've been putting a plan together for days now. This is the only way we got to get this guy."
"Then let me go with her - let me go too, so she's not alone. So that he can't hurt her."
Voight clenched his jaw as he wondered how to navigate his way through Jay's volatile emotions, "you're not in the right state of mind, Jay. I can't have you risk this entire case beca-"
"Because what? Because I can't see the woman I love die? Because I don't want to think of her being hurt by the very man we're hunting down? I don't want her to end up as another picture on that board, Voight. Not when I've spent this long looking for her. Not when I've just found her."
Jay's eyes burned with fresh tears, his skin heating a deep red as he let his emotions bubble free, as he confessed and let his yearning out into the open.
She was so close. So close, only to feel like she was a lifetime away.
"You didn't find her," Voight's voice deepened, his tone stern as he crossed his arms over his chest, "I did. And she only agreed to come back for this case."
"Then let me go with her," Jay drew closer to Voight, eyes darting down the same hall Aurora disappeared. "Let me go, let me keep her safe. Let me be close to her again, just this one time. Just one more time before she leaves again."
Voight knew why he brought Aurora back, he had wanted this too. He had wanted to bring back Jay and Aurora together and see if they could heal each other.
But not like this.
He had hoped that after the case was done, Aurora might decide to come back and stay. That if she did, then she and Jay could once again navigate the parameters of their relationship.
He simply hadn't expected this.
He hadn't expected to see their raw wounds and conflicted minds, their silent longing and stubborn hearts.
But maybe this was exactly what they needed.
Maybe this was what Jay needed.
This could be the start of a new chapter for the pair, or it could be the closure they had denied themselves.
"Fine. Kevin's going to debrief you - you make sure you're ready for this Jay. You have an hour. If you're not, then it won't be Volkov you have to worry about, because you'll be the one that gets you and Gallo killed."
Jay nodded solemnly, a crushing weight lifted off his shoulders. He might have hurt Aurora, but he was repenting and would seek forgiveness until the end of time. Until then, he would not allow another to lay a hand upon the woman he loves.
Voight watched as Kevin steered Jay towards his office, turning to Adam to instruct him on getting an alias and outfit prepared for Jay. They didn't have long to prepare him, but they would do all they could to ensure the operation ran smoothly.
For now, Voight would have to break the news to Aurora and hope she didn't rescind her offer to help altogether.
Throughout it all, it did not go unnoticed how Hailey found her home in the paperwork before her once more, her harsh words once ignored and her burning gaze ceremoniously ignored.
Hi, I hope you're having a good time in your life, without meaning to bother you when the story of Jay and Rick will be updated.
Hi, thank you!!
After exam season, my brain has been pretty much fried😭 but I am looking to come back soon and get back into the flow of writing, so hopefully within the next month I should be back to writing consistently!
Sorry for the long wait :(
I've just uploaded part 7 of Just For A Moment, as an apology xx
hiiii! i’ve been obsessed w TWD for years now, rewatched more times than i can count😂 but i’ve only recently gotten into fanfics & your page is one of the first i’ve come across. i’m literally addicted!! i pray your coming back to finish off these fics & if not id still reread these. thanks for even sharing these w us! hope every is well🫶🏾🫶🏾
This is the sweetest message ever! Thank youu!! I am so glad to know my writing is appreciated, and I promise there is more to come.
I've been having writer's block recently, but I'm hoping to come back to writing regularly very soon🩷🩷
please please please reblog to show your support for these incredible creators! and please check out/reblog their work!
also if anyone would like to send me fics to read i would love that!
this rec list includes fics for: bucky barnes, peter parker, andy barber, rick grimes, evan buckley, harry styles, and chris evans
don’t mind me just randomly popping up after a year with a new fic rec list!! 🥰😜
marvel
bucky barnes
my mom thinks your hot - @bluehourbucky
“your son tries to set you up with an avenger in a grocery store”
jealousy, jealousy - @malum-forev
“you're usually someone who preaches love but there's something about a new recruit that makes your blood boil.”
peter parker
interception - @waitimcomingtoo
“ flash’s pool party turns into a kissing party and peter fears you’ll kiss someone else”
c. evans characters
andy barber
crossing lines - @speechlessxx
“the line between best friend and lover is so thin. but can andy’s arrival in the reader’s life force ransom to cross it?”
twd
rick grimes
ghost - @sayafics
“her name was casper graham. at least, she thought it was.
after waking up in a hospital room with no recollection of how she got there, casper was forced to navigate the world of the dead.”
911
evan buckley
you get me so high - @mvltisstuff
“whoever brought those brownies in was an angel to y/n. yeah, a felony for sure, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t secretly enjoy it.”
the calendar - @imagineshere-forall
“an unexpected person stars for the 118 in the firefighter calendar”
other
harry styles
just give me a day, or two… - @meetmymouth
“in which y/n and harry have been broken up for a while but the internet is still rooting for them. featuring a footballer and lots of tweets.”
luke hemmings
apartment 716 - @valentiyne
“paper-thin walls and numerous noise complaints.”
chris evans
love at coachella - @astranva
“in which chris and singer!Y/N show their love at coachella and fans freak out.”
just you - @astranva
“13 years apart, chris and y/n are everyone’s favorite couple until y/n stars alongside harry styles in don’t worry darling and chris gets insecure over how good they look together.”
Whether it was crusted and dry, soft and pliable, or fresh, running blood. Every breath she took was tainted by the metallic scent.
The blond-haired boy sat next to her now, his eyes earnest as he heeded every request she had – fill a bowl with warm water, find soap, get some paper towels, find some clean cloths.
She would do her best with what she had.
The other lumbered over her, eyeing her with distrust, and standing close to the unconscious boy’s head as she worked diligently.
They hadn’t spoken much, apart from her shaky requests for materials to help, but she could see how agitated they became with each whimper or groan of pain that was torn from the boy trapped in a tireless sleep.
The girl took steadying breaths, hoping to keep her calm so her hands wouldn’t shake as she worked. She was familiar enough with taking care of wounds that this would be a breeze, but the burdensome glares from the two boys watching her set her on edge, she questioned every move and hesitated twice before every step.
First, she had to clean the wound, she took the piece of cloth the blond-haired boy had brought her – Evan Rosier he said his name was – dipping it into the bowl of warm soapy water before wiping clean each injury she could see one by one, cleaning her cloth and changing her water in between.
Every gash and every scratch she brushed against caused a burning shiver to spread through Regulus’ body, and every time she would whisper apologies as she continued.
After irrigating every cut she could access, she turned to look over her shoulder. A hesitant look painted itself across her face as she glanced to the boy she now knew as Crouch, his eyes narrowed as they met her’s.
“What?”
“Your friend’s woun-“
“Regulus.”
It was Evan who had spoke then, his voice quiet and pained as his eyes never left the face of the boy lying in a fretful sleep.
“Hm?”
“His name. His name is Regulus.”
She nodded, unsure of why a name was so important, before continuing, “he has open wounds, they’re too deep to heal just like that.” There was a pause, a moment where she debated if she should really speak her next words, because she wanted them out. But if she offered such a solution, her guilty conscious would crumble at the thought of turning them away.
“He needs stitches.”
“No.”
Before she could speak, Evan cut her off once more, this time his eyes shifted, a fierce glare directed at the passive Crouch, “no? The hell do you mean no?”
“She’s clearly lying Ev, we don’t know who she is.”
“Reg needs help. She’s right – look at him Bart, he’s been torn to pieces. We can’t help him.”
The stubborn gleam in Barty’s eyes weaken as they flicker to Regulus, “no. We are not going to risk the life of our friend just because you are too emotional to think before making a decision.”
“Oh, fuck you. If she says he needs stitches, he needs them. She didn’t have to help us.”
“She’s only helping us because she doesn’t want to get hurt or die.”
The words that escaped Crouch’s lips made her eyes widen in fear, is that what he had been intending?
To kill her because they had decided to break into her home?
“Look,” her voice pleading as she lifted her hands in surrender, “I helped because you asked me to. This is the only way I can help. If I don’t close these gashes and they start bleeding again? I can’t promise it’ll stop. And if that doesn’t convince you, then maybe the fact that he could get sepsis might.”
Evan frowned, “sepis? What the hell is that?”
“Sep-sis,” she enunciated, “a blood infection, one your friend is very like to get if you don’t let me help him. Properly.”
His brows creased, eyes burning in worry, “could he- could he die?”
“If you don’t let me help him,” she then looked towards Crouch, taking in the fear that pinched his expression as she continued, “so let me help.”
Barty stayed quiet, his mind raging against his heart as he thought of all the ways she could hurt Regulus, and then all the ways she could save him. Seeing him warring with his thoughts, Evan spoke in his stead – “do it. Help him.”
“There’s some thread and needles in that drawer over there,” she jutted her chin to the lonesome table that sat next to the bright yellow armchair, a single drawer beneath its surface. This time it was Barty that moved, pulling out the drawer and gathering the contents before holding it out to her.
She regarded the materials she had taken from him; she was tempted to douse them with alcohol from the liquor collection her godfather had stored somewhere within the cabin, but that would only slow his healing. Instead, she laid the needle and thread in her lap, tugging the first aid box closer as she rummaged through it meticulously.
A sigh of relief escaped as she held up a small bottle in success. She emptied the bloodied water into the potted plants sitting behind her on the tea table, wiping it dry with some clean cloth before pouring the solution in. She looked back at the pale boy, assessing his largest laceration before pulling out enough string that she would be able to seal the open wound in one swoop.
She placed the needle into the bowl as she cut more and more strings.
“What’s that liquid?”
She looked at Crouch before looking back at her bowl, she could have ignored him, but she was sure that would just agitate him further, “iodine solution.”
“What?”
“It’s- it’s to disinfect the needle and thread, so he doesn’t get an infection whilst I stitch him up. It’s not the best thing I can use – but it’s what I have”
Crouch frowned, “how do you know how to do all this?”
She looked down at the bowl, a sad smile spreading across her face, “my godfather was a doctor. He taught me everything I know.”
Not much was said after, but a knowing look stretched across the faces of Crouch and Rosier.
She pulled the first strand of thread from the solution, threading it through the needle as she inhaled slowly through her nose. She could do this.
One by one she began to seal each large laceration and tie them off. She lost count of the number of injuries she had seen, of the countless gashes she had closed, she even had Crouch and Rosier roll Regulus on his side so she could see his back and she treat those too.
When she had finished her fingers were aching, but Regulus didn’t seem to groan as much with each twitch and twinge, his face seeming far more relaxed than before.
She pulled out a small tub filled with an ointment her godmother had made, lathering each wound, big and small. By now, both boys seemed to have learned they didn’t need to question her motives. Then with their help, she was able to place bandages over the worst cuts, before lying him back on the sofa.
The whole thing had been a methodical process, she was so drowned in the possibilities of what would happen after that she treated the boy whilst stuck in a sense of autopilot.
But now that she was done, the room dropped into a tense silence.
She knew they would want to stay, and she didn’t think she had it in her to deny them. Not when their friend was so hurt, and not when they were so drained.
So she sat there under the dim lights, feet going numb as she made no attempt to move. And for the first time, she dragged her eyes to look at the face of the boy she had been treating.
None of them looked to be much older than herself.
Rosier’s hair was a pale blonde, most of it pushed back but some strands would still fall carelessly down his face. His skin was pale, as though he had never seen the sun, but his cheeks and the tips of his ears were stained an ever-lasting pink.
Crouch’s hair was loose, a burnished glow against the yellow lights. His hair was brushed into a neat side part, and his face was slim and bare of hair. His nose was as narrow as his eyes, but his cheeks were brushed with freckles and coloured with fury.
And then this boy. The boy she had helped. The boy she had saved.
Regulus had a youthful face, his skin a dull shade of alabaster but his under-eyes were dark and heavy, he had sparse freckles brushing over the bridge of his nose and dusting his high cheekbones. His jaw was angled, his cheekbones prominent, his face bordered by a halo of tousled curls. The strands of inky hair were greasy and damp, much like his clothes.
Through the patches of white and through the splodges of red, she could see his smooth, milky skin that was now marred with scars. She didn’t know how the boy had gotten so hurt, and she didn’t think she wanted to find out.
And yet, she admired his beauty. He was ethereal, in a way most boys her age were not. In a way the two boys in the room, sending her watchful glances, were not. Perhaps it was because he didn’t look as threatening when he was unconscious and layered in bandages.
Evan’s voice broke the quiet, seeing his friend’s wounds treated had brought a brightness back into him, “what’s your name?”
She thought about not answering, about telling them to stay the night sleeping on the hard ground and leave the next day just so she could return to her bed and pretend they did not exist as she succumbed to sleep.
But her eyes couldn’t leave the disfigured boy on the sofa, and she felt her heart sink at the realisation she may have to put up with them for longer than she intended – her godmother had always told her the best thing a person can do is help another in need. And after all her godparents had done for her, maybe this was one way she could begin to pay it forward.
She glanced at Rosier, but his eyes were also stuck on Regulus’ body as he watched every breath the boy took to make sure he didn’t stop.
I have been thinking about this for an unhealthy amount of time, but I need me some Butcher angst and SMUT
When Soldier Boy had been handed back over to Grace Mallory, Billy thought it best to keep it hidden from her.
Aurora had grown close to the soldier - able to see past the facade that had grown under the eyes of the media and millions, had come so close to loving him even. Butcher knew it was better if she thought he was dead, never able to return, even if the others disagreed.
When quiet feelings, ones hidden and repressed over the months she had known the Boys, clawed their way to the surface in the midst of her grief, Butcher had found it hard to deny her.
Still, he told himself he did not feel guilty, even as his heart turned and twisted when Aurora looked to him for comfort; when she fell into his arms and into his bed, when she searched for his warm body any chance she could.
He would deny guilt pooling in his veins, even when he knew with every sigh and moan and breath she gasped against him, she wished it was Ben on top of her and not him.
He didn't feel guilty for lying.
He didn't.
He would have kept this secret until his death bed, which was not too far in the future anyway, if he was being honest.
But the truth always did have a way of coming to light.
A/N:: GUESS WHO'S BACK!! Missed you guys so much, but here is the next chapter of many to come. I hope you enjoy xxxx
I apologise for the long wait, but I do hope this chapter is worth it. Don't be afraid to comment your thoughts, opinions, and any ideas you might have for future chapters!!
Previous Chapter
Masterlist
The sound of cutlery filled the room, the air was tense and soured with quiet breaths and flitting gazes.
It was sickening, stifling- suffocating.
Had Daemon not been dragged to join the Hightower litter by the grazing touches of the brown-eyed Targaryen and his mind full of unfounded whispers, perhaps he would have up and left without a second glance.
Instead, he found himself confined within Alicent's chambers, sat at a grand table with Alaynha to his left, and Aegon to his right.
When he arrived trailing behind the girl, watching as she fidgeted with her dress and her hands, he had greeted Ser Cole with a vicious grin when he gazed upon his face as he crossed into the room.
The knight stood at the far corner of the room, back straight and eyes trained ahead until his gaze caught Daemon's form. He had to hold back a sneer as he watched the rogue prince saunter in dressed in his leathers, treading at the edges of the princess' skirt with a leering gaze and predatory smile.
They sat now amongst Aemond, Aegon, Helaena, and the Hightower Queen herself. Alicent hadn't been surprised that Daemon had joined them, Aemond's warning had her prepared for the sight.
Still, sitting in front of the man had her hesitate with every shift upon her seat, every breath that escaped her, and every twitch that shuttered through her body in small sparks.
It wasn't uncomfortable, sitting under his heavy stare. It was simply unfamiliar.
So different from that day at the tourney.
She recognised the haunted look in his eye, saw the scars that circled his neck - the embers of a dragon no more.
How alike they were, she thought for a fleeting moment.
How troubled and damaged and chained.
It was Aegon who broke the silence. His words quietly slurred as his tongue was tainted with the taste of bitter ales - "I wish to take up the sword."
Alicent could not help but raise her brows, stunned at the proclamation, shoulders straightening as even Criston shifted in his place in his dark corner with a questioning gaze.
Aemond frowned from his place, these words so unbecoming of Aegon that he held his breath.
"And why would you wish such a thing, after all this time?" Alaynha raised a brow in amusement, her head peering around Daemon's form to watch Aegon with an inquisitive smile.
"Well, if anyone deserves to beat Aemond on the training grounds, I fear it is only fair if it was me," he enunciated his proclamation by chugging another glass of wine, his movements so clumsy the liquid spilt from the edges. But Aegon paid no mind, eyes shut as he savoured the bitter liquid running down his throat in rivulets.
Aemond murmured from his place, eyes narrowed despite the rest of his face remaining passive, "I have been learning the way of the sword since our days as boys, brother, whilst you still remain one. Do not fret, I am sure there are other areas you can excel at - perhaps some more fitting for the drunken princeling."
Aegon couldn't help his pout, huffing and puffing as his mind was clouded with the haze of ale, his stomach rolling and turning as he sat up straight.
"I can take up the sword. Our uncle will teach me."
The claim was daring, especially with Daemon sitting next to him, watching them trade lines as they saw fit. He was amused, but Aegon's words had him pause for a second.
Daemon was ready to refuse, to laugh in the boy's face and claim he would never be ready.
But then, finally - finally, Alicent had spoken.
"Perhaps, Aegon, Ser Cole would be more suited to help you with this interest, yes?"
Aegon bit his lip in thought, eyes flickering to the knight who took a step forward in a show of ascent.
Before Aegon could speak a word, a dark chuckle came from his left, and he turned to meet the sparkling eyes of a violent hue as Daemon ran his gaze over the knight who stepped up with such ease.
"After all," Alicent continued, her gaze hesitantly flitting between Daemon and Aegon, wondering how sore of a spot her next words would hit and what repercussions her Shield should be wary of in the days to come, "Ser Cole is the Commander of the City Watch."
Ah, Daemon thought, his mind reeling with vitriol as something deep within his core sparked to life.
So it was Ser Criston Cole who had taken control of his men. It was Cole who had been passed his title, Cole who commandeered the men he reared into a disfigured version of himself.
It was pathetic, really, to learn a man of such low standing, a man who was not even an ounce of Targaryen, had taken that position from him.
It was pathetic. An insult. To his name, to his title, to his lineage.
"Fear not," Daemon's gaze was passive, his stare blank despite the gears that had begun to wind in the confines of his mind, "the boy would do better under my guide. After all, it is my army that forms the City Watch, isn't that right, Ser Crispin?"
The words were deliberate, of course. An homage to that very day where Daemon had shown just how far his men would go for him, and how quickly they would return to him should he try.
"It is Ser Criston Cole, my prince. And if that is what you wish, I shall not intervene."
He could see how much it pained the knight to step back and allow Daemon to take the opportunity presented to him by the Queen.
Daemon stiffened as a warm hand fell upon his leg, eyes darting down to find the nimble fingers of the source to his curiosity. She squeezed his leg lightly, as though warning him to behave before removing her hand altogether and pretending as though she had not misstepped.
Daemon swallowed harshly, his throat dry despite the copious amounts of wine he had sipped throughout the supper. He cleared his throat, voice dropping down an octave as he re-worded his intentions, remaining unsure of why with every new word spoken.
"I will train the boy. A prince must know how to defend himself, and a dragon should know how to survive upon a battlefield."
Aegon let out a shout of victory, eyes glazed with an inebriated sheen as he settled down in his seat and dug into his food with vigour.
Alicent watched her boy's eyes shine in a light so different to the one which soiled the colour of his eyes for so long, and found herself unable to protest her son's request and Daemon's agreeance.
It seemed Aemond had found his own form of accord in Alicent's silence, watching as Cole bit his tongue and wholly slinked back to his corner.
Alaynha took that as a sign to finally intervene and break the silence once more, "so, uncle," Daemon's eyes sought her own with practiced ease, "Kepa had once told me the story of your time on the Step Stones. But what I would truly like to hear is how you gained the title of the Rogue Prince."
Daemon could see the desire in her eyes to know more, to hear his words and seek his tales and learn of his ventures. It was a rarity, to have someone search for the truths of his adventures.
He could not help how he spoke with such ease, his voice dropping into a sombre cadence as he spoke with reverence of his past with pride colouring his features, and the blood of phantoms covering him limb to limb.
Throughout it all, it did not go unnoticed by Alicent how Alaynha stared at him with glistening eyes and a soft smile, nor how Daemon searched for her gaze after every tale and glanced to her before every answer.
Such a sight brought a sinking feeling in her gut, as though the Seven were upon her, begging her to put a stop to it.
But this was perhaps the closest to normal she had seen her children be near.
Alicent wonders if she would have been better off if she had found a way to wed Daemon instead. If her children would have had a better father and she, a better husband. She cursed her thoughts, blaming no one but herself and, perhaps out of childhood animosity she should have long grown out of, she also blamed Rhaenyra.
***
Ever since that evening he had spent with the Hightower bastards, it did not take long for Daemon to start testing his boundaries.
It had started with the dinners, finding an excuse wherever he could to bump into the young girl just as she was making her way to Alicent and her brothers and sister, knowing she was too kind to let him leave with the knowledge that he would only eat alone in the quiet of his chambers.
He was content in the small routine they had made, ignorant to the setting sun of each day that counted down the days until Rhaenyra's return.
The boys had caught the Sea Sickness, and she was struggling with the guilt of a mother to leave them be. She would stay until they recovered, and he had never felt so free.
Free to roam and stretch and cause mischief.
She had asked for his return home, of course.
And perhaps if it had been his children who coughed and wailed and begged for his return, he would have mounted his dragon in a heartbeat.
But these were Rhaenyra's children. And though he cared for them as he did her, they were another nail pinning him down to the grounds, forced to live a mundane life.
He was a prince. A soldier. A warrior.
He knew no peace not quiet. He knew no tranquillity.
No, Daemon was made from fire, and he would die by it, too. And a life by Rhaenyra's side simply prohibited such a thing.
***
Daemon had come to enjoy his time at the Keep. The green emblems scattered across the walls and the signs of the Seven hung proudly at every corner soon became familiar.
It was an uncomfortable realisation, one that made him wish he could tear them all down and replace the Keep to its former glory. But then he would watch the Green Princess, the youngest of the lot, trail down corridors and race through halls with arms piled heavy in books of history and parchments of intricate designs and maps and secrets, and he found that the Keep was not a symbol of something different, but a reflection of the young woman who had consumed his mind - she was present in his thoughts at every turn, catching his gaze with every glance.
She haunted him the same way the new embellishments of the Keep did, and he found he could not hate one when his mind craved the other.
Yes, his mind.
It was curiosity.
It was simple loneliness that made it grow and fester and become something... tempting. But it truly was curiosity. Or it had started as such.
Perhaps it was why he found himself in such a precarious situation.
He had done something such as this before - it was daring, likely the closest he had ever gotten to scratching that relentless itch of something more.
He wandered the rows of books with quiet disinterest, eyes flickering to the darkening sky outside the windows and then the doors that opened to a quiet hallway. It was well past evening supper, and for once he had not joined the Hightowers. Instead, he roamed the library walls, hoping- praying to catch the girl on her own once more.
He had done so once before by chance, only a mere few days ago. He spoke to her with mischievous eyes, a rasped voice, and a mind made hazy with wine. It had been reckless and stupid, but had she not realised his state of being perhaps he would've succeeded in his mindless plans.
But this time, he was prepared. He didn't want much, no. Simply companionship.
Rhaenyra was still upon Dragonstone, and though she planned to return before the next moon, he grew restless in her absence, as though the dragon in him had awoken from a trance and was coming to life once more.
It was because Rhaenyra was not here, he justified. And he simply wanted companionship. Companionship of the mind, someone to share his thoughts with, someone to pour out endless streams of unspoken whispers and mindless words to. And who better than the gentle-eyed princess who seemed to hold no prejudice against him.
Why the one-eyed prince who would only want to spar and spew hate-filled mocks? Why the drunkard prince who would fill Daemon's time with whores and wine and petulant cries? Why the dazed princess who could never tell her dreams apart from her conscious thoughts?
Why not the girl who was quiet and timid? Who grew a burning fire deep within her soul? Who rode a dragon and drew a sword and laughed and read and spoke his mother-tongue in pretty lilts.
Yes, she would do.
She would do until Rhaenyra returned, and then his infatuation would dwindle. And perhaps he would return to the passive and plain dragon he had become over tireless years, where the days he had at Alaynha's side would be freedom enough.
It was why, when the doors parted with a quiet creek and a quaint figure stepped into the darkness with cautious steps, he slipped into the shadows to follow. Waiting with twitching fingers and trembling breaths for her to turn and jump in fright so he could step into the streams of moonlight to greet her with a proud smirk and bright violet eyes.
"Daemon..."
Her voice trailed off as a whisper, eyes fluttering as they glanced between his own amused ones with confusion as she held a book tight against her chest, trying to calm her hammering heart.
"Princess."
The title slipped off his tongue in a rasped confession, head dipping slightly as though it was secret to be held between them.
She swallowed, her throat dry as her face heated a growing shade of pink under his gaze, and she could only hope it was dark enough to hide the signs of her traitorous body as the blush spread down her neck under his intense stare.
"What are you doing here?"
She couldn't help but narrow her eyes at him, knowing very well the only time Daemon had come to the library before was because he had let his wines and ales get the better of him. Yet it seemed this time was different - his violet eyes clear and his stance steady as he stood straight with his hands behind his back and a stifled, leering smile stretched upon his lips.
Daemon let out a short breath of laughter, head dipping to the side as his smile grew sharper, "if I did not know better, I would say you were trying to get rid of me?"
"And do you know better?"
There was a challenge in her eyes, as though she was remembering that evening she tended to his wounds after his bout of sparring with her brother, where Daemon grabbed her with desperate hands and a weakening resolve that struggled to stop him from begging.
Daemon's fascination was hard to dismiss and impossible to play ignorance to, especially when her own mother had grown so concerned she had outright asked if Alaynha was having an affair with her uncle.
She had grown flustered at the question, heat rushing through her body as shock made her protests stilted and hesitant. But it wasn't true. She had pushed and pled until her mother accepted with a suspicious frown.
Still, she could not hide how she preened under his attention, even from herself. Couldn't help the ghost of a smile that played upon her lips as she reminisced upon her day with Daemon following her like an ever-present shadow as her handmaidens prepared her for bed. Couldn't help but wish to find him hidden in every corner and shadowed space, waiting as though he was preying on her.
Daemon hummed, brows raising as he assessed her form in a manner much too heavy to have been humorous.
"It seems I do not, ñuha perzys ōños."
Alaynha could not help but twist her head at the words, tossing them around in her mind as she wondered why she could feel her heart thudding against her chest and pushing up against her throat as her skin heated once more, now the gentle warmth of a burning fire.
Firelight, he had called her.
His firelight.
What did such a term even mean? Was it the innocent endearment of an estranged uncle and his blossoming niece? Or the wiles of a man so hungry and full of greed, he would feed upon the closest being under the guise of pretty words and false promises.
Or perhaps-
"But I believe the only way we can find the answer to your question with true certainty is if I were to spend more time by your side."
Oh.
She stared at him, unable to help the way her eyes widened at his words and the realisation of the impropriety of their situation grew more apparent.
"What do you think, Princess?"
The title was a challenge and a temptation all in one. A test to see if she would break through the boundary he had been chipping away from the first night he had come to King's Landing and danced with her held in his arms. The night they shared a wound and hid similar scars they refused to acknowledge.
But it was also a temptation- a promise of the wonders she could see at his side. An insight to his mind, to his thoughts and his world.
Did she want it though?
Alaynha stared at the man with a contemplative gaze, the hum of her dragon seeping through the cracks of the wall as it soared across the light of the moon, only for another shadow to cross its path with a chittering roar so familiar she couldn't dismiss the way Daemon's eyes lit up as his gaze flickered to the window to see his dragon chase hers in a playful bout.
Yet, this man was her sister's. He belonged to Rhaenyra, and she already hated Alaynha enough. She knew Rhaenyra planned to return to the Keep soon, with her children in her stead.
What humiliation would the woman face knowing her faithful husband has been preying upon her youngest sister in her absence? What anger would she revolt with when she learned of Daemon's infatuation? What fury would she unleash knowing Alaynha had never tried to stop him?
She wished her mother was present in that moment - her true mother. Her mother who had been a sister-wife and loved a man who was unworthy of such devotion. Her mother who left a mark on her heart and a crack in her soul that could never be mended. And she wondered what her mother would say, wondered how her mother had overcome her own trials and loved a man like Viserys.
Alaynha loved Viserys with all her heart, loved his adoration and his kindness and his loyalty. But she was not blind to his favouritism, and she was sure she would have experienced his dismissal just as her brothers and sister have if it had not been for the love he held for her mother, and the resemblance he was admant she held to his wives.
It had felt like an eon had passed, and when the world came into focus, a violent shade of violet eyes bore patiently into her own. She glanced between the pair, as though seeking the answers to all her worries and all her doubts in the endless void of his gaze.
Grey Ghost danced in the embrace of the moonlight, Caraxes trying to mimic every manoeuvre in an attempt to stay close. Their shadows littered the walls and floor of the library from their place in the sky.
Alaynha huffed, "fine. You can start by helping to carry my books."
Daemon raised his brows, although she was not sure if it was because he was surprised she had agreed or because she had expected him to to help her with such a menial task.
"If the job is too difficult for you," Alaynha rolled her eyes at him in irritation, "or beneath you, you are more than welcome to return to your chambers and never learn of me again."
They stared at each other for a moment, a few breaths passing between them before Daemon gave in so easily and pulled the book from her grasp. Alaynha tried to ignore the way her breath stuttered and her fingers tingled as he placed his hand atop her own.
His fingers slipped between the gaps of her own, wrapping around the edge of the book she held so close to her chest that Daemon could not help but watch as her breaths grew shallow at his touch, hiding his smirk at the sight of her chest rising and falling under the sheer material of her white gown.
His fingers tightened around the book, pulling it into his hands as he ground his teeth at the sensual images that began to burrow in his mind as he wondered how soft the flesh beneath her shift would feel against his palm in contrast to the book he currently held.
Alaynha cleared her throat softly, turning away from the dazed man whilst wrapping her robe over her body tighter - a poor attempt to conceal the guilt that oozed from her pores as she scolded herself for enjoying his attention.
She strolled through the library, her steps losing their grace as she stole glances over her shoulders with every twist and turn down the long and seamlessly organised rows of bookcases.
Daemon followed her like a shadow, taking ten steps forward for every five she would make, in hopes of being stuck upon her like a leech.
The minutes whispered by as Alaynha browsed the shelves with a thoughtful expression, her fingers running gently over the spine of a set of books she took interest in, only to pull out one and add it to the ever-growing pile accumulating in Daemon's arms.
Daemon did not complain, he barely spoke. She could feel his eyes upon her with every breath, as though he was sure she would fade into the darkness that shrouded the corners of the room.
It was not until she had selected the final book she would add to her collection, spinning on her heels to make her way to the door in a blatant show she was finally finished, that Daemon spoke.
"'The Wiles of Taming a Wild Dragon', hm?"
She could hear the amusement in his voice, could sense the way his shoulders shook as he chuckled under his breath. She felt her cheeks in shame, afraid he would no longer see her as a true dragon-rider should she have to rely on books and research in order to learn how best to care for her dragon, or obtain more.
"I thought Viserys had rid his collection of the book many years ago."
Alaynha paused in her ventures to turn and face him, brows furrowed in confusion as she watched Daemon stumble to a stop as his grip tightened around the teetering tower of books.
"Why would Father rid his library of the book?"
Daemon grinned, but something about it was different to all the other times he had allowed a smile to grace his face and tug upon his lips. This was a smile of reminiscence, a childish grin he was unable to stop, try as he might.
Daemon had owned the book when he was younger, reading it cover to cover and memorising every word. He had used it to bond with Caraxes and take a dragon of his own, yet when Viserys had found out he had been mocked and scoffed upon for using words to tame a dragon.
Daemon was never one to accept defeat nor humiliation. The boy would follow his brother's every step on the training grounds, mimic his every move in the sky, reciting the God-awful limericks that riddled the pages of his favourite book.
Looking back now, he could see how the book had made no sense, how it twisted vague words in hopes that its reader was desperate enough to find their own meaning through their tired consciousness.
It had seemed Daemon was.
It did not take long until Viserys grew tired of Daemon's advice when it came to rearing a dragon - garbled words strung together in a semblance of a song that grated at the older boy until he stole the book from Daemon and announced to all he had burned it.
Daemon had decided at that moment he would take sleep from his brother too, reciting all the lyrical intstructions he had memorised in the secret tunnels of the Keep just beside the opening into Viserys chambers, who wondered with incredulity how his brother's spirit had found him when he was still alive.
Daemon hadn't stopped for weeks, not until his mother had sat him down and scolded him for ridding Viserys of a good night's sleep.
That would teach him to steal from me, he had said.
Alaynha snorted at the proud confession, amusement colouring her eyes as she shook her head good-naturedly at Daemon's dramatic re-telling.
He walked beside her now, balancing the stack of books with ease as they stumbled through the dimly-lit corridors whispering of tales and memories they held far from most.
She held the book he spoke of in her hands, holding it tight to her chest as though Daemon's memory of it would sear itself into her skin. Truthfully, she had never heard much stories of her father - in all the time she had known him, he had always been sickly.
A gasp away from death.
She held back her laughter, shoulders trembling with the peels of giggles she knew would wake King's Landing as Daemon continued to reel and spin any tale he could remember of his brother in his youth, when he was healthy and joyous and... coherent.
She hadn't realised they had made it to her chambers until they were about to pass it all together. Her hesitation had Daemon stop in her stead, eyes roving over the chamber doors before spinning around the corridor before them.
Empty.
No knights. No soldiers. No men to be seen.
"Where are your guards? It is not safe for a princess to be alone at night?"
Daemon wasn't sure if he should be furious on her behalf or not. One side of him was grateful there were no pliable eyes nor ears to surely report back to Hightower and Cole. The other was angered at the sight that the princess was left unprotected.
"Oh, it is quite normal, Daemon."
There it was again, his name rolling past her sweet lips.
"I usually stay in the library quite late, since I usually cannot bring all these books back with me myself. It is on my commands the guards take their position much later in the night."
"You choose to stay out without protection? Are you truly that foolish, girl?"
Daemon's eyes narrowed as he met her gaze, incredulity filling his voice. Did she not realise the position she held? The power she had? All of which could be stolen and held against her should she be caught vulnerable by some curious lord or lustful soldier.
Alaynha scoffed, eyes rolling as she finally pushed open the doors to her chambers and entered without peering behind, "if you wish to simply mock me, you may place my books upon the table and take your leave."
Daemon does as he is commanded, lips twitching in irritation as he struggles with what he should say next.
"I believe I will wait here."
Alaynha turns to him sharply, a short laugh escaping her as she watched his determined expression, "and what has you think I would allow such a thing?"
"You have no guards. Although Crispin may be the Commander of the City Watch, it seems the man cannot even protect the princess, so why should I trust either him or his men."
"Oh, and what? You think you will be enough to protect me from the harrowed men and vile humans who walk amongst the Keep?"
Daemon didn't feign a reply, closing the chamber doors before making his way to the chaise and sitting upon it, snatching a book from the table in front of him to hold up in a facade of reading.
"Do not ignore me."
He simply huffed, fingers running down each page slowly in a show of interest before flipping to the next.
"Daemon," she rounded the chaise, leaning down to catch his eyes - her breath caught in her throat as a vibrant shade of violet burned through her own, like something had come to life within him and it rumbled and roared to be free.
"Uncle, you must leave."
Daemon tutted at the word, "come sit with me, niece."
"If anyone was to see you here in my chambers, it would cause an uproar throughout the Keep. My sister's husband. Please."
"You are left unprotected. No guards or knights posted at your door, I would be doing my brother a disservice by leaving you," his voice was monotonous, but she could see the traces of a smirk aching to stretch across his face.
This was a game to Daemon, nothing more.
But a game was something she could handle.
She sighed through her noise, grumbling under her breath and agreed to his motioning.
She moved to the chaise closest to the fire, gritting her teeth as she began to take a seat. It was then Daemon decided to open his damned mouth again, and Alaynha almost swore upon the Seven to find something to keep his mouth shut forever.
But a small part of her, a mangled beast of naivety and curiosity, knew she craved to hear his voice and even death would not stop her from seeking it out.
"Bring me some wine, will you, niece?"
She sat down with a huff, hands upon her lap as she clenched the soft material of her shift in fists - "have your arms fallen off that you find yourself incapable of serving yourself, uncle?"
She enunciated the word, a harsh drawl accompanied by narrowed eyes and a twitching nose as she watched him in irritation.
First he seeks her out in the library, which she allows.
Then he follows her around, which she encouraged.
But to enter her chambers and refuse to leave under his petty guise of protection was foolish, and though her heart may have fluttered at his refusal to her demands to leave her be, her irritation brewed with every command he spoke.
Daemon looks up from his book, brows raised as though he was waiting for her to follow his orders despite the rebuttal. Alaynha simply stares at him, mirroring his gaze in challenge.
Daemon rolls his eyes, tossing the book beside him as he scoffs and throws up his hands, "fine, dear niece, I accept defeat. Oh, how you have wounded your uncle."
He continued his dramatic mutterings as he sauntered his way over to the table as Alaynha eyes the book he had tossed aside. She bit her lip in quiet contemplation, leaving her seat to steal his previous one and snatch up the book to flick through.
"The Toils of a Maiden."
Her cheeks burned at the realisation of exactly which of her books Daemon had taken to entertain himself with - it was a romance novel, narrating the charming love that stirred between a young princess and her knight.
She flicked through the pages, eyes skimming over words she had read a hundred times before. Her concentration was broken when a goblet made its way in front of her, her eyes following the pale hand that held it carelessly above the book she had been feverishly reading to meet the amused expression of Daemon once more.
"A very interesting selection, princess. Both the wine and the book," he smirked.
She rolled her eyes, snatching the spiced wine from his grasp and finishing it in one swift gulp. Hopefully, the wine would make the rogue prince's presence more tolerable, or she would be too out of her mind to give him a second thought.
"Although, I do not understand why you would waste your time on silly novels."
Alaynha frowned, placing her goblet on the table beside her, "I fear what I read is no concern of yours."
Daemon sat beside her, arm brushing against her own with every breath, causing a flutter to brew in the pit of her stomach which was so foreign and new that she almost found it hard to meet his gaze.
"If I did not know better, then I would say you read such horrid tales in hopes of bedding your own knight."
Alaynha scoffed in disbelief, yet the small amount of wine she had consumed worked up her courage quickly as she retorted, "and if I do?"
"Then I would warn you to stay away from Ser Cole."
Alaynha almost laughed in disbelief and if she herself had not heard the stories of Daemon's ventures to gain Rhaenyra's hand in marriage, she would surely jest jealousy tainted his words.
There was a dark glint in his eyes, one that grew with the flames rolling in the fireplace, that had her think perhaps she was right.
Alaynha's lips parted as she went to disclose her incredulity at his words, but they caught in her throat at the sound of knocking upon her door. Her eyes widened as they met Daemon's stare, expecting to see the same dread in his expression that flooded her own - instead, it seemed he was amused, almost on the edge of his seat in anticipation of what would happen were they to enter and see the young princess unchaperoned with the Green's greatest threat.
He pointed his head towards the door, lips twitching into a smirk as he urged her to answer the knocks.
Alaynha did so hesitantly, her voice cracking as she spoke, "who is it?"
"It is your guards, princess. Ser Cole has sent us to take watch for the night."
She swallowed roughly, eyes flickering over Daemon's form as she wondered how he would escape unseen, "of course, thank you."
She could hear the men shift in their heavy armour as they took their position in front of her chambers, her shoulders tensing as Daemon leaned closer and his warm breath brushed across her cheek, the feeling heating her up far quicker than the fireplace ever had.
He tutted, "it seems I cannot escape just yet. We would not want you to be caught in a scandal, now would be princess?"
"You have to leave. If they find you in here, I will be ruined."
She stared at him with pleading eyes and pouted lips, and Daemon had to admit a part of him almost felt guilt for placing her into such a predicament.
The other part raised a hand to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb dragging down the soft curve of her cheeks as her eyes fluttered closed reluctantly, "I think I shall stay."
Her eyes opened to meet his, something quiet and dark bubbling under the surface as though she watched him in a different light altogether. She rolled her eyes, pulling her face away from his grasp and twisting on her seat to face the broiling flames. She pulled her knees towards her chest, ignoring the man as she took to reading the book he had been so amused by, "have it your way, but do not expect me to entertain your mischief, Daemon."
Daemon.
How he wished he could make her say his name again and again, the word slipping off her tongue until he tired of it. Daemon pondered how long it would take for his fascination to dwindle, for him to become bored and content as the slumbered dragon he had become so easily under Laena's and Rhaenyra's thumb.
He wondered if he would ever get bored at all.
Perhaps he would, but a contrite shred of his soul - a spark that had become ignited, a flicker that yearned to turn into the raging flame of dragon's breath - knew he would not.
It seemed Alaynha's obvious show that she had been ignoring Daemon went unnoticed, his mind reeling with ways he could sate his curiosity and knowing it would only be if he could get closer- closer and closer until there was barely enough room left between them to breath, until they melded as one like Valyrian steel forged by dragon fire. An ultimate seal, a sign by the Sevens and whoever else the kingdom swore fealty to.
He whispered across the space between them, his voice hushed and his words buzzing as his head lolled towards her, "you should join us on the training grounds tomorrow."
"Oh?"
"Aegon, though enthusiastic, is troublesome to train. You however," his gaze turns towards the fire, his body slouched upon the chaise as his head rested against the edge, his tongue suddenly heavy as he imagined her sparring against him, the sweat upon her brow, her small grunts of effort, the vicious gleam in her eyes, her skill and her anger, "you have promise. I can teach you better than any man upon King's Landing."
She couldn't help the way her mind filled with intrigue, placing her book to the side as she turned and faced him. Her knees knocked against his thigh, and he could feel her warm flesh press into him, burn through him as she watched him with curious eyes - "and what is it you believe you can teach me that both Aemond and Criston have failed to?"
"You forget, ñuha perzys ōños, how it is I became King of the Narrow Sea."
"I remember perfectly fine, but I also know that Criston saw war just as you have and he is Commander of the City Watch."
A flare of anger finds Daemon at those words, he only scoffs in reply, lips stretching out into an imitation of a laugh as his words grow hushed despite him bitterness so as not to alert the guards outside. His hand reached towards Alaynha, his thumb brushing over her thumb before wrapping around her throat and tugging her closer so she hovered over him.
Alaynha gasped sharply, Daemon's hand squeezing her throat lightly in warning so she didn't squeal and whine under his grasp. Her hands reached forward, bracing herself on his shoulders as he tugged her onto his lap, her knees falling on either side of his thighs as she hovered above him.
Daemon's eyes fell shut at the sight of her face above his own, her wide eyes and the shallow breaths that escaped her. Her hair fell in a halo around them, a barrier from the outside world. He tugged her closer, his forehead pressing against her own.
Alaynha couldn't help the way her body relaxed under his touch, her eyes fluttering shut as a shaky breath escaped her, her hands drifting down from his shoulders to his chest and her thighs pressed flush against his own as she sat upon his lap causing her shift to be drawn up and bunched at her waist.
"You forget yourself, Alaynha," his words were gruff, and the sound of her name finally- finally slipping past his lips, like the very word tainted the air between them, had her swallow roughly. Daemon's eyes opening wide as his eyes flashed with something unseemly and violent at the feeling.
"You forget that I am the Rogue Prince. That I was the Commander of the City Watch, and the very Gold Cloaks Cole commands as his own are mine. That unlike Cole, I am a dragon-rider. A prince. I have conquered a dragon. That the Narrow Sea is mine. That y-" Daemon caught his tongue before he could forget himself, his skin burning as he fought for control, a battle he was quickly losing as the sight and feel of the princess against him was a war of its own.
"I can have anything I want, ñuha perzys ōños- do anything I wish."
Every breath she took felt heavy, her chest heaving as something hot washed over her, a foreign sensation that was ready to consume her if she did not control herself.
"Then why don't you?"
She wasn't sure what she meant by such words, or perhaps she was. Perhaps she wanted Daemon to hold her, to run his hands over her body and into her hair, she wanted Daemon to groan her name and call to her, call for her.
In that moment, Alaynha did not think of her sister Rhaenyra, nor the fact that Daemon was a married man. Her body ached in a manner so unfamiliar, she was ready to lose herself to it to sate the revolting beast inside.
Daemon leaned up, lips only inches away from her own as they sighed into each other, tempting fate and their own sanity as the seconds ticked by. His tongue dipped out, laving at her jaw before moving lower the lick stripes against her neck, his hips gently rocking against her own as she whimpered at the feeling of him brushing against her core.
Then he stopped, his hand falling from her neck to hold her waist and press her down against him. A sharp gasp escaped her, a cry that was muffled as she hid her face against his neck.
Daemon drifted a hand into the tangles of her hair, tugging her head back and tried to find her gaze, "I am a better man than that- than this. I should be."
Alaynha did not know what to say, did not know if she should agree with him and stop this now or discourage such silly notions and chase the beast that was growing rampant inside of her to tame it.
Daemon stands, his arms moving to secure her against him as Alaynha wraps her legs around his waist. Her arms move hesitantly around his neck, and Daemon finds that as he nears her bed he is unable to break away from her stare.
There is something hidden within the depths of those brown eyes, something free and unruly, defiant and true that draws him in deeper when he knows he should not.
Curiosity.
Curiosity and nothing more.
Nothing more.
He leaned over her as he placed her softly upon the bed, hands moving lower to run over the soft expanse of her legs, travelling under the shift to explore her flesh and satiate this curiosity.
He blinked furiously as she leaned up to his touch, her breasts pushing against his chest as his forehead leaned against her own once more. He withdrew his hand from her shift, dragging his hands over the material, across her hips and her waist, up her stomach and between her breasts, brushing across her throat and her cheeks to tangle in her hair and pull her up - so tempted, so inclined and aching to press her lips against his own.
Daemon scrunches up his eyes, inhaling deeply as he forced the dragon within him to calm - she was a maiden, and Daemon would not ruin her. Not yet.
He pressed a kiss on her forehead, hand moving to brush across her face as he hushed, "sleep."
Alaynha watched him with a confused gaze, her body burning under his touch as her heart tumbled with hurt at his refusal to continue. Daemon could see it within her eyes, leaning closer to she couldn't escape his gaze, "not like this," he promised.
"I would not dishonour you like this."
Something in Alaynha's heart, the itching part that protested and yearned for his touch once more, settled at that. The rest of her twisted and turned in the face of such turmoil, unsure of her own feelings and the morals of such a matter.
Here was a married man, her sister's husband, in her bed with his hands upon her body and his lips so close to her own, and yet guilt was nowhere in sight. Simply curiosity.
Daemon pressed another soft kiss upon her forehead, his limbs feeling like lead as he pulled himself away and spoke solemnly, "I will sleep upon the chaise and slip out when the guards change shifts. No one will see me and your reputation will remain intact."
Despite all that had happened, and everything they had done, he still had that mischievous look in his eyes as he teased and taunted. But a promise was a promise, and Alaynha could not find it within herself to protest.
Neither of them had gotten much sleep that night, each laying away in their respective places wondering how things had moved so suddenly.
And better yet, how to stop it from happening again.
Or perhaps, what might happen next.
I'm getting back into the flow of writing, so I apologise if this is not great writing. I do hope you enjoyed it nonetheless, and hopefully you should be able to expect some smut in the next chapter.
Sorry for the late update, but due to the pressure of uni, work and my exams, I've decided to take a break until my summer holidays before I start writing again.
I do apologise for all the promises and the long waits but I do need to do this for myself.
I look forward to starting to update and make posts again soon come July.
There might be quite a wait for this newest chapter, hopefully not too long, but it might take some time because the chapter I am in the midst of writing is going to be quite long.
I'm trying not to rush all the scenes because I do want to get to all the smutty parts of the storyline in this next chapter, but I want to do the OC justice and stay true to her character, as well as show some development on Daemon's side and highlight some very important OCxCharacter relationships aside of OC x Daemon, as this will be very important in the overall storyline i have planned.
I already know it's been quite some time since I have last posted a chapter for this series, but hopefully its worth the wait - just wanted to keep you in the loop, as I know people are expecting an update soon after the poll was finished.
A decision has been made!! Thank you to everyone who voted and made my life a little easier, DoD shall be posted ASAP, following other fics in order of voting percentages🫶🏼🫶🏼
It's probably the dirtiest thing I've ever written, but I have no clue if it's actually good😭 but it is my first actual xreader fic, so hopefully, i did okay.
Abraham had spotted you first - a small and timid little thing hidden in the darkness of the container at Terminus. You had whimpered and shied away from them as he called to you, asked you your name, and how you had gotten here.
The truth was you didn't know. Not really.
All you had known were the four walls they had kept you confined in, and even then you hadn't known how long it had been.
Days. Weeks. Months?
It all felt like a blur, drifting in and out of sleep, terrified they would come and take you to the place they had taken countless other poor souls who had never returned.
It seemed it didn't matter how long you had been there or how scared you were, Abraham wasn't someone who gave up so easily. He poked and prodded and questioned until you opened up hesitantly, introducing yourself with a dry and cracking voice, strained from disuse.
There was something familiar in your quietness, in the way you spoke softly and asked questions with such bold curiosity, the way you settled in so easily despite just meeting him and the people he travelled with. It reminded him of a life long gone, children long passed, and it was then he decided he would take you in and care for you as his own.
When they had escaped from Terminus, Abraham had been the one to drag you along with a tight grip on your forearm, never letting go and repeating the same three-worded instructions at every step - "stay close, kid."
If the others had noticed his peculiar behaviour, they hadn't said much. Nor did they think to look twice.
You had been trapped with them, suffered perhaps more than they had at the hands of Terminus, and lost more than they could imagine. It bound you to them in a way they couldn't deny.
Well, all but one man.
Rick Grimes.
Stubborn and angry and feral. A wolf disguised as a man, a predator prowling around your form like he was waiting for a moment of weakness before he striked.
But you never gave him the chance.
You barely spoke to the man, sticking to Abraham, who you slowly saw an older brother in, and Rosita, a dear friend.
You picked up where you had left off with ease, holding your weapons with comfort as though they had never left your grip and swinging them in raw instinct, taking out everything that stood in your path.
You could hold your own, a fact Abraham praised you for. Still, it didn't stop Rick from treating you like a child - not letting you join Daryl on hunts despite him promising to keep an eye on you, denying your requests to walk ahead of the group in case they ran into walkers or trail behind in case someone snuck up on them. It was as though he saw you as a child, and the thought grated upon you.
It continued, for all the long days and cold nights you spent on the road to the harrowing days you spent adjusting to Alexandria.
Even when Rick had taken charge of the community, a fierce and powerful leader, he made sure to use his voice to do nothing but deny you your freedom.
It frustrated you to no end.
Perhaps that's why you were doing something as stupid as this.
Rick had said you couldn't join them on the run, said if you stepped a toe out of line and disobeyed him as you had many times before he would teach you a lesson so you never did so again.
He always made threats like this, it was simply another empty threat.
Or at least you had hoped it was.
You walked through the woods near Alexandria - if Rick wouldn't let you scavenge with him and Daryl, then you would have your own little adventure.
All had been going well until you burst through some shrubbery to be met with the groans of dozens of walkers.
A hoarde.
It wasn't as big as the ones you had seen before, but it was too large to handle alone.
You could do nothing but stumble away, running in the direction you prayed was back to Alexandria. But it seemed fate was not on your side, as everywhere you turned, there was nothing but more walkers.
Your breath caught in your throat, heart sinking with dread as your eyes burned. This couldn't be how you went out.
No.
You wouldn't let it be.
You looked around you, searching with eager eyes for a tall and strong tree. You sprinted towards it, grateful for being a natural climber as you clambered your way as high as you could get.
You would wait them out, hope they disappeared and left you be.
And they did.
But it had taken hours. Night had fallen, and your eyes had slipped shut as you leaned back against the tree trunk, knowing you would regret choosing to sleep here when you woke in the morning.
When you had woken the next morning, it had taken you the space of a breath to realise the walkers had finally let you be. And it took the space of a heartbeat to realise you had been missing the entire night, and though Rick may not have noticed your absence at first, Abraham and Rosita would have.
Shit.
You chambered down the trees hastily, almost losing your footing multiple times before jumping down the rest of the distance. Small scratches littered your arms, and you were lucky your cargos protected the soft flesh of your calves and thighs.
It was fine, you told yourself.
Rick had never followed through on his threats before. It would have to be a cold day in Hell before he started today.
If anything, the man did everything in his power to avoid you. This would simply be another one of those times.
If she was lucky, it would only have to be Abaraham's admonishing she'd have to endure - perhaps Rosita, too. But Rick? He would give her that stare he always did, like he was disappointed at her rebellion. Frustrated at her disobedience.
Something else darker always laid beneath his gaze, something she had never been able to make out.
When she drew closer towards the gates of Alexandria, she debated sneaking over the gates and pretending as though she had never left.
But it seemed fate had beat her to it once more.
Carol stood on the watchtower, fixing her with an exasperated stare as she turned back slightly to yell - "found her!"
There was a quiet commotion as bodies clambered up the platform, and up rose the figures of a disappointed Abraham. And a furious Rick grimes.
Huh.
Well, double shit.
Rick was heaving with anger, nearly jumping down the platform as he ordered the gates to be opened.
Abraham stayed standing next to Carol, and her heart sank with guilt as she found herself unable to meet his gaze.
She sped up towards the gate, hoping to ask for his forgiveness and pretend none of this had ever happened. It wasn't as though she had gotten hurt.
She was safe. Perfectly fine without a scratch.
Rick's voice boomed, echoing violently in the space between them as he blocked her hurried path to Abraham.
"Where the hell have you been?"
Her lips parted in shock as he made his way forward, his hand took a hold of her face, his fingers pressing into her cheeks forcing her lips out in a pout as his brows furrowed in concern, despite the bubbling anger in his gaze.
"'m fine. Just in the woods, no big deal."
You wouldn't be.
Your words were whispered, like you were terrified to set him off.
He clenched his jaw at your words, but you could see how his shoulders relaxed minutely.
"The hell were you doing outside the gates, sweetheart?"
His voice was tinged with anger, and still, he used that stupid petname he could never put away.
You were sure he hated you. He confirmed it with every glare, with every denial to your requests. But he wouldn't stop calling you that.
You didn't reply, cheeks flushing with embarassment as you pulled your face away from his grip and looked over his shoulder to see your friends armed to the teeth, very likely having gotten ready to search for you as they presumed you were in danger.
You met his eyes, taken aback by the rage that was pouring from them. You couldn't help the way your eyes burned as you shifted on your feet, "'m sorry, Rick. Didn't mean to stay-"
"No. No apologies this time. What on earth were you thinking? Leaving Alexandria without telling anyone? We thought something happened to you!"
You swallowed roughly, unsure of what you could say to make it all better.
It seemed you didn't have to.
"I've had it with giving you warnings only for you to ignore it like the little brat you are," his words were strained and hushed as he tried to hold back from raising his voice and alerting others of his intentions.
"I promised you you'd get punished if you didn't listen to me and stay inside of Alexandria. Not only did you leave the gates, you stayed out the whole night!"
"I didn't mean to! I swe-"
He didn't give you time to finish, hand wrapping tight around your wrist as he began dragging you into Alexandria.
He paused next to Daryl. You gave him a pleading stare, but he only shook his head minutely.
You had messed up this time. Bad.
It was one thing to leave the gates. Another to be missing the whole night and not tell anyone where you had gone.
"Keep everyone out."
Your stomach rolled with anxiety at Rick's words, and Daryl only nodded in ascent. You tried to look back for Abaraham, ready to cry out to him so he could spare you of Rick's wrath.
Rick only tugged you after him once more, "sorry, sweetheart, but Abaraham can't help you this time."
She knew it had been Abaraham who had stopped him from disciplining her all those other times. It seems this time had been too much for him to accept as well.
She couldn't help the tears that pooled in her eyes at the realisation she truly disappointed Abraham. Rick only scoffed as he dragged her to his house, empty aside from his seething form and her worried one.
He closed the door behind them, walking past her as he paced up and down the small living room space. She could only watch him anxiously, shifting on her feet as she watched his shoulders tense and his lips twitch into a familiar snarl. He was so angry.
"I knew you were wreckless," he started, his voice pitched with incredulity, "but you have to be a whole 'nother crazy to go and spend the night in the woods. What if something happened, huh? Did you even think before you left? 'Course you didn't, brat like you thinks of no one but herself."
You ground your teeth at his words, anger fizzling up and replacing the guilt you previously felt.
"Oh, please. You would've loved it if I never came back. Hell, it's your fault I was out there in the first place!"
He stood still from his pacing, his back to her as he looked over his shoulder with narrowed eyes - "my fault?"
"Yes! You never let me do anything. You act as though I'm stupid and incompetent."
"Well, clearly, I was right."
"Oh, fuck you, you son of a bitch. You're always so arrogant," you couldn't help the words that spiilled past your lips, as though months of frustration had finally found an opportunity to make itself known and unburden your conscious.
"You always tell me what to do, like I can't think for myself," your voice gradually grew louder as you drew closer to him, "but I can! I'm so much more than what you think of me. You're not my dad, Rick. So stop acting like it."
He had turned to you fully by the end of your rant, head twisted with a dark smirk upon his face that promised exactly what he had been threatening you with the moment you had joined the group - discipline.
"You done with the speech, sweetheart? The things I tell you to do are for your own good, I'm protecting you."
"Then why does everyone else get to do stuff? You take Rosita and Tara on runs with you, but you make me stay in these stupid walls. Hell, even Enid's left Alexandria more than me!"
"I told you. I'm protecting you."
"That's so dumb, and if you think I'm going to stand here and accept that, you are too."
He clenched his jaw, running a hand over his face before a scoff left him, "wanna know why I don't let you out?"
She didn't say anything, just watched as his eyes grew so dark she could no longer make out the blue hues of them.
"Because you're nothing but a stupid little girl who doesn't know when something is too much for her. 'nd I ain't going to watch you get yourself killed."
Stupid little girl?
Your hands trembled in anger as your eyes darted to the nearest thing. You reached for the throw pillows on the couch, throwing it at Rick's head as he stepped back to avoid everything you threw his way.
"Fuck you, Rick. Fuck you and your stupid saviour complex!"
When you ran out of things to throw, you drew closer to him with fury burning in your eyes. "I have more than proved myself in this group."
You poked at his chest, meeting his eyes with vicious challenge - "I deserve to be here," you pushed at his chest as rage ate you up, "and I don't need you protecting me. You're not my father. You're not anything to me. You're just some lowlife sheriff from a small, forgettable town that gets off on controlling people."
You paused, your face falling at your words.
No.
No, you hadn't meant that. Not really.
You wanted to hurt him, but not like this.
Rick was tough, yes. And so stubborn. But he was a loyal man who would do anything to protect his people, and you knew that included you.
Shit.
You were scared to look him in the eyes, worried you would see nothing but disappoint in his eyes. A more selfish part of you worried that he would walk away, let you be without talking to you again. As much as you hated the way he controlled your every move, a small and guilty piece of your soul craved his overprotectiveness, playing into the fantasy that he only acted like this because he cares.
"Get upstairs."
His voice was devoid of emotions, more of a barking order than anything else.
You finally looked up at him, confusion flooding your face as you took in the fire that burned in his eyes - "what?"
"Upstairs. Second door on the right."
You scoffed, "I'm not some dog for y-"
His hand clamped over your throat, tugging you closer until your noses brushed together and his warm breath fanned over your lips. You could feel yourself grow warm under his intense stare.
"Go upstairs, now. I'll give you thirty seconds before I drag you up there myself, understood?"
When you didn't answer, he squeezed your throat lightly in warning, and you couldn't help but hold back a whimper.
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
If you wanted to disobey him, mock him and ridicule him then he would do what he had to, to show you your place. You would learn by the end of today, he'd make sure.
"Yes, sir?"
Your voice trailed off as a question, one that Rick replied to with an amused hum - "we'll work on that."
He took his hand off your throat, stepping back to cross his arms over his chest. You tried to ignore how broad they made his shoulders seem, how large and intimidating he was when he stood over you.
You swallowed harshly before he nodded his head towards the steps and you couldn't help but run up into the room he told you to meet him in.
You didn't have the nerve to look around and see how the man lived. No, your heart was racing with fear as you wondered what exactly he planned to do.
Downstairs Rick locked all the doors, his way of making sure no one could get in. He wouldn't want anyone disturbing the both of you.
You could hear his footsteps growing closer, like a ticking time-bomb. You didn't know what to do with yourself. You stumbled backwards until you reached the window and a glance outside showed how everyone went back to their daily lives now that you'd come back safe and sound.
You tried to look for Abraham, but before you could spot the red-headed man, Rick made his way through the door.
He shut it behind him, hand reaching back to click the lock shut before placing his hands on his hips and scanning for form.
His gaze paused on your arms, tutting slightly at the light scratches left from your frantic climbing of the tree - "arms hurt?"
His voice was quieter, much more passive than it had been downstairs. Still, it did nothing to calm your trembling heart.
You shook her head minutely, to which he narrowed his eyes, "use your big girl words."
You bit your lip in an attempt to hold back any retort but still couldn't stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you spoke, "no, sir."
He shook his head, disappointed in your attitude - "gotta teach you a lesson. That kind of attitude isn't gonna work with me."
You couldn't help but snort light, wondering what exactly he planned to do, "what? You planning on grounding me?"
He didn't say anything, only drew closer to the bed before his hands went to his duty belt. Your heart began to sink in your chest as you watched him throw the duty belt onto the bed, quickly reaching for his actual belt and slipping it out from the loops of his jeans. He folded it in half, slapping it lightly against the palm of his hand.
He pointed towards his dresser with it, the top of it bare, but there was a mirror placed at such an angle that the whole room was reflected in it.
"Bend over on the dresser, trousers down."
You swallowed harshly, eyes widening with incredulity.
"You can't be serious?"
He clenched his teeth, "does it look like I'm joking, sweetheart? Dresser. Now."
"No."
He took a few steps closer to you, "either you willing walk to that dresser and take your punishment like the big girl you say you are, or I'm gonna throw you over my lap and not stop until your ass is too sore for you to even walk straight."
You could tell he wasn't joking, could tell from the way his knuckles whitened as he gripped the belt.
You couldn't help the way your voice quietened as you twisted your hands and shifted on your feet, "how many?"
"Why? Are you scared?"
You couldn't help it when your eyes narrowed in defence, huffing your way to the dresser, kicking off your shoes and not stopping in a show of bravery. It wasn't until you actually stood in front of it that you slowed down, hands trembling as you fiddled with the button of your cargos.
Your trembling hands were noticeable and only worsened when two hands creeped around your waist, and Rick spoke into your ear, his voice almost soft.
He unbuttoned your cargos, your breath catching in your throat as he slipped his hands into the waistband to help push it down your legs and reveal soft, baby-pink panties, "just twenty, yeah? Think that'll teach you your lesson?"
Twenty?
God, you wanted to high-tail it and run.
But he had locked the door. And even if you did manage to leave, you knew Rick would find another way to punish you.
Maybe this was the easiest option. He just needed to calm down, to get over his ego and think he taught you a lesson. He didn't need to know you thought you were right.
You leaned over the dressor, leaning on your elbows as a shaky breath escaped you, "yes, sir."
"Good girl."
You couldn't help the shiver that ran down your spine at his praise.
"Need you to count after every one, hm? You miss a number and I start again."
"What? That's not fair."
"Then you better not miss a number."
You tried to push yourself up straight, not believing he actually meant what he said, "this is so stu-"
Thwack.
A gasp escaped your throat, and you were sure the belt had left its mark on you.
"Get back down and start counting."
You did as he said reluctantly, unwilling to test him when he striked you once already.
"One."
You couldn't help but whimper as he struck the belt again, this time two in a quick succession on the soft underside of your cheeks.
"Two- three."
"Look at you, counting like a big girl. What was it you said to me?"
Rick ended his question with a lash directly on your plump cheeks, relishing how the skin turned red and raised under his strength.
You wanted to retort, but you didn't think you could do more than count without your voice breaking. Your eyes stung with tears, but you held them back, hands clenched into tight fists as you tried to stop yourself from reaching back to cover your abused bottom.
Fuck Rick and fuck his rules.
You wouldn't let him win.
"Four."
You would take every lash and count without breaking.
You could do this.
Right?
"Ah, yeah. That I meant nothing to you, right?"
Three were thrown in quick succession, tears pooling in your eyes as your voice finally broke whilst you counted to seven.
"That I ain't your father?"
Thwack.
This one had been over your upper thigh, the pain radiating towards your pussy and you couldn't help the whine that escaped you as you counted eight, praying he couldn't see how your traiterous cunt twitched and moistened at the strike.
"I'll be the best damn daddy you ever had, sweetheart."
Another three strikes over the same senstive area across your cheeks, the skin already turning a mottled red as you moaned slightly as the sound of him calling himself your daddy.
Fuck.
Another strike hit your cheeks, this one softer as he tutted into your ear.
"My poor baby," your eyes met his through the mirror as you held back a whimper at his words. Tears were falling down your face as you held back a cry. "Looks like my little girl forgot to keep counting."
Your eyes widened as you realised it meant he would start all over again.
Rick couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, a dark cadence that had you shivering as you shook your head at him in the reflection.
He came closer to you, pressing up against your tender backside, the harsh material of his jeans rubbing against your bruised bottom to make a horrible, aching burn. Through the haziness of your tears and hesitant arousal, you could feel something press against your cunt, something big and hard and you knew exactly what it was.
Your hands moved to tighten on the edge of the dressing table, trying so hard not to rub back against him.
"Seems like I'm going to have to start again, huh?"
You couldn't help but break into a sob, "no, no, no. Please, I'm sorry. I don't want more."
He petted your hair, using it to start pulling you to him so your back was flush against his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you in place.
You whimpered as his jeans rubbed harshly against your sore bottom, Rick placed his chin in the crook of your neck, cooing at you through the reflection, "maybe if you ask me really nicely, I'll listen."
You held onto his forearms, your fingers gripping his arm with trembling strength as you whimpered and cried, "please, I'm so sorry. Please don't start again."
"Please don't start again, who?"
"Please don't spank me again, sir."
"Hm, don't think I like that one, sweetheart."
You just stared at him through the reflection, confusion painting your face until-
Oh.
"Daddy," your voice shook as you whined the word, unable to stop yourself from rocking back on him in instinct, "daddy, please. Don't want n'more," your voice broke as you cried softly, "hurts s' bad."
One of his hands drifted to splay over your lower abdomen, using the pressure to push you back against his cock, hissing quietly in your ear.
"See, daddy would believe you baby. But I think you're lying."
Your fingers come to pull at his as they drift lower and lower, knowing he would find your panties damp, "no 'm not. Please-"
You would whine and beg and cry if it meant he wouldn't spank you with the belt.
He clicked his tongue, dropping his hands to stand back and run his eyes over you. He reached forward to drop the belt on the dresser, "I have a better idea, hm?"
He moved away from you, making his way to the bed to sit comfortably on top. He leaned back on his hand, his pupils still blown with anger, but now there was something more.
You watched as he jerked his head at his lap in the reflection, "c'mon baby. Come lie down on daddy's lap and take your punishment like a big girl."
Turning to him, you couldn't help the petulant whine depsite knowing you would get nowhere, "don't wanna."
He scoffed, leaning forward to rest on his elbows, "either you come yourself or I'll bend you back over that dresser and give you fifty."
You fisted the sheets in your hands, burying your face in your arms as he ghosted his fingers over the curve of your back, drifting down slowly over the bruising flesh.
You knew you could barely endure another twenty, so his threat was enough to make you stumble to him, your bottom already much too sore from the incomplete lashings he gave. You stood close to him, and he barely gave you a second to breathe before manoeuvring you over his lap.
There was something different about it this time. Something that felt more intimate, more gentle as he pet your head and murmured for you to count.
The first slap came too quickly - a sharp intake of breath of the pain burned on top of your sensitive skin.
"O-one."
You whimpered into the sheets. These felt worse than the belt, and some part of you wished he would grab it again so it could be less painful.
He slapped another three in a quick succession, all in the same place making you whine and push into him, barely able to hold back a gasp as the rough seam of his jeans brushed over your clothed clit.
Your hand reached back over your sore bottom, but he only tutted as he shifted his legs and used his spare hand to pull your hands away - "try that again, baby and I'm gonna start all over again. Now count."
"Two, three, f-four."
You could hear the sobs you held back as they weighed heavy in your throat.
"Told y' so many times this would happen," there was a quiet fury in his voice, "but did y'ever listen? No."
He slapped you twice, once over each of your upper thighs and despite the way you pushed away from him you couldn't help but slip your legs open a little wider, trying to feel the drag of his jeans against your cunt as something foreign burned low in your gut.
You shouldn't be feeling like this.
What was wrong with you?
You were sure there was a damp patch forming on your panties, and it wouldn't be long until Rick could see it. Still, his voice, the pain, the feeling of his muscled thigh under your twitching cunt. You couldn't help it.
A large smack sounded against your bottom, a cry escaping you.
"Even now, y' ain't paying attention. Do you even realise how dangerous it was that you left? That you never told anyone? What you did was stupid!"
He continued to throw slaps across your bottom, each one bringing you into a fit of sobs and cries as you hid your face in your arms whilst counting. Still, the burn began to grow into something more, and you couldn't help but push down against his lap to try and find some relief.
You had finally reached twenty, and it was as though the final slap across your tender flesh had broken a dam.
You sobbed and cried into your arms, apologies spilling from your lips as a flood of arousal and guilt and anger came over you once more. Anger at yourself. For leaving Alexandria after Rick told you not to. For shouting at him and telling him he meant nothing to you.
For liking the punishment.
Rick pulled up your body, pulling you into his chest. You whimpered as your tender bottom ached when you placed pressure on it. You wouldn't be able to sit down for days. Maybe weeks.
He held you against his chest, hushing you and murmuring praises into your ear as you hiccuped against him -"such a good girl. Took your punishment so good, didn't you? Did so good, baby."
You couldn't look him in the eye, unsure of what you would find. You sniffled quietly, tears calming at his petting and praises.
"You know what good girls like you deserve?"
The cadence of his voice lowered, but there was no hesitation in his words. The hand that brushed your hair drifted to your bare thighs, pushing apart your knees to rub circles into the soft flesh. His other arm tightened around your waist, reluctant to let you go.
"Rick..."
Your voice was shaky, unsure. You had a feeling you knew where this was going, but was it right? You hadn't even known Rick could have felt this way for you, but then again - sex was sex. And this must have riled him up as much as it did you.
He just wanted to burn off energy, and you were here - pliant and submissive to his wills.
His fingers traced their way closer to your panties, slipping under the waistband to stretch it out before letting it slap back against your skin.
"From the look of your panties, I'd say you enjoyed that a little too much," there was a hint of amusement in his voice, "but I think my girl deserves a reward for taking her punishment so well."
My girl.
His girl.
He doesn't give you a chance to reply, fingers slipping into your underwear to trace around the lips of your cunt, dipping in to carefully trace around the hole Rick had been dreaming of from the moment he saw you in that Terminus container - you looked like a quiet and timid girl, but he could see the wildfire that blazed through your eyes. The one that shone through whenever you were too close to death.
He had come to enjoy it and fear it. Afraid to see it because it meant you had brushed death once more, but the sight of it overtaking you burned him in a way he couldn't help but crave.
Your hands came to wrap tightly against his wrist as his fingers finally met your clit, quiet whimpers escaping you. They intensified into reluctant moans as he moved his fingers despite your hold, your hips rocking back into his lap as you whined at the ache of your bruised bottom.
He shushed you, bucking his hips up against the sore flesh as he held you tighter and sped up his fingers. He circled your clit, fingers dipping down to your hole and back up as he leaned down to press his lips against your ear.
"Does that feel good, baby? You like how daddy's touching you?"
You couldn't help but let your head fall against his shoulder, tears burning your eyes as you edged closer and closer.
How long had it been since you had been touched like this?
The only hands that had ever touched you had been your own, and you were sure they never made you feel like this.
Keeping his hands in your panties, he used his other arm to twist you so your back was against his chest. You could feel the subtle movements of his hips as he pushed up against you, and with the pain of your sore bottom, the pleasure of his hand between your thighs and the pleasurable groans of the handsome man behind you, you couldn't help but cant up your hips, encouraging him to move faster.
"Need more, please."
"Please, who?"
"Daddy," you couldn't help it when you moaned out the name, couldn't help when your hands reached back to twist in the strands of his hair and tug him forward as you twisted your neck to place pretty kisses against his jaw. Your head fell back against his shoulders as one of your hands slipped down to join his. He only tutted, biting your ear playfully before pulling his fingers out.
You couldn't help the tears that spilt as you whined for him to not stop.
He didn't listen to a word you said, standing up to throw you higher upon the bed. You watched as he grew frenzied, chest moving frantically with every breath as he clambered upon the bed. His lips reached for your neck, sucking and biting the flesh and leaving deep marks on your skin that you were sure everyone would see tomorrow. Still, you couldn't help but whimper and whine, hips tilting up in search of his heat to press against your own.
He littered kisses down your neck, the fingers that had just been inside of you tracing your soft lips before pushing inside to press against your tongue. You couldn't help but roll your eyes back as you tasted yourself on his fingers, whining as you sucked him clean.
His hand left your mouth, trailing down your throat to leave a wet streak as both his hands reached for your top, only to tear it in half so your breasts could spill from the material. He licked them, laving at them and sucking heavy marks.
His hands went to his pants, undoing the button and zipper to pull out his stiffened cock. You were barely able to take a glance before he filled your vision - him and his blue eyes, so dark and full of lust as he whispered against your lips.
"Gonna fill you so good baby, you want that, huh? Yes, you do. Gonna make you feel so good."
Before you could even whimper in reply, he pressed his tip against your hole. His breath caught in his throat, and your hands came to sit on his shoulders, only just realising he remained dressed whilst you were bare beneath him.
He shushed you, lips coming to press fluttering kisses against the dip of your throat as he pushed in further.
"So tight, baby. Doin' so good- almost there."
Almost felt like forever, your back arching as you ached to pull more of him in with a broken moan. His nose came to brush against yours as he gave shallow thrusts, pushing in deeper with every one. His tongue came to lick the plump flesh of your lips, and you couldn't help the broken whimper that escaped you as your lips parted and your tongue escaped to meet his own.
You moaned when he bit you tongue, feeling the way his lips twisted into a smirk as he pushed himself closer to press his lips against yours.
The kiss grew heated, a clash of teeth and a tangle of tongues and spit and moans as Rick's movements grew uncontrolled. He rocked deeper and further into your pretty cunt until he bottomed out, groaning against your lips as he enjoyed the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him. You couldn't help but tilt your hips down, grinding against him as you searched for friction against your clit.
Rick hiked one of your legs over his hip, lifting the other over his shoulder as he dragged you even closer.
He pulled back from your lips, a string of saliva attaching his reddened lips to your pouting ones as you looked up, seeking his gaze - his pupils were blown, drowning in lust as he pulled back his hips before thrusting back in. The motion jolted your body up the bed, a long whine escaping at the feel of his cock dragging in and out of your cunt with a delicious burn.
Fuck, was this what you had been missing out on for so long?
You suddenly wished Rick has spanked you sooner, especially if it was always going to end like this.
His thrusts were slow, each drag hot and delicious as he pulled back slowly only to thrust in with barley retrained lust. Your hands went to the base of his neck, twisting in his curls, and you tugged his closer to press your lips against his once more. He muttered praises against your lips, slipping his tongue in to meld against your own.
Your hands dipped lower, fingers brushing against the base of his cock causing his to jolt at the sensation, your head tipping back as the tip of his cock brushed against something that had you seeing stars.
Your hands slipped under his shirt, holding back a moan at the feeling of his skin against your palms - wanting to feel more, needing more.
"Rick- please."
His began trailing kisses down your jaw, biting the skin teasingly as he whispered against your flushed skin - "what do you need, baby? Hm? Tell me what you want."
"Fuck- need to feel you. Wanna touch you, Rick."
His thrusts slowed down to a stop, causing your eyes to burn with tears at the lack of stimulation as you reached for his shoulders when he pulled back. He tutted when you whined at him, pushing roughly into your hips, causing your breath to catch in your throat.
He pulled off his shirt, throwing it over his head as he readjusted your legs around his waist and gripped your hips tight. His hands went behind your back, pulling you up so you sat seated upon his lap with your chest pressed against his own.
He started slow once again, hips softly pushing into your own as the shallow thrusts causing your hardened nipples to brush against his chest, already sensitive from his abuse.
Your bottom burned at the new position, but you couldn't help the way it curled into a pleasurable heat as you rested your weight on your knees and took it upon yourself to fuck yourself on his heavy cock.
You pressed yourself further against Rick, panting in the crook of his neck as you hid your flushed face, a hand sneaking between your heated bodies to touch your aching clit.
"Shit. You makin' yourself feel good, sweetheart? Touchin' yourself like that."
"Feels s'good."
You couldn't help but roll your eyes back, pushing down harsher on his lap, desperate for his thick cock to hit that perfect spot again.
Rick bit your ear, a hand coming to wrap softly around your throat - "well, we can't have that now. Can we? That's my job, princess - makin' you cum."
His voice had dropped to a dangerous whisper, squeezing your throat in warning as you grew more desperate against him. His hand dropped to your hip, tightening against the flesh as he pulled you off his cock and positioned you onto all four's.
"Just can't let me have m' fun, can you? Gotta take care of y'rself, like I can't do it for you. Fuckin' brat, you are."
You placed your head in your arms, back arching as you pushed back in search of friction, voice laden with tears are you apologised.
"Sorry, Rick. Please, need you so bad."
"Oh, now you need me, baby?"
His hands came to rest on your bottom, squeezing the sore flesh of your cheeks as you groaned into your arms. He saw how your hole clenched at the sensation, holding back a groan of his own at the sight.
He leaned forward, pressing his hard cock against your cunt and grinding against it softly, ignoring the way you pushed back against him in a silent plea.
"What do you want, little girl?"
"You. Please, need you so bad."
"Need me to do what, hm? C'mon, use your words for daddy."
"Fuck- need you to fuck me, daddy. Wanna feel you inside me, wanna feel good. Plea-"
You couldn't finish your words, voice breaking out into a cry as he thrusted into you in one swoop. A long moan, broken and whining, echoed throughout the room, and you flushed at the idea your desperate voice could be heard from outside the window.
You held onto his wirst as his fingers finally met your clit, leaning back into his embrace as he traced vigorous circles onto your throbbing pussy.
Rick's hand twisted into your hair, tugging you back against him so he could grope your breasts with one hand and touch your desperate, wet cunt with the other. His fingers ghosted over your cunt, his head tilting back with a groan as he rammed into you relentlessly, endless whines escaping you as he brushed over that special place again and again and again.
Fuck.
"Atta girl, this what you wanted?"
You could only nod as you ground your hips against his hand, head tilting back to rest against his shoulder as you placed a hand on top of each of his own, pushing him to touch you harder. To leave his mark. To make it so that even when he had let you go, all you could feel was his touch.
"Yeah, didn't even need a spanking, did you? Just daddy's fat cock in your desperate little cunt, right?"
"Yes-yes, yes. Fuck, yes. Just needed you, Rick. Just daddy, please."
"What is it, baby? You close?"
You could tell from the way his voice wobbled, the way his muscles tensed behind you, the way his arms pulled you closer and his thrusts grew sloppy that he was too.
"Need to cum so bad-"
"Not until I say so, baby. I'm gonna cum so deep inside of you, gonna feel me for days. You want that?"
You couldn't help the tears that escaped you now, using every muscle in your body to try and stave off your orgasm as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His words only turned you on further, breaths shuddered as you twisted your face to hide in the crook of his neck with tears leaking.
"C'mon, sweetheart. Look at me, yeah?"
You met his gaze, only to have him press his lips against yours. You moaned desperately against him, hissing as he bit your lip before running his lip over it to soothe it.
He twisted you around on his cock so your tender breasts were pressed against his chest once more, moving to press you against the bed as his hands held onto your hips for dear life. He leaned over your body, lips hovering over your own as your nails scratched along his back, so deep you were sure they'd leave marks.
Good, you thought. You were sure your own body would experience a similar fate.
He leaned down to your ear, just as your pretty hole fluttered desperately around his fat cock - "cum."
He had whispered it, but you heard it for what it was. An order your body was aching to give into.
You broke out into a delectable whine, body seizing as your cunt clenched around him and milked him for all he was worth. He groaned against your ear, fingers pressing so deep into your flesh that you were sure his handprints would be bruised and buried into your skin.
You found you didn't mind.
He rocked gently into your hips as you overcame your collective high, sighing softly into the space between your lips as his tongue dipped in searching for your own.
You pressed your lips against his with a quiet sigh as your tongue brushed against his tentatively, and Rick couldn't help but twitch inside your warm and sopping cunt.
Shit, maybe he should've spanked you sooner. Especially if it meant he'd end up with his cock in that warm place between your thighs.
And it was also safe to say Rick didn't leave you on your own again. No, instead you were attached to his hip - and his cock. And it didn't take long until the others had caught on, with one too many of them catching an eyeful of the sinful acts.
It was safe to say that you never really did ignore the man's orders again. Not unless you were feeling particularly desperate for his attention.
Rick couldn't help it, though. With your bratty attitude and pretty cunt he couldn't get enough. And you had to admit, there was something addictive about that dominating power he held being placed upon you with his undivided attention. Who wouldn't crave such a thing?
Alara laid awake, listening to the sound of Rick's breathing. The world outside his window was quiet and dark, so he was all she could see and hear.
Her wrists and ankles ached as she fought quietly against the steel wrapped tightly around them, the chain that anchored her to the bed clinking quietly as she tried to force the cuffs to slip off. She knew it wouldn't work, but she had to try.
They were tight, too tight. It seemed Beale continued to learn from his mistakes and did everything in his power to keep her tied down and trapped. She had slipped from her cuffs once before, broken her thumb and slid free of the manacles, only to tie them around a guard's neck when he came in to stop her - then she broke his neck too.
She had thought she won, that she had the chance to escape. But then another guard came. And another. And another. Until there was too many of them and too little of her.
She had been beaten into submission at that moment, and a part of her knew she deserved it for having taken another life. Still, she vowed when they let their guard down she would do it again and take more.
She shuffled on the bed, trying to move onto her back but the short distance between her cuffs and chain only left her lying awkwardly. She groaned heavily, twisting until she could sit up on her knees.
Alara brought her face down to her hands, scrubbing her face to wipe away the sleep that never came as she thought to herself.
The sun would rise soon and the ticking clock would start again, and no amount of listening to the soldier's breaths would slow it down.
Alara was doomed.
Unless...
She looked over at Rick's sleeping form, her brow's furrowing at the peaceful expression on his face. How could he feel calm in a moment like this? How could he feel safe knowing he was stuck in the Civic Republic? How could he sleep knowing she was only inches away, likely planning his death in the most painful way?
Still, she couldn't help but appreciate how gentle he looked in that moment; his skin flushed to a healthy colour and the ever present frown had softened. Although, it probably helped that his eyes were closed and she couldn't stare into those blue eyes of his.
Something about them always seemed so- sad. And she wondered for a moment why he was so placative with his life here, when it brought him nothing but misery.
It didn't matter, she thought to herself. All that mattered was escaping, and what better time than now. Beale wouldn't expect it, he'd think he beat her into submission long ago and that Rick's presence was enough to deter any nuisance.
He was wrong.
"Hey-" she coughed as her throat grew dry, still trying to adjust to finally being able to talk at will.
"Rick," her words grew elongated, and she would refuse to admit they almost bordered a whine, "wake up."
It was the first time she had spoken his name, and it slipped off her tongue with ease. She shuffled to the edge of the bed, huffing and rolling her eyes as she stepped onto the cold floor to wake up the sleeping beast.
Some soldier he was.
Some dream he must be having, to not want to wake up to her voice.
A chill ran up her legs as she stumbled closer to him. Lucky for her, he had made his bed close to her own, so when her leash refused to give her any more leeway, she only needed to kneel down to get closer.
Alara couldn't get close enough to touch him, she didn't think she wanted to. She admired him from her position above, the scattered freckles across his face, the small scar on the bridge of his nose, the way his lips twitched even in his sleep and his lashes fluttered like he was dreaming of someone who was likely a stranger to her.
She leaned as close to his ear as she could get, ready to scream his name so the man would leap up from his makeshift bed of blankets and sheets and do what she wanted.
But it had been a long time since she was given freedom like this, a long time since she had an opportunity to listen to the familiar whispers of a life long gone. She smirked to herself, the corners of her eyes crinkling as they filled with mischief.
She held her breath by his ear, unable to stop her twitching lips as she shouted into his ear - "boo!"
Rick flinched harshly in his sleep, his hand reaching for the blade hidden under his pillow to hold it against the culprit. His eyes had barely focused in the dark, his knife pressed against someone's throat as it trembled under the sound of their breaths and... laughter.
It wasn't the first time Alara had a knife held against her throat and she was sure it wouldn't be the last. But this may be her last time being able to enjoy something so childish and mischievous without fear of what comes next.
She could feel the harsh sting of a blade against her throat, but still, her laughter bubbled through in unrelenting streams of giggles as she huffed apologies to the man. She had never apologised before, not really. But she felt she didn't mind this time.
Rick felt his heart pause for a moment as laughter filled the apartment, and suddenly it all came rushing back.
Beale, Greer, Okafor. The girl. The trial.
He found himself unable to move, unable to focus on anything but the bright laughter that filled his ears. When was the last time he had heard something so care-free, so loud and true and hopeful.
Here she was, fated to a life where everything was stripped from her all the way down to her ability to 'yes'. And still she found a reason to laugh.
Rick thought it must've been before Carl died that he had felt something so light and hopeful in the sounds that whisked around him. And he realised again how much he had lost in such a short amount of time.
He cleared his throat roughly, flipping the knife in his hand so the sharp end was faced away before he pressed his fingers onto her head, pushing her away from him as he growled under his breath.
She only shook her head to remove his hand in response, "hey, it's not my fault you're a deep sleeper."
He clicked his tongue, glancing at his watch to find it was only four in the morning. He didn't need to be up for another three hours, and he rarely got enough sleep as it was.
"What the hell do you need in the middle of the night?" He couldn't help the way he raised his voice, glaring at the girl as frustration ate at him.
Rick could sense her pout, even in the dark.
"I need to pee. And considering you've left me chained to the bed," she shook the manacles for emphasis, "I thought it'd be better to call you instead of sleep in my own urine. That wouldn't be fun for either of us."
He only scoffed in response, pushing himself to his feet before wrapping his hands around the cuffs on her wrist to pull her up to.
"Hey! Be gentle," she huffed as she yanked her hands out of his grip, only for him to reach out and hold them tighter.
He tutted, stepping closer as he leaned down to whisper in her ears, "be a good girl and shut up before someone hears you. Unless you want me to find something better than that muzzle of yours to keep it shut."
Alara wrinkled her nose in the dark, blindly reaching out to kick him in the shin, making him drop her hands and grunt in response. Rick could only huff, muttering under his breath as he rounded her figure to switch on the bedside lamp.
A gloomy orange light filled the room, so bright that Alara turned away from the source with her eyes screwed shut. It seemed the glaring light didn't effect Rick in the same way.
The man only continued to grumble under his breath, and she was sure he was calling her every insult he could think of for disturbing his beauty sleep. She only teetered on the spot, leaning back and forth on the tips of her toes and heels of her feet as she waited for him to release her from the bed.
Alara tried not to hide her disappointment as he kept her attached to the chain, barely speaking a word as he tugged her towards another door within the room to open it up to the bathroom.
The bathroom was clean, organised- almost empty. Apart from the toothbrush in a holder on the sink, there was no other sign someone used it much. Although, knowing he was part of the CRM, she knew he was probably too busy running around killing people to make this place into a home.
She had noticed how even his apartment was sparse of furniture, bare of life. As though he wasn't planning on staying long, planning to leave the first opportunity he got. But it was Rick who had told her the CRM was impossible to escape from, so she knew that her thoughts couldn't be true.
It must be the soldier in him.
She felt a tug on her manacles, head lifting to meet Rick's impatient gaze.
"C'mon, don't got all day."
His words were slurred with sleep, and she hoped it was a sign he would move the same, react too slow. She nodded softly, walking towards the toilet and felt no laxity in the chain. She turned to face Rick, a pointed stare in her eyes as she tipped her head towards the door.
The man only laughed, "I'm not an idiot, sweetheart. Can't leave you alone."
She frowned, both in embarrassment as her cheeks flushed pink in the golden shadows that peeked in from the bedroom, and frustration.
"Well, I can't pee with you in here."
He only raised an eyebrow in return, causing her to huff whilst she shifted her weight between her feet wondering what she could say to get him to leave, to get him to let his guard down.
"Call it what you like, I get performance anxiety so could you leave and let me do my business alone?"
It was perhaps the most she's spoken in the last few years, and the stain on her cheeks had travelled down her chest as the words spilt out freely.
"Not happening," she could see a faint smirk growing on his face as he turned his back to her. Rick glanced over his shoulder, and she was sure she could almost see pity in his eyes as his voice softened slightly - "this is the best I can do. I can't leave you alone, it sa-"
"'Says it in the guide'. So you keep saying - didn't stop you from keeping the muzzle off."
He could hear the way her eyes rolled of she spoke, and he gritted his teeth at her words. She was right, he had already blatantly ignored the guide, why not once more.
But he didn't know what she was capable of. Didn't know what she could do when she wasn't tied down and unable to reach objects she could use to kill him.
He thought of every loose tile hidden in the bathroom, every crevice and crack where he hid a blade or a bullet or a gun.
No.
It wasn't the guide that made him stay here and turn his back, it was the truth of what he was. He wasn't a soldier for the CRM.
He was a father. A brother. A friend.
He was a man who simply wanted to return home and she couldn't know that.
"Just hurry up and pee before I change my mind."
She scoffed, but did as she was told anyway. The movements were awkward and stilted with the manacles, the quiet jingling being the only sound to fill the silence. When she was finally done and stood from the toilet to pull up the soft shorts Rick had given her, which had been very difficult to manoeuvre under the manacles, to sleep in, she cleared her throat quietly after flushing.
Rick shifted slightly, ready to turn back to her and pull her back to the bedroom so he could sleep for a few more hours before dawn. Before he could move, the chain in his arm was pulled taut, and he braced himself for what was coming.
There was a harsh blow against the back of his legs, bringing him to his knees as the chain of the manacles was tied harshly around his throat. He only had a heartbeat to prepare himself and breathe.
Rick could feel the concealed anger behind her grip, even as she whispered a quiet sorry into the air between them. He wishes he could have also told her the same.
He grunts, unable to slip his fingers under the chain as pressure begins to build in his head and he wonders how many times she had done this before to have done it with such ease.
Don't let the subject roam freely. The manacles must remain attached to a solid surface.
He had almost laughed with incredulity when he had read those words in the guide, but now he knew why.
He couldn't take in another breath, his skin burning hot under the cool chain.
No. Not like this. He wouldn't die like this.
His vision began to cloud, breaths spluttered as she pulled tighter. It only made him more frantic. He threw his weight forward, giving into the pressure of the chain as she flew over his shoulder and landed on her back with a thud.
Rick coughed haphazardly when the chain had loosened and fell as she groaned on the ground, writhing on her back. Before he had time to get to his feet, she twisted onto her knees. Her eyes were wet, red-rimmed and full of rage.
But she wasn't angry at Rick. She didn't think she could be. But he was part of the CRM and she hated everything he was an extension of. So if she had to kill him to escape the CRM, she would.
She growled under her breath, her hands still locked in the manacles and Rick still holding onto the chain. She tugged him forward with vicious glee, the sleek tiles making it easy for him to slide forward a few inches.
A few inches was all the leeway she needed. She reared her fist back, ready to place all her strength into one blow, and then another, and another, and another. Until he gave up and stopped and she could run.
It seemed as though fate had other plans in store.
Rick kicked her legs out from under her, yanking on the chains with barely contained anger as he grunted against her harsh kicks.
He gritted his teeth, grabbing her waist tightly to hold her against the ground. She wanted to scream in his face, let out years of frustration with an agonising yell. But she couldn't risk more of them coming.
She couldn't risk not winning.
Despite the chain not giving way, she pulled tightly against the manacles, uncaring of the stinging and pain. She scratched him wherever she could, praying it would be enough.
Needing it to be enough.
Rick swore under his breath as she scratched at his neck, so sure he would find red marks littering his skin.
He threw an arm over her hip, stopping her from trying to buck off his form even though he knew it would be impossible. His hand reached to take hold of her wrists, barely holding back a growl as he pressed them tightly against the cold tiles above her head.
The short chain between the manacles on her wrists and the manacles on her ankles caused her to bring her legs up to relieve the pain and accommodate the forced position.
Her eyes glinted with something quiet and bright, and Rick could feel her hips shifting way as she got ready to kick him from any angle she could find.
Rick knew she couldn't escape. Alara knew she couldn't either. But she would hurt him and continue to do so for as long as she could. As long as she had to.
He stopped her before she could even try, leaning over her as his hips pried open the space between her legs and he pressed his weight across her body.
"Give up."
His voice was gruff, barely out of breath whilst she panted in anger and fatigue. It only seemed to make her grow more agitated, twisting and turning in his grip, promising his death and torture.
Then begging.
And pleading.
And praying.
"Let me go-"
Her eyes shone with tears as she tried to steady her breath, unable to stop twisting and pulling and trying.
"I can't."
"Yes you can," her chest heaved with every pant, Rick's heart sinking with guilt as he felt her struggle to compose herself. She thought he was the only thing between her and her chance to escape.
But Rick knew better. If she left this apartment, she would never make it back. And whether it was because she was killed, or because they had assigned her to another soldier - he feared he would never know.
Not until decades had passed, and he was still just as trapped as she was, probably Command Sergant Major, if Okafor ever succeeded in his plans. And he would look across from him, looking upon recruits bred from Greer's programme to see scattered reflections of Alara that were distorted by the men Greer had forced upon her.
No.
He had made Okafor a promise.
It wasn't right- he knew that. But it was the closest he could get to it.
"You know I can't. You gotta stop, sweetheart."
They both paused at the slip of his tongue, and the hot tears finally slipped down Alara's face. His voice sounded so kind and so foreign, but she could see it for what it was. A trap.
The CRM had trapped Rick and now he had trapped her. And as long as the CRM had their claws in him, she was never getting away.
She relaxed under him minutely, pushing back her shoulders as she tried to roll out the tension from her muscles.
Seconds ticked by, Rick waiting to see if she would lash out again. Instead, she tried to avoid his gaze, her breaths quiet and shallow as she tried to ignore the invasive scent of earth, leather, and whiskey.
Tried to ignore that his body was pressed firmly against her own, his hips slotted between her thighs as she wore nothing but the thin cotton shorts he had given her.
It was as though the thoughts had triggered something subconscious inside of her, finally writhing underneath his unrelenting form.
She grew warm underneath him, a tingling sensation running down her body to burn exactly where he pressed against her. Her breaths shuttered, fresh tears still ran down her face, only growing more precarious as she shunned herself for her bodily reactions.
She tried to remind herself it was okay, that it was just her body reacting and it had nothing to do with how she felt.
She wondered if it would be like this when Rick truly had to touch her in initmate ways. Would she have to repeat these words like a fervent prayer, and hope she believed them one day?
It had been so long since she had been touched, so long since she had been held. And here was Rick, pressed up against her so firmly, his breath fanning over her face as he waited for her to give him a sign she had given up. Here was Rick, unable to hurt her - truly hurt her, despite all the pain she's already caused.
"You done now?"
His voice was a whisper, his breath warm as it brushed over her face. She could feel her cheeks flush because of it and hoped the bedroom light wasn't strong enough to cast the bathroom bright enough so he could see.
Her limbs were trembling, the adrenaline slowly wearing off as her tears finally stopped falling. She didn't think she had many tears left in her. She had thought they stopped a long time ago, but perhaps she had simply accepted her situation then.
It was different now. Now she wasn't in a cell, locked deep and far from all civilisation.
Now the world lived right outside of Rick's window, and it wasn't fair to keep her locked in here whilst they lived out there.
They were just as much of a prisoner as she was.
Rick was just as much of a prisoner as she was.
And yet, she suffered so much more.
She had thought she would find a second chance in the Civic Republic. But she had simply run out of all her lives, hanging on by a thread until this opportunity had been handed to her on a silver platter.
She couldn't stop. Couldn't give up.
Chances like these didn't come from luck.
She looked at Rick, meeting his eyes with a brightly lit flame hidden in her own.
"I'm done."
But she knew those words were a lie.
From the way Rick huffed a breath, a ghost of a smile upon his lips as his eyes narrowed in curiosity, she knew he probably thought the same.
Rick didn't know what to make of the girl that lay beneath him. She felt so small underneath him, so frail - like he could break her simply by staring at her the wrong way. But he saw a burning fire in her eyes, a raging storm in her breaths and a kindred spirit in her heart.
He saw a reflection of himself, harrowed and beaten and skewed. But so hopeful and stubborn and true. It was like everything he had lost had dragged its way back to him and landed itself in his arms once more. Like God was finally answering his prayers from all those years ago, like He had seen his struggles and shown him why he had fought all those years ago.
But there was no point.
Not really.
The CRM would find them. Him. They always did.
Rick was almost reluctant to move away, his body aching for the warmth of another human after almost a decade of receiving none. He pushed himself up onto his knees, unable to help himself as he tutted at the girl when she shifted with him.
"Think you caused enough trouble, sweetheart. Wouldn't you say?"
He couldn't help it as the petname slipped off his tongue, couldn't help but watch as her cheeks darkened and she grew so nervous at the sound of it she was unable to look at him directly. It didn't douse out her fire, but tamed it instead.
He tugged her up by her chains, watching her stumble and teeter as she had no clue where to look or what to do. He barely gave her a chance to speak, leaning forward as he used his intact hand to wrap around the soft flesh of her thighs, ignoring her quiet whimper as he threw her over his shoulder.
His prosthetic lay somewhere hidden so she couldn't reach it whilst he slept and kill him with his own belongings. He adjusted her with his one arm, bouncing her softly over his shoulders until he had a firm grip.
"Put me down."
Her voice was stubborn, but he couldn't help but notice how she didn't try to remove herself from her place, hands fisting in his shirt to hold herself steady.
Rick ignored her calls, making his way into the bedroom to throw her body on his bed, crawling over her form to tie the chain around the post of his bed.
He stared at her for a moment, eyes roving her body as he thought to himself.
He leaned in close to her face, his nose almost brushing against her own, and Alara cursed her traiterous thoughts when they told her to lean up and brush her own against his softly.
It wasn't a bad idea, not really. It had been one of the first things she had thought of when Greer had told her about the programme. Rick wasn't like the others. He wasn't cold and harsh and unfeeling. When he had brought her food, she knew he would be easy to convince.
Easy to break.
Easy to make him hers.
But still, something in her shied away from such forms of tickery and manipulation. The same part of her that would have murdered him only moments ago grew timid at the thought of seducing him so he could let her go.
Though her tears had dried, she still hiccuped against his form. A quiet wince escaped her as he dropped the manacles, ready to return to his bed for the last shreds of dawn.
Rick paused, hovering over the girl one more as he frowned softly. His hands reached for her wrists and pulled them higher into the light. The manacles slipped down her arms only the tiniest bit. They were made to fit snugly against her wrists, and with all her fighting and anger, she had managed to rub them raw.
He ran his thumb over the red angry lines encircling her wrists, her breath catching in her throat at the stinging pain she felt.
Rick tutted, like he was telling off a child, and Alara couldn't help but shrink back.
He sighed heavily, moving back to sit on the edge of the bed as he rubbed the tiredness from his face. He hung his head for a moment, head reeling with anger and disbelief and... God, if he knew. It was as though everything he knew had slipped out from under him and he didn't know what to do in a situation like this.
He turned to her once more, trying to avoid the way he almost lost his breath at her tear-stained face and focus on the rage that resided brazenly in her eyes for all to see.
Alara grew uncomfortable under his gaze, but found herself unable to look away. She was drawn in by the colour of a hazy blue sky that flickered the colour of a new day under the bright hues of the bedside lamp.
It seemed whatever Rick had been looking for he had found.
He left his seat, walking away to somewhere she didn't have the energy to follow with her eyes.
Alara laid on her back now, feet planted on the bed as her knees were pushed up and her arms stretched behind her head. She hoped he wouldn't leave her like this all night, but she wouldn't be surprised if he did. And if he did, it wouldn't be the worst thing she had experienced.
She heard the bedroom door shut softly. She hadn't even realised it had been opened. There was a pause as he placed some things down out of her view, and then she could see the growing shadow of Rick drawing closer - he hid a wince at her contorted form.
He stopped beside her head, looking down at her with a stern gaze as he spoke gruffly into the space between them.
"If I take off the chain from the bed, don't even think 'bout fightin' me. Got it? No movin'. No talkin'."
She pretended not to notice how he didn't wait for a reply. She also tried to hide the way her face fell at the sight of the prosthetic attached to his amputated arm - a vulnerability hidden after she had shown her colours too quick.
The same chain he had wound around his bedpost only minutes ago in rightful anger were loosened, but before she could move herself upright, his hand slipped under her knees and his prosthetic arm under her shoulders to sit her up right.
Her lips parted, whether to thank him or reprimand him she had no clue. But he didn't give her a chance to speak, his fingers pressed against her lips, his gaze tired and frustrated and- lost. It was like looking into a distorted version of herself - finding like in like.
She couldn't help the pout that formed on her lips, and she knew from the way Rick's lips twitched that he could feel it against his fingers.
When he removed his fingers he held the long chain Beale's soldiers had used to tug her around like a leashed animal to bring her here, and there was quiet contemplation on his face.
"I would take it off it I could- properly, I mean." His voice was quiet, barely an octave above a whisper, like he was ashamed to be a participant in the CRM's misdeeds. Like he was horrified by the realisation he was one of them.
"This is the closest I can get," with that he made his way to a table out of her view. He turned with a small box in his hands and made his way back. This time he sat on the bed facing her, one leg atop the bed to balance the first-aid box on his knee precariously.
"Nothing sharp or dangerous in here, so don't even think about it."
Alara rolled her eyes but found herself unable to say much. It was weird, really. To be at a loss for words when she finally could say all that was on her mind. Perhaps she had simply gotten so used to not speaking and thoughts reeling in the quiet that Rick's low and gruff voice was enough to make her simply want to listen.
He brought out a small tube of ointment, some cotton and gauze. He moved the first-aid box somewhere on the bed, forgotten and discarded just as the muzzle had been as he weighed the materials in his hand.
He rested them upon his lap, a hand reaching out to her sore wrists as he watched her with a passive gaze, like she wasn't close to the threat she believed she was. The realisation should've angered her - instead she felt tired. So tired. Like all she wanted to do was lie back and float in eternal darkness, and pray daylight never came.
It only took a glance at Rick's wrist to see how much time she had stolen from him, and that dawn was much closer than she wished.
"Shouldn't've done that."
She glanced down to his careful ministrations, unable to stop herself from admiring his gentle motions as he lightly dabbed some ointment on the angry and puffy red lines that rose from her skin, like he was scared to hurt her even though she had almost killed him.
"What?"
Like she hadn't heard a word he said. Maybe she just wanted to hear it again.
"I told you. There isn't a way to escape from here, you would've gotten yourself killed trying."
"You didn't even try to hurt me, let alone kill me," she retorted softly.
"I wasn't talking about me. You wouldn't have made it five feet from this building without someone finding you. Especially not tied up in these."
His shook the chain that bound her form in emphasis, and she couldn't help but scoff in return - "I would've taken it off first, idiot."
His eyes narrowed, "watch it."
She only rolled her eyes in turn, shoulders deflating as she considered her options.
"Why won't you just let me try?"
There was an imperceptible glint of softness in his eyes as he regarded her chained wrists, "sometimes what we need is better than what we want. You want freedom."
"And what is it I need?"
He blinked up at her eyes that were damp with curiosity. They flickered back down at her wrists, where he wrapped them wrapped it in gauze so the ointment wouldn't rub away.
"I haven't figured that out yet."
They sat in silence for the remainder of the time it took Rick to treat her wounded wrists before they returned to their beds and fell into a fitful sleep.
Morning could not have come quicker.
I promise some much awaited smut in the next chapter 👀🫶🏼
