Synposis. When Calvin officially lets you stay with him upstairs, life is simple for you now. but here and there you need the little reminder on who saved you from the cruelty on the world. he just wants a little gratitude, even when you have no ill intentions.
Warnings. âïžSMUT âïž Calvin being Calvin (Dickhead LOL), Calvin also is still in belief he saved you from the world and yourself đ„č, Reader has no prns but has female anatomy (I can only right PiV smut & wlw I havenât upgraded much), Naive!Reader x Mean!Calvin, Stockholm Syndrome (technically right), fingering, edging (he does it one time), unprotected sex, PiV, riding, Manipulation tactics used to have unprotected sex. â As per usual, comment if I missed anything
Authors Note. I will say I have been insanely inactive, my apologies on that but life has me in a CHOKEHOLD. But hey, this is the longest fanfiction I have ever written in a long long time and Iâm surprised itâs on the evil doctor husband rather than my usuals. Iâve been grinding on Just Be Patient and I knew I needed to write this guy. Thank you @hexedhoneygames for having this dick be wrapped around my mind 24/7. **REQUESTS ARE OPEN & WRITING COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN FOR ART IN PAYMENT**. Anywhos, enjoy Dr.Mercer.
Authors Note Part Two. I will no longer be doing taglists as they tend to make it harder for me to format my posts and makes me collectively work slower, I apologize for the inconvenience. :)
He was strict, but who wouldnât be in a situation where you could run away at any point now. When the front door was right there, that if he made one wrong step and you could bolt out of his peripheral vision and go to the authorities. Heâd be stripped of his job, his degree, and even in jail for life. Thatâs why wherever he goes, you go. If he is in the kitchen, he expects you to be at the island sitting all pretty on one of his leather barstools or in the open view of where his living room was at. If he had to be in a space where you couldnât be, such as his office for important calls, he would usually keep you in his bedroom locked away. It was an upgrade from the cold, uncomfortable basement where you couldnât stretch your legs out. It was simply just his room, no restraints, no limitation to anything (except anything sharp, or could cause him or you harm), and was more comfortable than the damned hospital bed.
There was one time you disappeared from his sight, where he had almost lost his temper. He was making breakfast for the two of you, he was scrambling eggs for himself due to you not liking the texture. He found that out when he gave you a plate and expected you to eat, and of course you were too afraid at the time to voice your dislike. He exactly remembered the moment where your gag reflex had kicked in, the sound of the wooden chair scraping back against the hardwood floor as you bolted to the sink and emptied your stomach right there. It was disgusting, really. You didnât exactly know the layout of the house yet, the bathroom was near but there was a doubt youâd make it without throwing your insides up over the floor. The sink wasnât much of a better option, but it was easy to wash down the drain after rubbing your back and murmuring some words of comfort before having you eat yogurt and toast while he cleaned up. So while he was scrambling his eggs that morning, his back was turned to you, your feet had brought you to hisâyour sharedâbedroom to grab the glass of water you had on the nightstand on your side of the bed. You wanted to get a drink without wasting more dishes. You were perfectly happy reusing your cup, a lesson you taught yourself when you were living in your apartment. You were making your way back down to the hall with the glass in your hand when you heard the sink shut off from him washing his hands. He turned around, and didnât see you sitting at the table where you were supposed to be at and flipped the switch in his mind. When you had rounded the corner a hand had found your face to leave you in shock, a yelp had left your throat as you dropped the glass. Water splashed against his clothed ankles and your bare ones, the shards scraping against your bare skin as some had found a snug place nestled in the warmth of your calves as he had scolded you.
âDonât do that again, tell me you needed water and Iâll get you some,â He had chided, his anger dissolving when he saw the genuine shock and fear in your eyes, on how the glass had stabbed into your skin. He didnât bother picking up, he had sat you on the mattress of his bed with tweezers, gauze, and antiseptic to clean the little cuts on your calves. The little shards of glass, bloodied and misplaced into a small bowl for him to throw out later. You had mumbled out your apologies, that you didnât mean to scare him or make him think you had run when you simply wanted to hydrate yourself and he simply leaned up and pressed his lips against your cheek before guiding you back out to the living room. He had handed you the remote to the television, letting you find a show to watch as he finished cleaning up in the kitchen before sitting next to you like nothing happened, like he didnât scare you shitless, like it was just a normal day.
Normal day. Thatâs what it felt like, waking up by his side, eating breakfast with him and giving him a kiss goodbye as he left to head to his doctors office to work for the day while you sit in endless boredom in your shared room, you read most of the books he had gifted you. It was to a point where you were going through the laundry, he had supplied you clothes when you first moved upstairs and most of them were your style but it didnât exactly stop the both of you to find you ending up in one of his old shirts and a pair of shorts. When he would come home, heâd greet you with a kiss to your lips and some murmurs about how his day went before going to shower. The two of you would find some sort of activity to do to pass the time before dinner, whether it be you tangled in his sheets or him finding some tacky game to occupy the time. You started to enjoy it recently, maybe it wasnât that bad. He was taking care of you, feeding you and ensuring he looks after your health like a doctor should but he did start to become more affectionate the more time the two of you spent together, almost like you opened his walls more and gave him the ability to trust you more.
It was an early morning, a Tuesday and a day he usually goes in for work. You had woken against his side, head rested on his shoulder as you groaned when his fingers pressed into your side in the familiar way that he needed to get up. Your nose pressed into his sternum, hand pushing against his bare chest to sit up fully as a hand found your face and unnecessarily dragged it across your features in a dramatic manner on how he needed to get up when you were perfectly content resting against him. You had been restless the past few nights, unable to find sleep until an hour or two after midnight to only wake five hours later. You went to bed early last night with the capability of being able to sleep for eight hours and now he wanted to disrupt him.
âI know, I know,â He had muttered, sitting up himself to let his arms wrap around your torso to pull you into his frame, lips finding the sensitive spot behind your ear before peppering faint kisses down your jawline, the hairs of his goatee brushing against your skin, âI only have a few appointments in the morning and Iâll see if I can get off work early, yeah?â
You gave a sigh, tilting your head slightly only to press your own lips against his cheek. A soft sigh left your lips, âOkay, maybe get me sushi at the store?â
He gave a little grin at the request, he knew it was your favorite. It wouldnât be too bad of an idea to spoil you with the delicacy you find delicious, a hand came up to scruff your hair before sliding off of the mattress to go into the closet to change and get ready for the day, he pulled on black slacks and one of his many black shirts. His head tilted over his shoulder, his grey eyes giving a hint of amusement, âDepends on how much laundry you do when Iâm gone,â
âCalvin,â You whine, your spine hit the mattress as you flopped backwards like a toddler throwing a tantrum at a chore given to them at a time where they were enjoying themselves. Your feet gently kicked the bed frame as they dangled off the edge of the mattress, âIâve been doing laundry for the past week,â
âAh, ah, ah,â He tutted, brows pinching at the behavior as he moved over to walk in front of your limp frame. He had leaned over you, a hand placed on the mattress right beside your head as his lips were downturned, âItâs too early for this, darling, come on now. I want to at least make sure you eat before you have to come in here and do your laundry,â
You pouted, turning your head away from him before his hand reached out and caught your chin. His thumb brushed against the apple of your cheek, his face leaning in so his nose brushed against yours. His grey eyes stared into yours, your tongue swept out to wet your bottom lip before he leaned in and locked his lips onto yours. Your face cupped into his hand as he gently tilted your head back to deepen the affection he was giving you, his tongue invaded your mouth. The wet muscle caressed yours, it was hungry and passionate. He pulled back and in response to that you whined, moving to chase his lips before one of his fingers pressed against your mouth. A knowing look found his eyes, he was testing you. A soft groan left you in complaint as he stood back up to his height again, adjusting his shirt before opening the bedroom door in expectation for you to follow him. Which you did, you always did, you would trail after him like a puppy and stay close to him. Youâd be attached to his hip if you could be, he had moved into the kitchen. Preparing himself oatmeal to then warm in the microwave as he had grabbed one of the cinnamon raisin bagels from the cabinet where he stored them with the bread and other bagels. He had sliced it in half before dropping it in the toaster.
âDarling, be good for me and get yogurt for yourself. I need the cream cheese too,â He had hummed out, he watched as you immediately went to the fridge to grab the two items. You did so without defiance, an improvement in his eyes. You were doing better, better from when you were down in his basement making every biting remark about what he was doing was wrong. Was it so wrong? He loved you, not in the way most would see it but he does. When you handed him the items and went to press into his spine he gave a simple exhale. When the toaster popped, he grabbed a butter knife to spread the cream cheese until he heard the microwave beep. He didnât want his food to be cold, nor yours but it would be hard for him to do both. You didnât exactly know the way he likes his oatmeal, how long to stir it up for before eating it. He glanced at the silverware in his hand, his head tilted over to the side to stare at your figure which was molded into his back.
âY/n, do you want to spread your bagel?â He had asked, it was a risky move to trust you with a butter knife, not like itâd do severe damage but it was still a knife. You had tilted your head up at him, eyes curious with your mouth slightly open. When he felt the movement of your head bob up and down against his shirt he shuffled to the side and gently pushed the knife into your hand, âCareful, the bagel is still hot. Donât pick it up if itâs too hot for you to hold while spreading the cream cheese,â
His instructions are clear, exactly similar in a way heâd be informing a patient on the routine they should do when they take their medicine. He stood there for a moment as your hand hovered over one of the bagel halves to try and feel how hot it was. When you finally lifted it to spread the cream cheese over he had moved over to get the oatmeal cup out of the microwave. He pulled a spoon from the drawer as he stirred it again, once it was prepped he had turned to see you washing the knife off in the sink. Your bagel had been spread with the cream cheese, and he gave a huff of relief that you didnât stab him in the back, literally. He had taken the oatmeal to then take your plate as well, he was making the trip to the little table in the supposed dining room as he spoke to you, âGrab some fruit darling, we could use more than just yogurt,â
Normally heâd have gotten up earlier to make an actual breakfast, like pancakes or french toast but unironically he was relishing in the way you had curled into him the night beforehand, how you finally slept properly after giving you some tea with some crushed up sedatives in the drink. It was for your own good, he had told himself. You were no good to yourself or him if you were continuously tired after lack of proper rest. He set the food on the table, you had easily balanced a small bowl of blueberries and strawberries for the two of you to share. Once you settled into your seat, the two of you started eating. It was quiet, not uncomfortable silence but it was still silent. The only sound was your shared breathing and the sound of the wind hitting the windows in the early morning.
It was no surprise he took your plate when he got up to go toss out the empty cup of oatmeal. You heard him put the silverware in the sink as in he would put it in the dishwasher later when he got home. You had stayed in your seat, finishing off the fruit as you deliberately picked a strawberry you knew was going to be juicy and sweet. You barely acknowledged that he moved back to the table with a white box in hand, too focused on the strawberry as you popped it into your mouth as he cleared his throat.
âI got you this,â He had said, his tone not giving away on what it was but he set it in front of you as he took the bowl out of your reach to prevent you from snacking more. You wiped your fingers off on the napkin settled in your lap, before your fingers grabbed the box. Unable to tell what it was, you delicately slid a finger under the tape holding the top to the bottom, using your nail to cut it open as you peered inside. A screen peered back at you, a tablet. A brow had furrowed, he had trusted you with a device. Was this a trap? Was he making this a test? You had looked over at him, head tilting slightly like a curious mutt and he couldnât refrain the small smile on his face at your confusion.
âYes, itâs a tablet,â He murmured, he reached over and pulled it out of the box for you as he set it on the table. Taking the empty box into his hands to set it atop of the trash bin as he added on, âIt has parental controls on it, you canât text anyone except me and you can only use a certain amount of apps I allowed. You do have a set screen time though on apps, too much isnât good for you,â
He had explained what he set on the tablet for you, maybe it wasnât a trap and he was being kind enough to soothe your boredom from being locked in the bedroom all day. Your fingers tapped against the screen, you can only see the messenger app and a few streaming services. It was better than nothing, you had to admit. The gesture was thoughtful, and yet kind. Your lips parted in thought, before releasing your gratitude, âThank you,â
âSee? This is what happens when youâre good for me, the good behavior and gratitude will get paid,â He had mused, a hand moving to scruff your hair once more before he looked at the time on the stove. He needed to leave soon, so he gently indicated with a point of his head to start heading over to the bedroom. You had slid the chair back from the table, going to throw your used napkin away as he went to put the fruit in the fridge. Heâll probably have it out again for dinner, you had grabbed the device from the table. His hand found your waist as he guided you gently back to his room. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head before his phone vibrated in his back pocket.
He pulled the cellular device out, instant calls about some emergency at the office which required him immediately. He looked at you, leaning in to press a quick kiss against your lips before murmuring out, âSorry love, Iâll be back. Please be good for me,â
He hardly ever said please, but he was in a rush and didnât really think over his words as he shut the bedroom door and left in a hurry. You had been left alone, once more in his room with not much to do. Well, you had the tablet now but you didnât want to mess with it until you were completely bored and finished with doing your part of organizing your laundry. It was a good way to track the time though, so you propped it up on the dresser before going into the closet to work on organizing your clothes. You had easily hummed to yourself, your mind not dwelling too much on the situation. You adapted to it easily, is it normal? Most likely not, but Calvin made it seem normal. Like your life before this was just a waste of potential, you could barely even remember what working at the diner was like or your apartment space. All you remembered was Calvin taking you in, on how he saved you from the cruelty of the outside world. Your head was pounding, if he wasnât in such a rush you wouldâve asked for ibuprofen or something to ease the sudden ache in your cranium. You had finished organizing thirty minutes later, it was hard to find something to occupy your time in such a limited space.
Your mind had settled on a bath, he has given you access to his bathroom which had a tub and a shower, though he preferred it when he was there to help you bathe due to him knowing what needs to be washed and how to do it properly. The idea of taking a warm bath to soak in, to try and ease the discomfort you felt in your skin since you woke. You had moved into the bathroom to start the tub, a hand splayed under the spout to ensure it was warm enough to your liking before moving to grab two towels. One to set on the floor for when you step out and one for you to dry yourself off with as you settle it nearby in your reach for when you were done. You had discarded your clothes, gently leaving them in a pile before moving to settle in the water. A sigh left your lips in contentment as the water engulfed your skin, hands finding the edge of the tub as you leaned your head back against the porcelain. It was perfect, you didnât exactly need to wash with having the thought you could do so later when Calvin was home.
You donât know how long you were there in the tub, you lost track of time with how you were resting. You heard a little ding from the room, looking at the bathroom door you can see something bright illuminate the room. The tablet, you had sighed. Not wanting to get out of the tub but the water did have a chill, you pulled the drain to then step out. You grabbed at the towel, wrapping it around your frame as you dried off quickly. You had it snug against you, bare feet padding against the bathroom tile before your feet met the carpet. You went to the device idling on the dresser, a text notification from Calvin. You wiped your fingers off on the towel encasing your body to dry them, unlocking the device to read over the words.
I have one more appointment and Iâll be home. You okay? Your eyes grazed over the words, he was checking in on you. A surprise to you. Well, not really, he enjoyed knowing your wellbeing and every single thought. He pries everything out of your mind one way or another, you had blinked. A lump had formed in your throat and you couldnât shake it, you felt as though something was crawling in your skin. Your legs pressed together to have the warmth of your own skin bring comfort as you typed out a response.
Okay. Iâm good. Simple, short. You shouldâve asked if he has anything in his room or bathroom to soothe the ache in your head. You doubted it, he liked to be in control of the medication you take. Your tongue brushed against your teeth, you felt too aware of everything happening in your system. You had scrambled to put on a pair of grey sweatpants and a white tank top to lounge around in, you could probably relax soon. You had grabbed the dirtied clothes in the bathroom from when you showered and set them in the laundry basket by the bedroom door. Your hip bumped into the door frame to hear the handle jiggle, it never jiggled. Your lips pursed, you shouldnât indulge but curiosity got the better of you. Your fingers wrapped around the handle, giving it a sharp nudge as it opened. He didnât lock the door.
The door opened to reveal the quiet hallway leading to the living room and the kitchen, it was eerie, and your heart was pounding. You shouldnât move out of the bedroom, he was in such a hurry he forgot to lock it and it would displease him if you left the room. This was your chance to go rummage, to go locate ibuprofen to soothe the pounding in your head. It wouldnât hurt to step out for a little bit, he wonât be home soonâyou had hoped. You had steadily moved one foot in front of the other, trailing down the hallway to go into the kitchen to try and use your memory to figure out which cabinet held the drugs. You had opened many, yet the ones you found werenât technically for headaches. You gave a soft groan of frustration, your teeth caught onto your tongue as you felt the sharp pain penetrate the wet muscle. A habit you used to have when things wouldnât go exactly like you planned, or when you messed up on something as simple as one mark off on a quiz.
You felt your chest tighten, it was a stabbing pain. Your hands shaking against the counter, you only ever had this reaction when you werenât on your anxiety medication, when you didnât have Calvin as your doctor. Your sharp canines sunk deeper, drawing blood as you felt the taste of metallic liquid on your taste buds. A hand reached out to grab a glass, get water to wash away the taste and to soothe the ache in the back of your throat. If you werenât too out of it you would have taken water from the fridge, taking it from the sink to get tap water instead as you filled the glass. You didnât hear the vehicle pull into the driveway, nor the sound of keys in the front doorway. Your mind too focused on downing the water and leaning your body in front of the sink.
A hand had found your shoulder, pulling you back against something solid and you let out a soft yelp. You writhed, feeling a hand come up to your jaw to hold your head in place. You had panicked, not exactly knowing who it was but once his voice settled in the air you froze, no longer fighting him.
âWhat are you doing out of our room?â His tone was cool, not an ounce of anger in his voice and that unsettled you more. His thumb brushed your jawline as your bottom lip wobbled, your jaw shook as you exhaled loudly, âHow did you get out, were you trying to run from me?â
âNo, no, Calvin I,â You broke off as you tried to find an explanation, you swallowed as you felt the inside of your mouth go dry. He took in the shudders, your skin was warm to the touch unlike usual. His brow had furrowed as he waited for your explanation as your spine was pressed to his chest. His free hand roaming up to your abdomen to feel your stomach through the fabric of his shirt, his face hovered over your shoulder as his breath hit the back of your ear, âMy head was pounding, and you, you left the door unlocked. I wanted to find something to help,â
His hand from your jaw moved, pressing against your cheek roughly as his eyes narrowed. A frown found his lips, a âtskâ left his mouth as his fingers pressed against your lips. You immediately suckled at them, just like he preferred. His voice lowered, âYou couldnât have waited? Are you sure that your head is hurting? You seemed just fine this morning,â
He had turned you around to face him, cornering you against the counter as his nose brushed against your cheek. His goatee brushing against your jawline as he breathed you in, âOr is this just an excuse to show me that you arenât that grateful for saving you from the horrid world, maybe you didnât deserve the tablet and I underestimated your belief in me,â
âCalvinâ,â You broke off when his fingers pushed past your lips, pressing down on your tongue to prevent you from finishing your sentence. His eyes held a certain lust, a malicious look as he tutted.
âNow, now, I believe that you shouldnât need to talk now. Let me make you better, hm? Is that what youâre missing?â His voice was in a lower tone, his lips pressing against your cheek as his free hand trailed down to your hips. Fingers toying with the elastic band of your shorts, he shoved a hand beneath your shorts and panties. Fingers crossing over your folds as a soft whine left you, your mind fogged over instantly. A pleading look found your pretty eyes, his hands moving to rub at your clit in slow circles.
âThere, there, let me help you,â He had ushered softly, pulling his fingers from your mouth and before you could form another sentence his lips crashed into yours. Tongue pressing into your mouth, feeling every bump and ridge he could roam as his fingers continued toying with your clit. Your hips bucked against his hand, writhing against the counter as it pressed into your lower back. Your hands moved to grasp at his biceps as your sweet noises filled his ears, muffled but he could still hear the high-pitched whimpers you were emitting from your throat.
He pulled back from the kiss, trailing kisses down your jawline to your throat. His fingers that went rubbing against your sensitive bundle had moved down to prod at your entrance, you were soaked. A delicacy left just for him, a weeping waterfall for him to gather as he pushed his finger in. A groan left him, your wet heat molded around the limb as he gave a soft chuckle against the skin of your throat.
âNo matter what I do, you always just seem so tight,â He had purred, lips pressing against your pulse point before his teeth dragged on your skin. His finger pumping in and out of you steadily exactly like his cock would, you mewled. Singing your praises through your noises as you felt the familiar coil tug in your stomach to indicate your peak, one finger turned into two when he abused the sensitive spot against your walls that he grew to know so well. You let out a moan, you felt so close as your fingers dug deeper into his white doctorâs coat, his last name engraved into the little pouch as you went to squeeze your eyes shut you felt the stimulation end.
Your eyes flicked open, he had a cruel smirk on his face as his hand pulled out from your shorts. His ring and his middle finger were covered in your slick, and he couldnât help but smear your juices onto your bottom lip as he cooed softly, âPoor baby, didnât think youâd get it that easy?â
A soft whine left your lips as you tasted yourself on his fingers and your now kiss-swollen lips, your tongue lapped at the juices as he leaned in to press a kiss against the sensitive spot of your ear. He let his teeth drag against your lobe, âCome now darling, you can easily earn it when you help me,â
He had gently grabbed a hold of your wrist, dragging you to your shared bedroom as he shut the door behind him. He moved to his side of the bed, he unbuckled his belt and loosened his slacks just enough to let his cock out. Already hard and waiting for you as he gave a tilt of his head, patting his thigh which indicated he wanted you on him, now.
âWhat about a condom?â You had shakily asked, you donât exactly remember the last time you took your pills for birth control. Hell, you donât even remember picking up your prescription for it anymore. His eyes narrowed, a scowl found his face, âWe donât need it, come here and make me feel better and Iâll forgive you,â
You had swallowed, you couldnât lie that it didnât turn you on. You discarded your shorts and panties, moving over to crawl onto the bed to straddle his lap. Your eyes flickered with hesitation, and his hand moved to grasp you chin. He gave a reassuring grin, as a soft tone found his words.
âCome on, donât you want to make me feel better? Iâll forgive you, I wonât be angry and Iâll let you keep the tablet if you do this for me. Come on, baby,â He ushered the faux words of comfort easily, falling from his tongue as one of his hands moved through your hair. His other hand moved to your hip to gently guide your slick heat onto his length, which you complied easily at the thought of pleasing him. You let out a soft moan as you embraced his dick into your warmth, a shudder ran through your body as you adjusted to the familiar and delicious stretch. It was your first time letting him in raw, and honestly you might be more drunk on his touch now.
Your hips met his, your upper body molded into his body as your hands ran through his hair. Undoing the perfect dark strands of his pristine appearance, your lips found his cheek as you lifted your hips to set a steady pace of bouncing on him. A soft moan left you, and a groan left him. His hand tangled into your hair as he tilted your head to the side to press more hickies into your skin like a lovesick teenager trying to prove a point of you being his. Not like he had to prove it to anyone, he could much as well stay in your heat. Your warmth held him so snugly, it felt like he had passed away and met the heavens that had gifted him you. You were his to have, to save. He let out a low grunt, holding your hips still as he thrust up into you.
âYou see this? You and I were meant together, you were made to be mine. Arenât you so glad I saved you?â He had whispered against your ear, your body going limp against his as you gave a soft cry. A simple bob of your head before he gave a sharp thrust into you, unamused with your silence.
âYes, oh my, yes,â You had mewled against his shoulder, your lips pressing sloppy wet kisses over his neck as you clutched onto his spine. Your mouth opened wide, forming an âoâ as you exclaimed, âI was gifted to be saved from you,â
He gave a purr of contentment, his hand leaving your hair as he moved to rub circles over your clit once more. Providing the stimulation to grant you your peak as you let out soft cries, you squeezed your eyes shut this time and he gracefully allowed you the time to release over his cock. Your orgasm washed over you quickly, and when your walls squeezed him it was over for him. He released into you, the warmth of his own release pushed into you as he continued thrusting. Ensuring that both your peaks lasted as he drawed out your sweet release, you were pressed against him. Cheek smushed into his shoulder as both hands settled on your hips. His thrusting ceased, holding you against him as his softening length stayed inside. Sweat had beaded on your forehead as one of his hands slowly came up to brush a strand of your hair back off of your forehead.
âThere we go,â He had muttered, his spine pressed against the headboard as your weight settled on his lap. Your eyes half-lidded as he moved his hand from your hip to the small of your back, it was a quiet moment. Your breathing soft.
âThank you,â You had muttered, whatever this was in a twisted way, it had soothed your nerves enough. Your head still pounded, yet the comfort of his body against yours had you pull back into a space that he only got to see in moments like this. He gave a simple hum, caressing your cheek as he pressed a kiss against your forehead.
âThat is all I ask of you, just gratitude and your love,â He had ushered, gently pulling you off of him as he went to stand. Caressing your face once more as he had released a sigh, âWe should bathe, Iâll start the tub. Stay here,â
The words, clear and instructive as he went into the conjoined bathroom to start the tub. Your ears picked up the sound of water running, you figured heâd have seen the droplets of water that havenât dissipated yet against the porcelain. You had laid against the bed for god knows how long until his arms pulled you to your feet and guided you to the bathroom. He rid you of your shirt before settling you in the tub, he disposed of his own clothes before following you into the tub to settle behind you. His thighs encasing your torso as you leaned back into his chest, head resting against his shoulder as you had your lips parted.
âClose your eyes, Iâll take care of you,â He had murmured, a finger moved to brush down the bridge of your nose as a soft grin found your lips, your eyes fluttering shut as you eased against him.
âAs you always do,â The words, truthful with no ounce of sarcasm. He had released a chuckle. Of course, he would always look after the one he saved. Especially when he had you wrapped around his finger, it may be twisted in a way with how he treats you and the relationship, but cares for you, does he not? Maybe this is how it was supposed to be the entire time, you had easily dozed off in his arms. He pressed a kiss to both your eyelids, before leaning back in the tub.
summary: years after leaving kingâs landing, you return to find aemond upon the iron throne. he is everything the little boy you once loved had hoped to becomeâand nothing you remember
pairing: aemond targaryen x aunt!reader
warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, canon typical incest, aunt/nephew incest, emotional manipulation, political talks, discussion of war/death, power imbalance, dubcon, possessive aemond, yearning, choking, hand over mouth, piv sex, rough sex, creampie, degradation, dirty talk, angst, let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 9.7k
a/n: proud of myself for actually writing a mean aemond fic where he stays mean will probably never happen again
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
âïž masterlist
thank you to my lovely lady @zaldritzosrose for the dividers!
The familiar bustle of the city begins to take over as soon as you reach its outskirts: merchants pull their wagons aside at the first sight of Hightower banners cresting the hills, mothers gather their children away from the roadside, and men bow their heads in polite deference as mounted knights pass in orderly columns, white towers embroidered upon deep green snapping lazily in the wind.Â
No one moves to flee or cry out in warningâthe smallfolk have quickly adjusted to the growing tensions of war, have learned to recognize an army as it arrives, even without haste or celebration.Â
You ride near the front beside Daeron, where a prince ought to be seenâsomething heâll grow used to with time, though he has changed considerably from the little boy youâd escorted from Kingâs Landing all those years ago. The softness of childhood has grown into long limbs and broadening shoulders, his face still unmistakably Alicentâs.Â
Oldtown has polished him in quiet ways, youâd made that much certain. He sits his horse as easily as his dragon now and speaks only when he has something worth saying, carrying himself with the effortless courtesy that seems bred into the stones of the great beacon of Oldtown itself.Â
Heâs no longer a child.Â
That realization still catches you off guard, even after all the time youâve spent beside him.Â
Somewhere overhead comes the distant cry of Tessarion, shrill and sharp. You cannot see her yet through the scattered clouds, but every so often sunlight catches the sweep of cobalt wings overhead before she disappears again, circling lazily above the marching host.Â
Daeron follows your gaze for only a moment, smiling to himself before looking to the road again.Â
âSheâs growing impatient.â
âShe has good reason to after so much time spent traveling,â you answer, adjusting your grip on the leather reins in your hand. âI imagine her rider shares the sentiment.â
His laugh is quiet, but itâs answer enough.Â
Thereâs always been some comfort in how easily conversation comes with himâbefore leaving court, youâd almost forgotten that a royal child could laugh without looking over their shoulder first.Â
For a while, the only sounds are hooves striking packed earth, the steady creak of wagons somewhere farther back within Ormundâs column, and the distant calls of outriders moving between ranks. Ahead, the city proper begins to rise from the haze as buildings press more closely together, knitting into winding streets and crowded alleyways.Â
Beyond them, the towers of the Red Keep climb above the landscape like fingers reaching toward the sky.Â
Home, you think automatically, even as your heart aches at the unfamiliarity of it all.Â
The note that Alicentâs raven had brought a few days earlier rests tucked safely inside your saddlebag, though by now youâve memorized every line.Â
Aegon is gone, Larys Strong with him. Aemond rules now in his brotherâs stead.Â
You had read it once in disbelief the moment it had arrived when youâd stopped to make camp, then again by lamplight after supper, again the following morning, and once more before departing. Perhaps a part of you believed that the repetition alone might coax some different meaning from the ink, but it never had.Â
Days spent riding have done little to quiet your imagination. If anything, the silence and the endless beating of hooves have fed it.Â
You find yourself remembering Aemond as the little boy who had once preferred the palace libraries to the training yards whenever he thought no one was watching, who insisted on sitting impossibly straight even while readingâas though slouching might somehow diminish him. He had always been solemn and studious, serious beyond his years, forever trying to convince the world that he needed nothing from anyone.Â
After the harrowing events at Driftmark, you remember how heâd reached for you the first time the maester had come to change his bandages, how youâd smoothed his hair back from his brow. He had gone strangely still beneath the touch and had watched you all the while with his remaining eye. You remember, too, finding him alone a few days later, not quite crying; his jaw had been clenched so tightly that you wondered whether his teeth might crack beneath the strain.Â
âI am fine,â he had insisted before youâd spoken a single word. Hardly ten years old and already, he had mistaken endurance for strength.Â
Beside you, Daeron breaks the silence, making you jolt slightly against the saddle.Â
âDo you think mother has changed much?â You glance toward him but he keeps his attention ahead, though uncertainty lingers in his voice as he continues. âItâs been such a long time, I justâI wonderâŠâ
âI imagine sheâll be quite shocked with how tall youâve grown,â you say, smiling easily at the thought of your beloved sister, at having her close once more.Â
A beat passes between the two of you. A bird calls out, probably a gull from the bay. Your horse snorts.Â
For a fleeting moment, all of this feels impossibly easy.Â
âAnd⊠and Aemond?â he says quietly, giving voice to the question both of you have been circling since Alicentâs letter reached you. âDo you think heâll be glad to see us?â
You hold his gaze only briefly before looking back toward the city, back toward those impossibly high towers as you try to picture him somewhere insideâa man you no longer know.Â
âHeâll be glad of Tessarion,â you say at last, feeling Daeronâs gaze as it lingers on you. He knows well enough not to challenge your answer, and you know heâs smart enough to pick up on everything you choose not to say.Â
Sighing, you shift slightly atop your horse, trying to ignore the way your pulse kicks up as you draw closer to the castle gates. In a bid to keep your thoughts from spiraling further, you attempt to focus on the cityâon crowded market stalls and fishermen unloading the morningâs catch, on the bells of the Sept ringing as they signal the time, on the sails of distant ships bobbing in the Blackwater.Â
Still, you cannot help but notice that there are more Gold Cloaks than you remember, more guards posted atop the battlements, and more eyes lifting instinctively toward the sky as Tessarionâs shadow passes overhead.Â
The gates open, the sound carrying across the yard as heavy timbers groan against ancient hinges.Â
I am home, you think again, though the word fits no better than it did the first time.Â
Stablehands hurry forward to take reins from weary riders, servants weave between carts laden with supplies from Oldtown, and somewhere across the inner courtyard a steward begins directing men toward quarters prepared days before your arrival. The Hightower banners that had fluttered so proudly along the road are lowered one by one, no longer needed now that youâve reached your destination.Â
Youâve scarcely swung yourself down from your horse before familiar voices begin calling Daeronâs name. Guards who had only known him as a small boy bid him welcome with respectful bows, various attendants offer polite curtsies, and it strikes you then just how long heâs been gone.Â
Just then, a movement at the top of the stone steps draws your eyeâAlicent. For one impossible heartbeat, you see her as the dutiful older sister you had left behind years ago, looking as she always had.Â
Then reality catches up.Â
Time has been no kinder to her than it is to anyone else, but it seems to have landed differently upon your sister. She is still beautiful in the same ways she always wasâwide eyes, shining coppery hair, a warm smileâthough grief has carved itself into the corners of her mouth and left shadows beneath her eyes. Green remains her color, as ever, yet even that familiar emerald shade seems muted against the invisible weight she carries.Â
Daeron reaches her first and hardly has time to draw air into his lungs before Alicent gathers him into her arms; he returns the embrace without hesitation, one hand settling securely between her shoulders.Â
âGods, youâre nearly a man grown,â the words leave her in a shuddered exhale, something caught between a laugh and a sob.Â
âMother,â he says so quietly you nearly miss it in all the commotion, as if the word is foreign on his tongue. âI missed you.â
One hand rises to cup his cheek like sheâs reassuring herself heâs truly here, standing before herâthat he is flesh and blood rather than another son slipping beyond her reach. Her thumb brushes once across his skin as she studies his face with an impossibly wide smile, pride clear on her features for the first time in longer than she would care to admit.Â
âYou havenât the faintest idea,â she starts, shaking her head, âhow much Iâve missed you.â
A moment later, their embrace loosens and her shoulders straighten, a quiet propriety settling over her once more as she turns to you.Â
Whatever restraint sheâd attempted to force upon herself dies in an instant.
She crosses the remaining distance between you without ceremony, wrapping both arms around you with a quiet, shaky exhale that she quickly buries against your shoulder. You hold her just as tightly, huffing out a laugh as the familiar scent of her washes over youâsweet and delicate and all her own.Â
For a few seconds, everything seems to fall away. There is no court, no war, no throneâonly the two of you, standing exactly as you had countless times before the world grew so much larger than either of you had ever wished it to be.Â
When she pulls back, her composure has returned, but only just.Â
âI missed you,â she says softly, that familiar wry smile on her lipsâas if sheâd been caught doing something she shouldnât.Â
âAs I have missed you, sister.â
Something fragile flickers across her face before disappearing almost as quickly as it came as she wrings her hands, scanning the courtyard.Â
âWe shouldnât remain here.â
You nod, knowing there will be time later for conversations and niceties and attempts to bridge the years between you.Â
Ladies-in-waiting fall into step behind you as the three of you make your way deeper into the castle. The once-familiar corridors seem narrower than you remember, crowded now with messengers carrying sealed letters, guards changing posts, and whispering maidsâall of whom fall abruptly silent as you pass by.Â
Everything is exactly how youâd left it, truly, and yet it feels as if the stone walls themselves are holding their breath, waiting for the other shoe to fall.Â
âAegon left three days before your arrival,â Alicent says at last, keeping her voice low enough that only you and Daeron can hear. âLarys Strong departed with him. No one knows where.âÂ
You had known as much from her raven but hearing the words spoken aloud somehow makes them feel realâless like a rumor and more like a loss.Â
âAnd Aemond assumed control immediately?â You question, earning a silent nod in reply, her lips pressed tightly together. âSo everyone simplyâŠâ you pause, searching for the right word, â...accepts it?â
âThey accept necessity,â she answers without hesitation, looking over her shoulder before glancing back toward you. âWe do not have the luxury of time.âÂ
She says no more than that, but she doesnât need to. You understand well enough what remains unspokenâKingâs Landing is being held together by routine and the looming uncertainty of Rhaenyraâs inevitable arrival.Â
Silence stretches between you for several paces before you break it, unable to tamp down the cautious curiosity within you.Â
âAnd what of Aemond?â
âYou will see him soon enough.â
Thereâs something in the way she says itâthe quiet resignation of someone who, despite every attempt to the contrary, has found that the only way out is through.Â
The corridors begin to widen as you get closer to the Great Hall, its heavy wooden doors lying ahead, standing open beneath banners bearing the three-headed dragon. Voices drift faintly from within, bleeding through the space in hushed murmurs.Â
âHe should still be here,â Alicent says, stiffly looking between you and Daeron. âCome.â
Your feet move before your mind can protest. Despite all the many hours youâve had to imagine this meeting, now that it has arrived, you discover that you were never truly prepared for it at all.Â
Inside, the throne room is more somber than you remember it being, stripped of the usual pomp and circumstance that comes with a public court. Any petitioners or noblemen that were here have departed, leaving behind only a handful of men gathered near the foot of the Iron Throne; Maester Orwyle stands with several rolled parchments tucked beneath one arm while Lord Wylde speaks in measured tones, giving the last of some report from what you can make out.Â
Contrary to what youâd feared, there are no raised voices; instead, thereâs an eerie calm.Â
You canât seem to decide which is worse.Â
Despite its placidity, thereâs still a carefulness that lingers in the airâa deliberate weighing of every word. These men are long accustomed to kings and councils but even they seem to measure themselves warily.Â
Slowly, your gaze rises to the throne itself, to where Aemond sits bareheaded, absent of the rubied crown that Aegon had worn. It had departed the city with him, leaving behind only the Iron Throne itself and the man who now occupies it. Somehow, the missing symbol of legitimacy fails to diminish him; if anything, it makes him appear sharper.Â
He has no need for the authority of Valyrian steel when he believes he possesses enough of his own.Â
One hand rests lightly against the arm of the throne as he listens to the men before him with a sharp gaze. Your mind whirls as you try to reconcile the image before you with the boy youâd once knownâthere is nothing boyish left in him now. Even from across the hall, he carries himself with an absolute certainty that hadnât been there before.Â
âHow many men remain posted at the River Gate?â
âTwo hundred, Your Grace.â
âAnd how many have seen battle?â
âPerhapsâŠâ Lord Wylde hesitates briefly, âonly half?â
Aemond nods once, head tilting to the side just slightly as he lets out a thoughtful hum.Â
âThen replace the rest.â
âYour Grace,â Wylde begins carefully, âwe are already strapped forââ
âDo you think an army of untested boys capable of defending the city from the threats Rhaenyra brings, my lord?â His tone is soft, though laced with a hardness that makes it clear this is a question he does not want answered. âSee that it is done.âÂ
âAs you command.â
He is good at this, the thought comes to you unbidden, almost painfully. The solemn little boy who had spent entire afternoons with his nose buried in dusty tomes, who had longed to be taken seriouslyâto no longer be a mere second sonâappears to have gotten what he had so desperately wanted.Â
Silence settles again as Lord Wylde turns and takes his leave, pausing only to offer the three of you a polite bow, followed by Maester Orwyle who does the same. Their footsteps echo softly across the cavernous hall until the doors are pulled closed behind them.Â
Itâs only then that Aemondâs gaze lands on you.Â
For a second, hardly a second, something perilously close to relief shifts over his face before vanishing so completely that you wonder if youâre inventing mercies where none exist.Â
You share an impossibly heavy glance with Alicent as he stands from the throne and saunters down the sword-lined steps, his hands clasped behind his back while he makes his way over to the three of you. Heâs grown tall in your absence, formidable with broad shoulders and a restrained strength. Thereâs a surety in him now that had been missing before, the relaxed confidence of a man who knows his capabilities very, very well.Â
âYou have returned,â he murmurs, coming to a stop before you. Thereâs no warmth in his tone, no familiarity. He offers nothing elseânot your name, not aunt, not even a question of your travels or your health.Â
âSo I have,â you say in return, bowing your head politely, if only to give yourself something to do.Â
He studies you for only a second longer before drifting to Daeron at your side. You can see him shift in your periphery, practically thrumming with a confused excitementâwas he missed? Was he not? Where is the ease of family?
âYour dragon will be of good use to us,â Aemond says. âI trust you have been trained well?â
Daeron inclines his head with the same courtesy he has shown every step of the journey from Oldtown, though you donât miss the way he seems to deflate a little as his shoulders lose their sharpness.Â
âYes,â he answers with a nod, looking at Alicent as she places a hand on his shoulder. âI am glad to be of service.â
âMm,â Aemond hums, giving a single nod, no sign that he has spent years apart from the brother standing before him.Â
Despite yourself, you search his face anyway, looking for a trace of the boy who had once followed you through halls asking questions far too large for his age.Â
Yet, you find only the king.Â
Beside you, Alicent exhales softly, smoothing a hand over her skirts.Â
âWe should leave you to your work,â she says to him, each word too tightâtoo formal. âBesides,â she continues, turning her attention to you and her youngest son, âI must show you both to your chambers.âÂ
As you take your leave, following closely behind Daeron as the three of you make your way out of the Great Hall, you can feel his stare on your back.Â
The following day, afternoon sunlight spills so warmly through the Keepâs gardens that itâs easy to momentarily forget how precarious everything is, how the entire realm seems poised on a knifeâs edge.Â
The fountains bubble softly into still pools, birds chirp as they flit from tree to tree, and roses climb sun-warmed stone. You watch as a butterfly dances between flowers, suddenly struck by the fact that it knows nothing of dragons, nor kings, nor the weight of crowns.Â
That is why youâve always tended to seek solace hereânature has always possessed the enviable habit of simply carrying on.Â
For a while, neither you nor your sister says anything as you walk side-by-side, the gravel pathway crunching underfoot. A gentle wind wafts over you, rustling the neatly pruned hedges, and you take a second to glance over at her.Â
Alicentâs hands are folded neatly before her in an attempt to hide her bloodied cuticlesâa nervous habit she never quite outgrew.Â
âIâm sure youâre glad for the breeze the bay brings in,â she says after a time, a faint smile touching the corners of her lips, âgiven how humid Oldtown can be.â
âDefinitely,â you nod, taking a second to look up at the winding branches of a particularly old chestnut tree. âThe air there could be stifling at times.â
Conversation comes easier after that, the two of you quickly filling the silence. You speak of the journey here, of Ormundâs tendency to be a spendthrift, of Daeronâs understated confidence and how naturally he has seemed to grow into himself. Alicent listens more than she speaks, asking after small details that youâd never thought to include in the many letters you had sent her over the years.Â
Does he still forget to eat when heâs learning a new song on his lute?
Does he still insist on rising at dawn?
Does he still not take well to compliments?
Each answer earns a small smile from her or a breathy laugh or quick quip, though none of it quite erases the shadows beneath her eyes. Still, itâs enough to give you a glimpse of the sister youâd known as a child.Â
The longer the two of you walk and talk, the more you find yourself speaking of Oldtown itself. You each share childhood memories of watching merchant ships dock in the harbor and of evenings spent beneath the glow of the great beacon. Both of you seem to long for those quiet days that, at the time, had felt unbearably ordinary, though now they seem more like an untouchable luxury.Â
Still, the longer you talk, the more it feels as if each of you is carefully side-stepping the one glaring thing that weighs most heavily on your mind, as if neither of you wishes to arrive at it and break whatever sweet spell youâre under.Â
Eventually, it becomes unavoidable.Â
âHe will not hear me,â she says at last as she slows beside one of the fountains, watching sunlight scatter across its rippling surface. You donât need to ask who she means, you both know well enough. âI have tried as his counsel, as his mother,â she continues quietly; a faint, humorless smile crosses her lips, ânone of them reached him.â
âWhat is it you wished for him to hear?â
Sighing, she doesnât answer immediately. Her brows furrow as she resumes walking, her skirts whispering softly over the pathway.Â
âIâI want peace,â she says simply before stopping again, so suddenly that you whip around to face her. Sheâs not looking at you, not at first. Instead, sheâs gazing at the ground as if wishing it would swallow her whole, teeth worrying at her bottom lip.
âSister, has somethingââ
âI went to Dragonstone,â she whispers, so faintly that for a moment, youâre sure you must have misheard her. She must see it as a million questions immediately flood your mind, each more incredulous than the last, because she quickly continues. âI didnât go becauseâbecause I believed Rhaenyra would simply forgive me,â the words pour from her, ânor because I imagined she had suddenly forgotten all that has transpired between our families, I justâŠâ
She lowers her eyes, wringing her hands.Â
âI had to know that she might still choose not to burn the realm,â her words are almost sheepish, like a child confessing an inane fear, âthat she too had considered⊠negotiations, a way through this withoutâwithoutââ
She neednât give it voice.Â
For several moments, you say nothing, instead blinking up at the sun overhead, like it may provide you with some great wisdom. Shock flows through you, a steady thrum in your veins, but beneath that an understanding begins to rise. You know your sister and for all her many faults, you have never known her to be rash nor willfully careless.Â
Peace no longer promises triumph, perhaps it never didâyouâd seen your brother-in-law make that mistake many times over the course of his long reign. But it may promise fewer widows, fewer orphans left to the streets, fewer graves dug into damp earth.Â
Of course sheâd had to try, you think, absentmindedly fiddling with a loose thread at the hem of one sleeve, that is still something worth seeking.
âAegon could be⊠managed,â you say quietly. Alicent sighs beside you, her eyes closing as she gives a single nod.Â
âYes.â
âAemond cannot.â
âNo,â she whispers, the word landing heavily between you, âand that is what frightens me.â
Her voice wavers, causing you to instinctively reach toward her. Stepping closer, you wind your hands around hers, jaw set against the sudden tightness at the back of your throat as her gaze finally finds yours. The tiredness there makes your heart ache.Â
âIf Aemond remains in the capital, Rhaenyra will come eventually, sheâll have no choice,â she says lowly, leaning closer to you, âbut Daemon holds Harrenhal, alongside Caraxes, several dragonseeds, and a growing army.â Your pulse grows louder as she speaks, an incessant drum in your ear. âVhagar is mighty, but she is one dragon.â
She pauses, looking toward the Red Keep as it towers above the gardens.Â
âAnd one rider,â she finishes, her eyes flicking to yours.Â
The finality in her gaze, along with the million words she cannot say, make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.Â
âIf Aemond were to ride for the RiverlandsâŠâ you start, your eyes remaining fixed on hers, âhe may not return.â
âYes.â
âAndâand if he stays?â
âThen the war will come here,â she nods, tensing for an instant, âand thousands will die.â
Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as the implication of her words hangs over the two of you, heavy with the weight of an impossible choice. You know better than to argue with her, knowing that what she says is true.
âI need you to speak with him.â
âMe?â you balk, jolting a pace back from her as if youâd been burnt.Â
âHe will not hear me.â
âSisterââ
âHe was so fond of you as a child,â she implores, desperation bleeding into the edges of her voice. âYou may still be able toââ
âThe man I saw yesterday,â you cut her off, shaking your head, âdid not look like someone waiting to be persuaded.â
âNoâno, I suppose not.âÂ
The simplicity of her answer causes a frustrated huff to spill from you as you pace about the small alcove the two of you have found yourselves in, the sunlight on your skin suddenly stifling.Â
âHe isnât the boy I left behind,â you manage, the words tight in your throat.Â
âI know,â she says, reaching out to steady you in the same way you had done for her only moments ago, âbut he is still my son.â
The grief in her voice nearly undoes you, like sheâs mourned him before heâs even leftâlike sheâs done it a dozen times before now.Â
You think of the throne room the day before, of the man sitting where Viserys once had, who now seems little more than a stranger to you, and of Daeronâs face after being dismissed as little more than another dragon rider.Â
Most of all, you remember the split-second of relief that had flickered across Aemondâs face before it had vanished.Â
Staring off at a hazy point in the distance, youâre unable to decide which frightens you moreâthat the boy you had loved is truly gone, or that a small part of him still remains beneath everything that time has forced him to become.Â
You draw a slow breath, looking out across the gardens where branches continue to sway in the afternoon breeze, utterly indifferent to the burden resting upon your shoulders. The backs of your eyes sting as you let them flutter shut for a moment, willing your breaths to steady.Â
âIâI will speak with him.â
She nods and squeezes your hand, though neither of you speak again as you make your way back toward the castle. Nothing has changed, not really. Birds still sing and flowers still bloom and butterflies still dance between them, yet everything feels colder than it had only an hour before.Â
The task before you feels impossibleâhow are you supposed to reach someone when youâre no longer certain any part of them still exists?
In the few hours since youâve spoken to your sister, night has settled heavily over the castle. Your steps echo in the quiet corridor as you make your way to Aemond'sâto the kingâsâchambers, alone in hallways that are usually filled with guards, servants, and the occasional messenger. Torchlight pools across the old stones, stretching in long shadows that sway and flicker with every draft that slips in through the narrow slit windows.Â
You approach the chambers that had belonged to Aegon only days ago. One of the guards posted outside nods his head as you come to a stop, announcing your arrival while opening the doors for you.Â
A fire burns in the hearth, throwing amber light across the tapestried walls. According to Alicent, he had altered many things already. She spoke of orders to servants to stock the shelves with various old tomes, to move in his personal belongings, and to rid the place of emptied wine flagons.Â
Even still, the room itself seems to remember Aegon, as if frozen in the transition between owners.
Aemond occupies a chair before the fire, one leg stretched before him as a forgotten book rests atop his other thigh. He looks up as the doors thud closed once more, leaving the two of you alone.Â
âMother sent you,â he murmurs, not bothering to question it.Â
âShe did,â you answer, stepping further into the room. That earns you the faintest tilt of his head as something like interest passes across his face.Â
âMm,â he hums, âat least you do not insult me with denial.â
âI see no purpose in lying to you, Aemond.â
âHow novel,â he says through a dry huff of laughter. His gaze moves over you with a calm precision that makes your spine straighten despite yourself. âThough I suppose you were always cleverer than that.â
His words catch somewhere you didnât expect, the faint familiarity in them making the absence of any tenderness all the more jarring. You remember, absurdly, a solemn little boy leaning over a library table as he asked whether intelligence or courage mattered more.Â
You had told him that you supposed it merely depended on who survived long enough to use either.Â
That same little boy isnât the one looking back at you now.Â
âYou remember enough to flatter me, nephew.â
âI remember a great many things,â he says, calm but pointed.Â
Neither of you speaks as you move to stand more in front of him, your back warmed by the fire as you watch the light of it move over the hard lines of his face, catching in the pale fall of his hair and the sapphire set where his left eye should be. He looks more human here than he had on the throne, away from all those swords and watching eyes.Â
Heâs handsome like this, the thought comes unbidden. Perhaps this would be easier if age had been less kind to him.Â
âYou may sit,â he says at last, gesturing toward a matching chair that sits beside him.Â
âI prefer to stand,â you say, remaining where you are as if rooted to the spot. He studies you for a long while, tracking the slow shift of your hips before returning, almost reluctantly, to your face.
âAs you wish.â
The silence that follows is unnervingâhe appears to have no desire to fill it and, as the seconds wear on, you begin to wonder if it is a test of some kind. For what, you cannot yet say. Perhaps heâs waiting to see if youâll begin, if youâll falter when you do, whether you have come as a messenger, an aunt, a spy, or something less easily named.Â
Finally, you can take it no longer.Â
âMy princeââ
His gaze lifts immediately to that, sharp and insistent.Â
âMy king,â you correct, internally berating yourself for giving him any sort of upper hand.Â
Aemond tilts his head slightly, satisfaction kept so tightly leashed that anyone else may not have noticed it at all. âYou found the word eventually.â
âI apologize,â you say, shifting your weight from foot to foot while you inhale shakily. âI amâI am finding many things difficult tonight.â
âI imagine you are,â he answers too quickly, too smoothly, like heâd already anticipated the conversation before you had even entered the room. Youâre reminded of the way heâd simply listened in the throne room the day before: patient and scrutinizing, allowing men space enough to reveal their hand.Â
âThe castle talks,â you try, though he gives you nothing in return.Â
âIt always has.â
âThis is differentââ
âNo,â he replies, leaning back in his chair as if he hasnât a care in the world. âThere are always whispers but it is merely the idle chatter of smallfolk, nothing more.â
âAegon is goneââÂ
âI am aware, yes.â
âThen you must also be aware of what that looks like,â you say, the words coming more sharply than you intend, âof what it implies.â
At that, his expression shifts by a fraction, cooling faintly as if youâd veered off of whatever script he has in his head. âIt looks like the realm is being governed in my brotherâs absence,â he mutters.â
âAemond, it looks like uncertaintyââ
âNecessity.â
âTo those inside these walls, perhaps,â you say, forcing yourself to remain calm despite the way your pulse hums beneath your skin. âBut outside? To the city? To any of Rhaenyraâs supporters waiting for any fracture that they might widen into a wound?â
He watches you for a long moment, the firelight throwing half of his face into shadow.Â
âYou sound like my mother,â he sighs, dismissive.Â
Your throat works as you swallow thickly, your hands tightening into fists at your sides before you catch yourself and will them to relax.Â
âI have spent many years away from this court and even I can still see it plainly,â you start, your voice low enough to draw his attention once more. âLet me speak the words everyone else here is too frightened to say.â
That gives him pause, you see it in the way a muscle jumps in his cheek, in the way his shoulders tense and his fingers tighten around the arm of his chair.Â
âThe servants speak. Soon the city will, then the realm. It will get back to Rhaenyra and she will use it as a weapon in her hand before you ever have the chance to drum up a counterattack,â you say quickly, not wanting to give him a chance to cut you off. âYou are not daft, Aemond. Surely you know this to be true.â
âThe city will believe whatever it is commanded to believe.â
âNo,â you shake your head, brows slightly raised. âIt will believe whatever best explains its fear, which is precisely why you cannot remain here.âÂ
The words hang between you before he gives a dry, humorless laugh. Disappointment flashes across his face, as if heâd hoped you had come for a reason other than to parrot his motherâs words at him.Â
âSo,â he sighs, nodding once to himself, âthis is why you came.â
âDaemon sits at Harrenhal gathering men beneath Rhaenyraâs banners while you remain behind these walls waiting for the war to arrive at your doorstep,â you press on, unwilling to surrender any ground you may have been granted. His eye follows you immediately, dropping only for a heartbeat before lifting again as though nothing had happened. âEvery day heâs left unchallenged, another river lord bends the knee and more men join his host.â
Aemondâs expression betrays nothing as you continue, though you donât miss the way his lips press together in annoyance.Â
âThis war hinges on the Riverlands,â you say, determined to get the words out. âYou know that as well as anyone.â
âAnd so my aunt would have me abandon my capital.â
âI would have you seize this initiative before it is too late.â
âAnd leave the city leaderless while my dearest brother remains missing?â His eye narrows, the corners of his lips twitching into an incredulous smirk.Â
âYou have a council,â you try. âAnd Prince Daeron, and your motherââ
âMy mother is a fool,â he interrupts, âa snake with two tongues, so poisoned by Rhaenyra that she cannot see Harrenhal for what it isâa trap.â
Inhaling a shuddered breath, you bite at your bottom lip, swallowing thickly.Â
âDaemon wants you to hesitate,â you counter, âby remaining here, youâre merely obliging him.â
For the first time since you entered, he doesnât appear to have anything to say in return. His lips tighten as he glances around the dim chambers, blinking while his chest rises and falls unsteadily. You think of Alicent in the gardens, hiding her bloodied cuticles beneath folded hands, of the grief in her voice. You think of Daeron deflating by inches beneath the weight of his brotherâs cool assessment.Â
You think of the boy after Driftmark, choking on the pain he would rather swallow than share.Â
He scoffs, the sound almost like a laugh, if there were any warmth to it. âYou have been in Oldtown too long, aunt,â he says sharply, âsurrounded by maesters that flatter themselves to believe that wars are won upon maps rather than by the men who fight them.â
âAnd you have been here too long if you believe this city would not fall were Rhaenyra forced to challenge you head on.â
He falters once more, glancing about the room for a split second before his expression hardens once more.
âI have Vhagar,â he starts with an easy confidence, shrugging his shoulders just slightly as if any counter to her mere presence means nothing at all, âand Tessarion, the city watch, scores of soldiersââ
âYou hear yourself, donât you?â You murmur before you can stop yourself, mouth shutting tightly as Aemond goes quiet, his stare cutting as he glares at you. Even as your pulse seems to falter in your chest, you cannot help but feel a small thrill shoot down your spine as irritation flashes plainly over his faceâthe first true sign of any weakness he may have left.Â
âYou think me ambitious,â he mutters after a tense moment, his voice slightly softer than it had been before.Â
âI think you are too intelligent not to understand how this ends.â
He huffs, annoyed, and shakes his head incredulously. The harshness youâd managed to strip away before climbs back into his angular features and when he speaks next, itâs with the same condescension one would use to scold a small child.Â
âAegon abandoned the throne, he fled,â he starts, each word slow and measured. âHe was never a man, not as he shouldâve been,â he continues, his voice carrying an edge sharp enough to cut. âHe remained a boy who drank too much and hid behind skirts because no one expected him to become anyone worth following.â
The more he speaks, the clearer you see why your sister fears him soâhis viciousness rarely begins with invention, each word carries a truth to it that heâs learned to observe and sharpen until it becomes useful to him.Â
âAnd you?â you ask, determined not to falter furtherâto see this through. âYouâre sure you want it?â
His eye narrows. âThe throne?â
âThe burden of it,â you murmur, tilting your head just slightly as you regard him. âThe very same that crushed your brother under its weight and led Viserys to become what little he became.â
For an instant, itâs as if the room tightens around the question, tensing like the air itself is waiting for a blow.Â
Aemond rises then, unhurriedly, as if heâs simply grown bored of sitting rather than because youâve struck anything near vulnerable. It strikes you once more how tall heâs become, formidable and fearsome enough to make good on the threats he utters. Whatever softness remained in him from childhood has been cleanly carved away, replaced with discipline and war.Â
âI want victory,â he answers, taking a few measured steps toward you.Â
âThatâs not what I asked.â
âNo,â he concedes, pursing his lips, âbut it is the only answer that matters.â
âOr itâs the answer men give when the truth is less flattering.â
His head tilts at that as he comes to a stop before you, hands clasped behind his back. The firelight dancing over his face makes the sapphire in his eye socket glimmer, beautiful and infinitely dangerous all at once.Â
âAnd what truth do you imagine youâve uncovered, aunt?â
A small voice in the back of your mind bids you to stopâanyone wiser most likely wouldâbut you tamp it down, throat working as you swallow against the nervous tightness at the back of it. Alicent had not sent you here to be wise, not entirely.Â
âYou deal in cruelty,â you start slowly, watching him as closely as he watches you, âbecause you are scaredâterrified of seeming weak.â
The silence that follows is immediate and absolute, like all the air has been pulled from the room.Â
âCareful,â he mutters lowly from between clenched teeth, the word venomous enough to have your hair standing on end.Â
âBut youâre not weak, you never were,â you press on, using the split second of surprise that crosses his face to step forward just enough to rest a hand lightly on his shoulder, ignoring the wanting shiver that moves through you at the contact. âYou have the makings of a great kingâa better king than Aegon couldâve been, you said as much yourself.â
His lips part, but no sound comes out. For a terrifying instant, he seems caught between pulling away entirely and giving in. Then his lilac eye darts to your lips, so quickly you wonder if you imagined it as your heart seizes in your chest.
The gesture strikes something buried deep in your memory of a boy scarcely older than eleven blushing scarlet when one of Aegonâs lordling friends had laughingly declared that he would make some maiden very happy one day. He had looked at you then with exactly the same startled intensity before fleeing from the room altogether.Â
âI know you, Aemond,â you say softly, pressing half a step closer. Your hand shifts, moving from his shoulder to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your fingertips.
âYou have been away half of my life, you cannotââ
His eye flickers downward, following the movement of your hand where it rests against his chest. Itâs such an ordinary thingâso quiet, so simpleâthat for one instant, you see him as he once was: no taller than your neckline, questioning you about whether it was better to be strong or kind. The illusion is gone almost as quickly as it comes, swallowed beneath the hard line of his jaw as his gaze meets yours once more.Â
âAnd still, I know you,â you murmur, victory within your sights, âI loved youââ
For the briefest of instances, he goes completely still before you. Every part of him seems to lock up, as if the words struck a part of his mind that cannot make sense of them. His lilac eye glistens, and your lungs tighten, andâ
His hand is around your throat, not crushing but firm enough to silence you.
âLoved me?â he echoes, his voice dangerously soft as he leans in close enough that you can feel his breath ghost over your lips. âIs this how you show it? By coming to whisper pretty words? By lecturing me about being some frightened boy?â His fingers tighten just slightly, enough to make your next inhale a struggle.
âTell me,â he growls, âdo I look like a boy to you now?â His thumb presses harder against the hollow of your throat, his eye blazing with something dangerously close to satisfaction as he studies the way your pulse flutters beneath his touch.Â
Your throat works beneath this palm as you eke out a feeble, half-formed whimper, your hands scrambling for purchase against his forearm. Knees weakening, you shake your head as much as his grip will allow, not daring to take your eyes off of his. A strange pins and needles feeling begins to grow beneath your skin as the edges of your vision blur, and then darken.Â
Blessedly, he loosens his grip just enough to allow you to suck in a lungful of airâgasping, heaving, and spluttering.Â
You had been so close only moments ago, you had seen the cracks in him. Perhaps, a small, desperate part of you thinks, if I give him thisâ
âI wasâI was merely trying to counsel youââ
The moment your feeble protests reach his ears, Aemondâs patience shatters. A derisive scoff escapes him as he drags you toward the chair heâd occupied earlier, his grip on your shoulder unrelenting. The chair groans faintly as he shoves you over its arm, your body bent at the waist beneath his hands while your breaths come in ragged, uneven gasps. Your fingers dig into the material of it as you brace yourself, nearly forced onto your tip-toes.Â
His voice, when he speaks, is a blade pressed to youâcold and unyielding.Â
âCounsel?â He sneers, leaning over you, his weight pinning you in place. âYou mistake your place, aunt. You are not my advisor, not my equal.â His hand finds the back of your neck, fingers tightening just enough to have you stilling beneath him. âI will not tolerate deception, no matter how prettily you dress it up.â
You pant, whining as the arm of the chair digs into your waist, though you donât dare move, even as your cheek is pressed against the seat cushion. You nearly jolt as he presses more firmly against you, eyes widening as the hard line of his arousal becomes more and more prominent.Â
âA-Aemond, please, justâjust stop and think,â you try, knowing well that thatâs a bygone notion. His hips move against you and, shamefully, a shiver rolls down your spineâa mixture of anxiety and something far more treacherous. âI wasnâtâwasnât trying toââ
âYou thought yourself clever, didnât you?â he murmurs, his free hand tracing the curve of your hip with mocking gentleness. âComing here to question me, to control me, as though I would simply bow my head and thank you for the wisdom.â His fingers dig more harshly into your skin, hard enough to bruise. âYou were wrong.â
Your cheeks flush somehow further with each word he utters, his touch like fire on your skin. Even as your head spins, you desperately try to think back to your reason for coming to him at allâAlicent, Daeron, the city itself.
âIâI shouldnât have pushed you,â you say, voice trembling. âI have never been yourâyour enemy, Aemond,â you pant, shaking your head as best you can as you attempt to look over your shoulder, to catch his gaze. âI only want whatâs bestââ
He lets out a low, dark chuckle as he presses a hand over your mouth, silencing any protests you have left. His fingers flex slightly, savoring the warmth of your lips beneath his palm, the way your breath hitches in surprise. He leans down, his voice a whisper against your ear, low with intent.Â
âYou still think of me as a child,â he says, his free hand bundling the silk of your gown against your skin as he drags your skirts higher and higher with a deliberate slowness, baring your skin to him. âAs though Iâm little more than some thoughtless brute, such as Aegon.â
Whimpering beneath his palm, it settles over youâfor the first time all eveningâhow woefully unprepared you were to come here, to face him.Â
You squeeze your eyes shut as your skin warms as a traitorous pang of desire rises within you when his palm trails up the back of your thigh, possessive and firm but laced with an impossible reverence that steals what little air remains in your lungs.Â
âThey gave you away to Oldtown,â he mutters so softly you wonder if he realizes heâs spoken at all, âwhen you shouldâve been mine.â
Settling on the curve of your backside, his fingers press against the soft flesh there and a satisfied hum escapes him as firelight catches the arousal between your thighsâproof that your body knows its place even if your tongue struggles to obey.Â
âAll that talk, and yet so quick to yield,â he murmurs, dragging his fingers through the slick heat of you, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. His fingers slide deeper, teasing at your entrance but not yet granting the sweet relief of filling youânot yet. âTell me, which part of you should I believe? Your sweet words, or your traitorous body?â
Your body seems to move of its own accord as you squirm, chasing the press of his fingers as much as your position will allow. A muffled whine spills from you as your walls spasm around nothing, instinct driving you.Â
He withdraws his hand abruptly, leaving you empty and shuddering, before replacing it with the one over your mouth, smearing your own wetness against your lips and cheeks.Â
âYou shame yourself for this, donât you?â he murmurs, shifting just enough to free his cock from his trousers, his length already hard and heavy against your thigh, making your skin prickle with apprehension. He groans as he drags his tip through your slick folds, teasing but not giving in quite yet. âHow long has it been since someoneâs had you properly, sweet aunt? Since youâve been reminded of your place?â
Panting, you press back against him as he taunts you, need threaded through each movement.Â
His palm presses harder against your lips as he pushes inside with a single, brutal thrust, filling you in one smooth motion. A sharp, satisfied exhale escapes him at the feel of youâtight, wet, his. His free hand rests at your hip, gripping tightly as he holds you in place.Â
âMmph!â you mewl, squirming as your feet falter against the stone floor, knees weakening at the stretch of him. Your vision blurs, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head.Â
âThis is how you should beâhow you shouldâve always been,â he hisses, his voice rough with arousal and something darkerâsomething dangerously possessive. âBy my side, as my queenânot hidden away beneath duty.â He pulls back only to snap his hips forward again, forcing a choked gasp from behind his hand.
Nodding, something youâll tell yourself later was merely a bid to appease him, all you can do is claw at the cushions while he takes.
His pace is unforgiving, each thrust deeper than the last, each one punctuated by the quiet slap of skin against skin. He keeps his hand over your lips, reveling in the sound of your muffled cries, in the way your body clenches around him, in the way you yieldâfinally, finallyâto his will.Â
Aemondâs breath comes harsh and hot against your ear as he fucks into you, slowing his strokes to deliberate rolls of his hips while he savors you. His fingers dig into your hip, nails biting against your skin, marking you as his. The sound of your faint pleas only spurs him on, his voice coming as a dark whisper against your back.Â
âYou thought to counsel meâto command meâwhen all you truly wanted was this,â he growls, dragging his hand between your legs and moving the pad of his thumb over your clit in rough, punishing circles. His thrusts grow sharper, his cock dragging against your walls in a way that makes your thighs tremble. âTo be mine,â he grunts, âjust as you always shouldâve been.â
His free hand remains firm over your mouth, silencing any retort you might haveânot that you could form one, not with the way heâs moving against you, nor with the way pleasure coils tight and desperate in your belly.
âI will win this war for you,â he promises, teeth grazing the curve of your shoulder. âI will mount Daemonâs head on a spike and lay it at your feet, I will throw a feast in your honor, and you will never forget who it was that brought you victory.â His fingers press harder against your clit, his pace unrelenting. âAnd when itâs done, I will have you in the Sept as my bride,â he murmurs through rough pants. âI will right their wrongs, I swear it to you.â
One of your arms comes up and grabs tightly at his forearm, not to pull him away so much as desperately holding to him, trying to anchor yourself as your eyes squeeze shut. You have no doubt he means what he says, that every promise may as well be sealed with blood. That alone is enough to send a horrible thrill through you as you nod, your mewls silenced by his hand.Â
His hips grind against you, causing you to jolt in his hold as pleasure shoots down your spine like lightning. You nearly go limp in his grasp as you hurdle over the edge, sobbing beneath his palm as your release crashes into you like waves against the shore. Your cunt clamps around his length in a harsh rhythm, pulling a deep, satisfied groan from him.Â
He savors the way your body ripples against him, convulsing as he continues tormenting your sensitive bud with slow circles, drawing out your climax ruthlessly until youâre twitching beneath him, oversensitive and trembling.Â
âThere you are,â he pants, voice ragged with barely restrained need as he nips at your shoulder. He growls while he grinds against you, savoring the way your cunt milks him desperately. âYou have fought every battle the same way,â he breathes, thrusts growing erratic as his own release builds, âsurrendering inch byâGodsâby inch.â
Itâs only when he feels his climax cresting that he lifts his hand from your mouth, his fingers smeared with your spit. He pants as he buries himself to the hilt one last time, spilling inside you with a low, possessive snarl.Â
He holds you there for a long moment as he pants, his chest heaving against your back while the world slowly seems to right itself once more.Â
You slump against the chair as he straightens up with a sigh, pulling himself from you with a quiet groan. A shudder goes through you as a thin trickle of his spend slips down your inner thigh, warm against your skin while you try to steady the frantic rhythm of your heart, listening as he tucks himself back into his trousers.Â
Your joints protest as you rise, fingers trembling slightly while you take the time to smooth out the rumpled silk of your gown back into some sort of order. No amount of careful hands will erase the evidence of the night, nor the ache that settles deep within your bones. You can hear him moving about the space behind you, though you donât look toward him, not yet.Â
Instead, you busy yourself with fastening what can be fastened, with straightening out your hair and bodice, grateful for anything that delays whatever words must surely come next.Â
When, at last, you gather the courage to face him, you find him standing with one hand raised and resting lightly on the mantel, his back half turned to you. Firelight throws restless shadows over the sharp planes of his face as he stares into the embers, his expression foreign to you.Â
You open your mouth, though youâre not entirely sure what to say. How are you meant to return to the Riverlands or politics or Alicent or anything at all after that?
âI will go,â his words are so quiet that for one bewildered second, you wonder whether you imagined them. He doesnât turn to face you. âI will ride for Harrenhal.â
You simply stand there, your hand still resting against the fastening of your gown as you search his rigid profile for a clue as to what tipped the scale, only to find none. The silence stretches as you wait for him to speak further, perhaps of triumph or mockery, or another cruel lesson delivered in that same measured tone. You had imagined that, if he yielded at all, it would come only after another battle of words. That he would force you to defend every point, every strategy, every warning you had brought on Alicentâs behalf.Â
Instead, the words come almost carelessly, spoken into the dim quiet of the chambers as though heâd made the decision long before youâd even walked through the door.Â
âWhyââ
âIâll summon the council before dawn,â he continues, glancing toward you just enough for the fire to catch the sapphire in his eye.Â
The distance between the quiet, dutiful boy you had once known and the man standing before you now has never felt wider, nor more perilous.Â
Aemond inclines his head onceâa dismissal.Â
Nodding, you make your way toward the chamber door, unable to shake the cold chill of uncertainty that follows you.Â
You find your sister upon the western battlements just after dawn as the sun begins to rise over the waters of the bay, staining the sky in muted shades of lavender and gold. She hardly acknowledges your presence as you come to stand beside her and for several minutes, neither of you speaks.Â
Her hair drifts lazily about her shoulders with the breeze, while the skirt of your dressing gown stirs about your ankles.Â
âWhat did you say to him?â she asks eventually, her eyes never leaving the broad fields beyond the city walls.Â
You think back to the night before, back to the tense conversation that had transpired between you and your nephewâif you could even call it that. You think of his hands on your skin and of the fire dying low in the hearth, of his hand upon the mantel while he stared into the ashes, as if the answer had been waiting for him there all along.Â
âEnough, I suppose,â you answer quietly, your brows furrowed.Â
Alicent closes her eyes beside you, not bothering to question you further.Â
Movement begins to ripple across a distant field; at first, itâs difficult to distinguish one cluster of men from another. Soldiers scatter outward with practiced haste while dragonkeepers weave between them.Â
Then, she moves.Â
Vhagar rises slowly, so immense that, for one breathless moment, she resembles another hill unfolding itself from the landscape. Bronze scales catch the first rays of the sun, each ancient movement carrying the certainty of something that has outlived kingdom upon kingdom, and may outlive countless more.Â
Even from a distance, you imagine you can feel her weight settling through the ground beneath your feet.Â
Your chest lurches at the knowledge that heâs there, saddled to her great backâthe boy who once wandered after you through shadowy halls, who had once asked whether good men ever made good kings.Â
Vhagar spreads her wings, the first beats of them sending dust spiraling across the fields before she lifts from the earth and climbs steadily to the north, becoming smaller and smaller with each passing second.Â
Beside you, Alicent watches until they have become little more than a dark shape against the morning light. When she speaks, her voice is little more than a mote of dust carried in the wind.Â
âHave we done the right thing?â
The question hangs between you, unanswered, a nearly tangible thing.Â
How could you have done anything otherwise? If he had remained, the city may have burned, thousands may have perished. And, yet, as he goesâŠ
Your gaze follows the shrinking silhouette until even Vhagarâs impossibly large wings disappear into the pale morning haze, the rider on her back no more than a pinprick against the clouds.
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
going to be doing a profile rework â someones in her targaryen phase again, no, all my previous works are still being worked on. but expect aemond to be coming on into the works
analysis. you woke up in a strange home, it was a rich home. definitely not yours since you struggle financially, when your lawyer reveals herself to not be a real lawyer and a dangerous woman in the mob, you found yourself to be completely regretful on how you lacked attention to the contract she had you sign. your life? completely in her hands.
pairing. corrupt lawyer/mob boss!nat x puppy!reader
wc. 3.2k
warnings. dark themes, masc natasha (đ§ââïžââĄïž), mob boss natasha, age gap (Nat is in her 30's, Reader is in her early 20's), gunshot wound, suggestive themes, starvation, illness, natasha literally just treats reader like a dog.
authors note. happy birthday to my dear friend, luv ya D! so grateful to have you as a friend :).
taglist. @toorain @loneliestafterparty @littlewhorticulturist @the-lesbians-made-me-do-it
You woke up with an ache in your shoulder, your throat dry. A soft groan had left your lips as you rolled onto the silk sheets of your mattress, what did you do yesterday to where your shoulder ached this badly. A hand went to rub at the muscle, to try and find where the knot was located. Your eyes opened widely at the feeling of bandages instead, you felt your mouth dry as you sat up on the bed. The room, it wasnât yours. The white walls were a clean contrast to your beige walls in your apartment, the vanity in the corner of the room had a selection of perfumes and different materials for makeup. The mattress you had laid on was more comfortable than your own at home. You realized you were in a different change of clothes as well, a white tank top with black shorts. Who has changed you? You felt bile form in your throat at the thought of someone seeing your body. You had hoisted your legs over the edge of the mattress, immediately standing up as you felt white specks fill your vision at the quick motion of standing. Steadily putting one foot in front of the other to the dresser to find yourself a better pair of clothing to conceal your skin. You were never a big fan of showing as much skin as you have now, your legs usually carried bruises and youâd rather not share them off to the prying eyes of the public.
A knock had sounded on the door, you jumped, turning immediately to see the door creak open to see the familiar red hair. Natashaâs features were sharp, the redhead herself was only in a tanktop and black sweatpants herself. Her red hair was pulled back into a loose bun with her baby hairs sticking out, her eyes focused on your form standing over the dresser, âWhy are you standing pup? Arenât you still feeling sore?â
Her voice was monotone, her accent laced within her words. You had gawked at her, the toned biceps and the sharp jawline of the redhead had you staring. But you shook yourself out of it, you gulped. Out of everything else, you wouldnât have expected your own lawyer to walk through that door, âMs. Romanoff? What happened? Why am I here?â
Your voice was soft as you sputtered out the questions to your lawyer, your bottom lip wobbled as you swallowed. She tilted her head at you, she slowly walked forward to you as she let her hand slip to your cheek. Her thumb rubbing circles under your eye softly, âYouâre home, that is all that matters. Youâre here because you signed my contract,â
âContract? The contract was for you to help me with my case,â You asked softly, confusion found your eyes as you tried to stop yourself from leaning into the redhead's soft touch against your face.
âThe contract you signed to be mine, or did you forget?â She hummed softly, an amused grin found her features as if she was treating the situation like it was a normal day of the week for her. She gently guided you to sit on the mattress, her hands moving to feel at the bandages as she inspected them to ensure they were clean, âGood, your shoulder looks fine pup. Bucky ensured it was a clean shot,â
âI was shot?â You had responded so quickly as surprise filled your features. But your mind registered over the idea that the redhead knew who shot you. Then your mind dwindled over the idea of the contract, the contract you signed. But you donât remember reading over that you signed yourself over to her. You remembered how careless you were, you actually never read over it. Your jaw clenched as you felt the redheads calloused hand rise up over your throat, âBut, youâre a lawyer, you are supposed to help me,â
Natasha grinned at your innocence, the naivety of you asking such silly questions. Her hands came to cup your face, she settled herself to straddle your thighs as she towered over you. The feeling over her weight in your lap had you trying not to fluster so easily. Your eyes roving over her biceps one more time as she explained ever so softly to you, âMy darling, I am no lawyer. I just so happen to be one of the most world-known bossâs of the mob, itâs just no one suspects it from when I work as a lawyer to free my men from the authorities,â
âAnd you my dear, were so careless while signing that contract you didnât even realize that you signed yourself to be my personal little thing. My own arm candy, my own little puppy,â She purred, her lips pressing a light kiss against the tip of your nose, before turning your head to the side ever so slightly, âI canât wait to learn everything about your sweet little body, such a gorgeous girl, as much as I wanted to touch while changing you out of the bloody clothes I wanted you to be awake for our first time,â
You swallowed, you canât tell if itâs fear or the actual idea of the redhead talking to you had your stomach doing flips. Your core reacts immediately but you let out a soft whine, your hands shaky as Natasha let out one more sentence, âPlus, I did get you out of trouble pup. Youâre considered dead, no court case, no murder, and it was so easy to just make it seem like you were dead, youâre all mine,â
You didnât know when you reacted, but your hands came up to push at Natashaâs shoulders roughly to get her off of you. You shook your own head, trying to refuse the words the lawyerâmob bossâwas spilling into your mind as you hissed out, âNo, Iâm not yours, you lied to me! It has to be illegal so itâs not existent!"
Her eyes narrowed as she stumbled to her feet at your push, her jaw clenched as her expression darkened. She clucked her tongue, âWatch it pup, you may be injured but that will not hold me back from laying my hands on you,â
âYouâre dead now to the public, there is nothing illegal towards you. I gave you a contract to sign for my work, it technically was not a lie since itâs for my work of business in the undergrounds of it all, so it still is technically legal. I just didnât tell you what job it was for,â She added, a smugness found in her tone as she smirked at you. You were shocked, even astounded on how so easily she twisted your own words against you. She reached a hand out and mockingly patted you atop of your head like a dog as she offered, âAre you hungry? Iâm just about to eat dinner, join me pup,â
You felt that emptiness in your stomach, the familiar beg for hungry in your abdomen but the idea of eating with Natasha, the woman who lied to you and is holding you hostage, had you finding that refusal quickly, âNo, Iâm not hungry,â
Natasha tilted her head, retracting her hand away from you as she walked to the door, âYou only eat with me, if you donât want to eat with me then you will not eat until you dine with me,â
The declaration of her words let a shudder roll down your spine. She opened the bedroom door and the sound of a lock clicked shut, leaving you alone for the rest of the night.
â
It had been a few days since you initially woke up in the room that isnât your home, you hadnât left the room you were caged in. Every morning and evening the sound of knuckles would rap against the door with the sound of the redhead asking you if you were to join her for meals and every single time you said no. You would rather starve in the room than sit with her at a dining room table eating like nothing was happening, like you werenât held captive by a woman who was supposed to be your lawyer who turned out to be the boss of the mob. You took the time in the room to rest, to heal up on the injured shoulder. When you woke up the first time it was clear you were given drugs to dull the pain, now, youâre lasting off of nothing and even moving your shoulder a tiniest bit in a way that would make it scream in pain was a reminder that you are lasting in a room with no painkillers.
You took the time to evaluate the space you were in, not like you had anything better to do. You went over to the vanity first, white stained wood with a contraption with different containers holding different products. The skin care set that you liked was nestled neatly in the largest space of the contraption, you swallowed. It was clear Natasha had taken information off of you, but when? When did the redhead start stalking you, when did the woman know mostly everything about you? That is what worried you, how naive you were. Other than the skin care products there did seem to be make-up nestled in the smaller containers with a hair brush laying on the desk, the mirror round and endorsed with colors of gold and red for the rim. You had tried opening the drawers, but they didnât budge. Natasha had clearly locked them to store something away that was sealed shut in there and that only raised your curiosity more. Beside the vanity was a dresser with the same white stained wood appearance, six drawers you had counted. Each had different types of clothing that seemed to be in better shape than your closet at home.
There was one window, but it was sealed shut and for what you could tell is that you were on the second-story of whatever building you were in. Was it a house? That is what you assumed, Natasha didnât seem like the type to be dumb enough for an apartment complex to hold you on the second floor. Plus, the view you got was all countryside with a pond nestled near the building. You got a straight view of the sunset from the window, you had tried the door. It was locked as you expected and you heard a male voice on the other side that had told you that it was no use to try and leave the room. Clearly Natasha was prepared, a guard outside and most of the items accessible were harmless in a fight. You doubt a pillow or a hairbrush would be able to take out the redhead who you assumed was good enough at fighting for such a large title.
The sun had set, you were laying against the soft sheets as your empty stomach had growled. Your head pounding and your shoulder ached, your vision was spotty as you felt a soft lull in your head to just close your eyes. You ignored the spots in your vision, not finding it too worrying as you closed your eyes and passed out.
Natasha had been sitting in the dining room, finished with the meal after a long day of sitting in her study planning out operations for the upcoming months. Footsteps coming down the stairs didnât have her lift her head, it was clear that it was Bucky walking down the stairs. By the noise of it, it was just him, she let out a sigh, âLet me guess, she didnât want to come down and eat,â
âNo, I think she just fell asleep a few minutes ago,â He responded, reporting back to the redhead. She had trusted Bucky for years, he was her right-hand. The man she went to when she needed to figure shit out and he was the one to follow the woman into anything, he blinked as he sighed, moving to head towards the front door, âHeadinâ to the club, wanna tag along?â
âNo, someone needs to keep an eye on her,â She responded briefly, her chair pulled back as she stood up and grasped at her plate and the second plate she had prepared for you. Setting it in the fridge for leftovers as she washed her own dish in the sink, âGo have fun Buck, I can handle it,â
The sound of the front door closing left the house in silence, you fell asleep. It was only six in the evening, too early for you. She had dried her hands off, a habit she had since she was little. No matter what, she never liked it when her hands got wet from any source of liquid. Always needing to wipe them off whenever they did get wet, she was in a black dress shirt with pants. She had taken her boots off when she was done with work, she stepped up onto the staircase as she made it to your room. Her knuckles pressed against the wood of the door as she husked out, âPup?â
There was no response, and her hand had turned the handle as she unlocked it. She had stepped into the room, her eyes falling onto your slump figure on the bed. The first thing she noticed is that your skin was paler, your features soft as she walked over to the bed and crouched down to be in-level with your face. Her lips pursed, her hand reached over to press against your forehead. You werenât responsive, you looked incredibly pale and she felt you heating up. A hand had shook your shoulder, she coaxed quietly, âWake up, come on pretty girl,â
When you made no response, no movement coming from you a curse had left her lips as she had lifted you into her arms. Cradling you against her chest as your head had slumped and fallen onto her shoulder as she ensured you were secure against her as she bumped the door wider with her hip to move to her own bedroom. Natasha was careful, a tedious process as she settled you on the bed. She moved with care, an odd sight for such a powerful woman as she shed your clothes and changed you into one of her shirts that covered your thighs. She also removed the bandages off of your shoulder to clean your wound and bandage you up again with clean ones. Once she ensured you were in a comfortable position, Natasha had walked back downstairs to prepare a meal for you to eat. Nothing that would be too heavy but will provide you with a good amount of nutrients to get you healthy again.
â
Your head pounded, you felt a warm weight against both your sides as your cheek pressed into the warmth. Eyes fluttering beneath your closed eyelids, it was comfortable and you found no reason to complain at the moment. The pillows in the room were great, and you felt like you wanted to fall asleep again until you felt something scratch against your scalp. Your eyes opened within an instant, toned thighs were nestled against your body with your head nestled against someone's abdomen, the familiar scent of Natasha had filled your nostrils as you let out a shudder.
âEasy there darling, donât move too quickly,â Natasha cooed, the sound of a book closing as you looked up to see the redhead. Your body was nestled between Natashaâs thighs and your head was on her abdomen and she was acting like you two have done this for years, if it werenât for the hand on your shoulder you wouldâve scrambled away. Your muscles felt weak, your head pounded and you knew if you were quick with your movements that you would be dizzy. Natasha had watched you intently, her hair in a loose bun as she had swapped into a black crop tanktop and black sweatpants. Reading glasses placed above her nose as they were pushed slightly down so her eyes were peering at you above them. You swallowed, your lips in a thin line.
âWhy the long face? You seemed very comfortable when I laid down,â She teased, her extra hand coming to run through your messy bedhead as she gently helped you sit up between her thighs. Her hand reached out for the tray on the bedside table to pull it onto your lap as you sat between her thighs, guiding your hand to the fork to coax you to pick at the eggs first. She had gotten you toast and jam, eggs with a little bit of yogurt to start. She hummed, âEat slowly puppy, youâre going to feel sick if you eat it too fast,â
You rolled your eyes as she guided you, telling you how to handle yourself like you were an incapable toddler. A soft grumble of complaint left your throat before you scooped up egg onto the fork to slowly bring it to your mouth, the taste was pleasant. Usually it wasnât, but with the hunger rumbling in your stomach it made it feel like it was a delicacy you never had before. You hummed in content, Natasha let her chin rest on your shoulder as she watched you eat the food off the tray, her eyes admiring your jawline and the way you chewed. Her head nestled forward into the crevice of your neck, her lips placing soft kisses against your soft skin as she had her hands move to hold your waist against her.
âYou gave me quite the scare, youâre going to eat with me from now on. It is no longer a request,â She murmured against your neck, a soft whine left your throat as the mob boss declared that you can no longer avoid not eating with Natasha. You had finished off the plate, watching as Natasha moved to settle the tray on the night stand again as she moved to coax you to lie down again between her thighs.
You were quiet, not fussing. Natasha liked that, you cooperated with her and didnât fight against her hands when she guided you to rest. Maybe it was because you were still exhausted, feeling the sickness of not eating holding your mind rather than you fighting back against her. She let her fingers run through your hair again, letting out a soft sigh as she went to pick up her book again.
âHow long,â You rasped out against Natashaâs abdomen, your eyes had flicked up to look up at Natasha from against her stomach. Your body still, tense as your eyes held a fierceness in them. A glare, and she stared down at you like she wasnât afraid of the daggers you were staring into her, âHow long am I stuck here,â
She heard the question, a hum left her lips as she thought. It was a mockery, she wasnât thinking. She knew. She knew she wasnât going to let you go, not since you were so willing to lay with her. Not since your unconscious mind had curled into her when she sat in the bed after cooking you a meal and that your warmth seeped into her skin unlike any of the other girls she had. You were different, she liked you. Her hand moved to cup your cheek, thumb brushing beneath your eye as she gave you a pat, âForever darling, until the day that you die. You are mine, and you always will be,â
Evil Nat is just an angel ;D ts is good tigressđ€đœ
I am already guessing who this is, I donât know when your birthday is. (I forgot to save it when you said so on your old blog and it was never mentioned again, only know itâs this month). Will say that first chapter will definitely be posted this week or the next. Depending if I fight the sickness.
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