Being raised in an abusive household, Shoto never knew how to properly love someone. He believed that relationships were a waste of time, often distancing himself from other people who indulged in the idea of having one. "I have other matters that are more important", he would say to himself. He carried this mindset up until he met you. Your beauty and aura possessed him, making his state of mind change. And that's exactly what led up to your disappearance. The love Shoto developed for you is possessive and obsessive. He was willing to do anything for you, including hurting you if you even dared to look at another person. This possessiveness would lead him to isolate you from the rest of the world. He was obsessed with having you completely in his control.
"I'm doing this because I love you", he said. That statement was true to a point. He did love you, but a twisted and obsessive version of love that lacked healthy boundaries. He wanted to keep you all to himself, and couldn't bear the thought of you being with anyone else. So, he resorted to extreme measures, like tying you up and locking you in his room, all in the name of "love". "You don't love me", you would say. Shoto would be confused and angered by your statement. In his eyes, his actions were nothing but proof of his unwavering love for you. He would say, "How can you say that? I've done everything for you. I've sacrificed so much just for you.", trying to convince himself as well as you. He truly believed that what he was doing was for your own good and because of his love for you, not realizing the harm his actions were causing.
Todoroki was willing to go to great lengths to maintain control over you, even resorting to physical violence at times. His love for you was possessive and obsessive. He would apologize after, but deep down he believed that he was doing it for your own good. He was convinced that being tough on you was necessary to keep you from straying away from him. His comfort and whispers of "I love you" after were his attempts at soothing his own guilt and proving his devotion to you. As you spent more time with Shoto, his twisted way of loving you became all you knew. The constant isolation and manipulation made you dependent on him. You started to believe that this was what love was supposed to be, that his possessive and abusive nature was a normal part of a relationship. He had successfully brainwashed you into loving him despite the toxicity.
Even in bed, Todoroki had the upper hand. You would lay underneath him, hands tied to his bed frame. His sweat would drip onto your tits as he fucked you mercilessly. He would bite into your neck, leaving bruises on your soft skin. You struggled to take his cock as he thrusted in and out of you. Your tears would mean nothing to him as you begged him over and over again to slow down or stop. He was hypnotized by your beauty. You looked so vulnerable under him. Your weakened state gave him power, making him want you even more. “Stop crying”, he would say. Sometimes it got so bad to the point where he would cover your mouth, or even choke you. “Please stop, it hurts”, you cried. He flipped you over onto your stomach, fucking your tight ass. As he penetrated you from the back that brought even more pain you couldn’t handle. You croaked and whined into the mattress, feeling blood trickle down your thighs. “Don’t worry” he comforted you. “I’m almost finished”.
synopsis:: you and Bakugo were never close in school. just classmates who ended up in the same friend group by accident and stayed there out of habit. eight years later he's one of the top heroes with a mouth on him and you're the unbothered ex-classmate who somehow still doesn't know he's been in love with you since UA. His friends know. His mom knows. Everyone knows. You do not. This is Bakugo's guide— written badly on the back of a receipt at 2am— to finally doing something about it.
yellow and pink divs edited by me. base here if you'd like to make your own ♡ layout inspired by my goat @6x-x9
You were never the loud one in the friend group. That was never your job. Kirishima was loud. Bakugo was louder. You were the one who sat back and watched everyone lose their minds over something small and just — didn't. Calm under pressure. Unshakeable in a way that used to annoy Bakugo in high school and now just makes him feel like he's losing a fight he never agreed to start.
Eight years out of UA and somehow you're still around. Still in the group chat. Still showing up to Kirishima's birthday parties and Sero's terrible karaoke nights. Still completely unaware that Katsuki Bakugo — the number five hero, walking explosion, a man who has never once backed down from anything in his life — has been quietly losing his mind over you since roughly your second year of school.
Everyone else figured it out years ago. Kirishima figured it out first, mostly because Bakugo made the mistake of getting drunk at his own agency's holiday party and saying your name four times in one sentence. Mina figured it out next. Even Todoroki figured it out, which says a lot, because Todoroki barely notices when buildings are on fire.
You did not figure it out. You are, according to every single person in that group chat, the last person on earth who has no idea.
So one night Bakugo sat down with a receipt from a ramen place and a pen that was almost out of ink and wrote himself a list. Not because he needed help — he would tell you he did not need help — but because eight years of doing nothing had clearly not worked and something had to change.
Here's what he came up with.
Rule #1: Don't call her pretty. That's weak. She'll see right through it.
You've been called pretty before. Plenty of times. It rolls off you like water because it means nothing coming from strangers. So the first time Bakugo actually looks at you — really looks, across a table at a group dinner while everyone else is arguing about something stupid — he doesn't say pretty. He says your hair looks stupid pushed back like that and it takes you a full three seconds to realize that's the nicest thing he's said to anyone all night.Kirishima kicks him under the table. Bakugo kicks back harder.
Rule #2: Don't let her see you get soft. Save that for when nobody's watching
You broke your wrist on a mission six months ago and Bakugo showed up at the hospital before your own agency finished the paperwork. He didn't say much. He sat in the corner with his arms crossed and glared at every nurse who walked past like they'd personally wronged him. You thanked him for coming. He said he was in the area. He was not in the area. He is never in your area.
Rule #3: If she teases you don't react. Reacting means she wins.
You have exactly one move against Bakugo and it works every time. You call him Kacchan in that flat unbothered voice of yours, the one that makes it sound like an insult and a joke at once, and he goes red before he can stop it. He tells you to shut up. You don't. He never actually wants you to.
Rule #4: Don't stare. Staring is for losers who can't say what they mean.
He stares anyway. Across bars. Across meeting rooms when your agencies do joint operations. Across the space between his couch and yours when the whole group crashes at his place after a night out and you fall asleep first, curled up small and unbothered like the world isn't currently on fire somewhere. He tells himself he's just checking you're breathing. He checks for a very long time.
Rule #5: If she steals your jacket let her keep it. Don't be a bitch about it.
It was cold outside a bar in October and you didn't bring one. He took his off without being asked and put it around your shoulders before you could even shiver a second time. You tried to give it back at the end of the night. He told you to keep it, said something about not needing two jackets anyway, which made no sense, and walked off before you could argue. You still have it. He knows you still have it. Neither of you has ever mentioned it again.
Rule #6: Don't get jealous. Jealous is for weak men.
A guy from a rival agency spent an entire mixer talking to you last spring and Bakugo spent that same mixer setting three separate small fires with his quirk completely by accident, according to him. Kirishima said it wasn't an accident. Bakugo told Kirishima to shut the hell up in front of everyone, which everyone agreed was extremely on brand and extremely obvious.
Rule #7: If she's tired let her sleep on your shoulder. Don't make it weird.
You fell asleep on the train back from a joint mission once, head tipping slowly toward his shoulder like gravity had made a decision without asking you. He went completely still. Didn't move for forty minutes. Told everyone later he just didn't want to wake you up. That was true. It was also not the whole truth.
Rule #8: Compete with her. Don't let her win just because you like her. That's pathetic.
You beat him at darts once, at a bar, fair and square, and he demanded a rematch on the spot. You beat him again. He demanded a third round. By the fourth round he wasn't even trying to win anymore, just trying to make you laugh at his increasingly unhinged trash talk, and you were laughing too hard to notice you'd stopped keeping score.
Rule #9: Play it cool when she touches you. Don't be obvious.
You have a habit of grabbing his arm when you laugh too hard at something, quick and unthinking, gone in half a second. It means nothing to you. It means everything to him. He has thought about that half-second more times than he'd ever admit under torture.
Rule #10: If she's cold under the table don't offer your legs. That's insane. Nobody does that.
He does it anyway. It's a slow dinner, everyone's talking over each other, and your foot brushes his under the table by accident. You don't move it. Neither does he. What starts as an accident turns into something else entirely — your foot pressed lightly against his shin, his ankle hooked loosely around yours, both of you carrying on two separate conversations with the rest of the table like nothing is happening below it. He nearly chokes on his drink when your foot slides slow up his calf, just once, just to see what he'll do.
He does absolutely nothing. Which is how you know it worked.
Rule #11: Don't ask about her ex. That's weak and clingy behavior.
He asks anyway, once, badly, wrapped inside a completely unrelated sentence about something else entirely so it wouldn't sound like what it was. You answered honestly and briefly and didn't ask why he wanted to know. He spent the rest of that night in a genuinely foul mood that had nothing to do with the mission report he'd claimed was bothering him.
Rule #12: If she gets sick you're not worried. You're just making sure she doesn't die. There's a difference.
You caught something nasty last winter and didn't tell anyone because you hate being fussed over. Bakugo found out from Kirishima and showed up at your apartment within the hour with a bag of groceries he refused to let you see the receipt for. He made soup badly. He stayed anyway sitting stiffly on your couch like he'd rather be anywhere else until you fell asleep on his shoulder for the second time in your life. He didn't move again. This time you were awake enough at the end to notice and you didn't say anything either.
Rule #13: Don't remember small stuff about her. That's obsessive.
He remembers everything. Your coffee order. The exact way you take your eggs. The name of the street you grew up on mentioned once years ago in passing. He tells himself it's just a good memory. Kirishima tells him that's not what a good memory looks like for anyone else in the friend group.
Rule #14: Don't get quiet around her. Quiet means she'll know something's wrong.
He gets quiet anyway sometimes when it's just the two of you left at the end of a group hangout and everyone else has gone home. You've noticed. You've never asked. You've started noticing you kind of like the quiet too.
Rule #15: If she insults your cooking don't take it personal.
You told him once that his katsudon tasted like it was made out of spite. He told you to make it yourself then. You did. It was worse than his. He has never let you live that down and somehow still makes you a plate every single time you come over unasked like it's not a big deal.
Rule #16: Don't let her see the soft stuff. Like the notebook. She can never see the notebook.
There is in fact a notebook. Bakugo would deny this to his last breath. It is not a diary. It is a training log that occasionally accidentally includes things like *she laughed at something dumb I said today* written in the margins in handwriting too small for anyone to notice. Nobody has ever seen it. It stays that way.
Rule #17: Don't dance with her at Mina's stupid parties. Dancing is for saps.
He dances with you exactly once badly at Mina's birthday both of you a little drunk and laughing about how neither of you knows what you're doing. His hand sits low on your waist the entire song. Yours rests flat against his chest close enough to feel his heart going faster than the song's tempo would explain. Neither of you comments on it. Both of you notice.
Rule #18: If she calls you at 2am for no reason answer immediately. Don't overthink it.
You called once at 2am half-asleep just to complain about a case that was bothering you and needed someone to talk it out with. He picked up on the first ring even though he'd been dead asleep three seconds earlier. Talked you through it for forty minutes in a voice rougher than usual low and half-awake until you finally calmed down enough to sleep. Neither of you brought it up the next day. You both remembered it anyway.
Rule #19: Tell her the truth eventually. Stalling makes you look like a coward.
He almost doesn't. Eight years of almost. Eight years of jackets and soup and 2am phone calls and a notebook nobody's supposed to see all adding up to exactly nothing because Katsuki Bakugo — who has never once in his life backed down from a fight — has apparently decided this is the one fight not worth having.
Kirishima finally sits him down and tells him flatly that watching this has become genuinely embarrassing for everyone involved. That you deserve to actually know. That you're not going to figure it out on your own because you're the single most unbothered person either of them has ever met and unbothered people don't go looking for things they've never been told to look for.
Rule #20: Ask her out. Just say it. Stop being a coward about it
He shows up at your apartment on a random Tuesday with no plan and no speech prepared which is unlike him in every possible way. You open the door in an old shirt and no makeup unbothered as always and ask what's wrong like something must be wrong for him to be standing there.
"Nothing's wrong," he says and immediately looks like he regrets starting that way. "I just — " He stops. Starts again. "You're coming to dinner with me Friday. Not the group. Just you and me."
You blink at him. For the first time in eight years something in your carefully composed face actually slips just a fraction just enough for him to see it happen in real time.
"Is this a date Bakugo?"
"Obviously it's a date," he says too loud the way he gets when he's covering for something. "What else would it be. Are you always this slow or is it just with me?"
You don't answer right away. You just look at him for a long moment the unbothered mask cracking wider by the second and something like a smile starts pulling at the corner of your mouth.
"Friday," you say. "Pick me up at seven. And Katsuki—"
"What."
"Wear the jacket back. I've had it long enough."
He goes red for the second time in eight years. Somewhere across town Kirishima's phone buzzes with a single text that just says *finally* and nothing else and every single person in that group chat already knows exactly what it means before he explains a word of it.
i straight up wanna ask for ur discord bc of how much i vibe w your bully!shigaraki works. i’m so in love w him like HELLO repressed high school trauma but i want him to bend me over and fuck me over a desk
a/n: first of all, thank you so much. i don really have a server or anything, but if you shoot me a PM, ill provide my discord. also omg it makes me so concerned that bully!shigaraki is relatable to your life...so sorry bae T.T but as a person whose also had problematic crushes on , very mean highschool boys-i feel you. I lowk miss bully!shiggy so here's a little something. man i kept this in my inbox FOR SO LONG. I'm so sorry. i read this the day it came out </3
People knew Shigaraki for his icy eyes and stoic persona. . They didn’t know about his obsessive frantic nature like you did. Sometimes you think you know him more than his friends. That you know him more than anyone else in the world. So strange to think how an intimate relationship between tormentor and victim could be.
But mostly, you think you don’t know him at all.
His hands are all over your body, groping your lush thighs and squeezing soft breasts through your shirt.
He kisses with all the desperation of a man possessed, maneuvering your body to his whims, and he's surprisingly gentle. Maybe that's why you wrapped your legs around his hips because it didn't hurt this time. Because he was taking his time.
He wasn't ramming his dick inside of you but rather thrusting in slow almost rhythmic strokes. When you told him to go faster in between gasped moans, he simply says "shut the fuck up whore. I'm going to fuck you however I want to fuck you."
The glacial finality in his voice would have thrown you back into reality but when he reached that spot really deep inside of you, you saw stars exploding into your visions. Your cunt was spongy and warm-milking his thick cock. He never bothered to put on a condom anymore, coating your womb with his seed.
He barely talked, uncharacteristic of a boy who loved to stream a string of insults and dirty talk (if it can be called that) to the shell of your ears, embarrassing you with the sheer vulgarity of his words.
He always talks of possession. Possessing you, and it's this time you really feel it when he crawls between your legs and worships your core like it was heaven's nectar. He coaxes an orgasm from you on his tongue, and you're so deliriously in pleasure, sleepily telling him that it's so so good and you can't come again. But maybe he's trying to prove something to himself as he coaxes two more, leaving you on shaky legs afterward.
You expect him to leave after, hastily buttoning up his shirt and never casting a glance back. Instead, he's massaging your lower calves, and finding a loose sock. There's a quiet intimacy to the way his fingers brush against yours and the small moments of casual skinship feel way more private than him fucking you into the wall. Before he leaves, he kisses your lips. A kiss someone would leave their lover when they said bye.
Your heart beats rapidly.
The next day he bends you over against the desk, spanking your ass until it was red and covered in welts as a result of stinging blows. He calls you a multitude of pet names, condescension dripping into every baby girl, sweetheart, babe, good girl.
Praise from his mouth felt like you were hearing a fox who learned to lie. You don't know what you had done to deserve this punishment, as he forced you to keep count under the looming threat he'll start over if you don't remember.
His slaps are harsh, but against your doughy ass, they burn. Like he was trying his very best to hurt you, all the pretenses and sweetness gone. None of yesterday's gentleness seeped into today's.
But before he left, he wrenched your jaw in a searing kiss.
Yandere! Prince! Todoroki x Princess! Fem! Reader | 8.8K
🧊Notes: Shoto is MEAN. Like SUPER MEGA DICKHEAD MEAN. (But I like 'em mean🤤💓.) Also Shoto gets far more pleasure than Reader in this chapter! To the Masterlist!
⚠️ TW's: Fantasy AU, Aged Up Characters (Shoto 22-23 | Reader 20-21), Strangers to Lovers, Stockholm Syndrome (?), Stalking, Manipulation, Dirty Talk, Teasing, Foreplay, Use of the Pet Name "Princess", Degrading Words Such as Whore, Marking/Lovebites, Nipple Play, Blowjob, Spanking, Ice & Fire Play, Thigh Riding, Facefucking, Titfucking, Degradation Kink, Strength Kink, Deep Throating, Spit Kink, DubCon/NonCon, Oral Sex (M! Receiving), Facial (F! Receiving), Dacryphilia, Nipple Play, Overstimulation, Hair Pulling, Manhandling, Humiliation, Public Sex(ish), and Mentions of Killing/Death.
🔥Summary: Your Father has sold you off to another King to wed their son. Their family is prestigious, handsomly wealthy, and charismatic, but the King is known for his abusive behavior and fire sorcery, while the Prince is known for his cold demeanor and his own fearsome powers.
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You thought that your daily routine was boring and mundane. You wanted a change for years and would beg your parents for a different lesson in your schedule such as sword lessons from the knights or magic lessons from the castle's wizard just for a taste of something new and exciting, but this wasn't the type of change you had in mind. You sat in the wooden carriage with an absent face, (E/C) eyes glazed over as you listened to the loud trotting of the four white horses pulling you towards the one place you didn't want to go to. You wore a plain, but expensive, dark blue dress with white accents and white full open sleeves that dangled down to just above your knees. To match with your dress, a pair of dark blue leather flat shoes that was adorned with pearls protected your delicate feet. Your (H/L) (H/C) hair was in a relaxed, big braid with pearls hanging loosely in multiple lines horizontally within the braid. Your Mother insisted that you put on a more extravagant dress, but you could care less. She didn't even notice that to you your whole world was falling to pieces right before your own eyes... or maybe she just didn't care. You would rather be at home in your family's castle learning about embroidery, music, or anything that you would normally study besides being sold off to marry a prince you haven't even met and was only told the name of.... but even then, that still wasn't the worst part of it all.
The prince was one of horrible rumors, it was said he had a cold attitude and rejected every single one of the princesses his father had "prepared" for him. The prince was also said to have powers so fierce and frightening that no princess had actually wanted to marry him, his father had either tried to make a peace agreement with the head of the families of the princesses or paid them handsomely for their daughters to have a possibility to marry his son by force, but none of them were successful. This either led them to being sent home and shamed because they didn't get their family the gold as promised, or the prince would...
You gulped unconsciously at the thought of them possibly being killed, but how couldn't you when there was gossip of some princesses going into the castle, but never coming out. Although you knew you already had no choice in your own outcome to begin with. Your Father had greedily accepted King Enji's proposal of selling you off for gold with high hopes of the possibility that Prince Shoto would want to marry you and have offspring. You felt as though you were ultimately doomed. If he had rejected all of those other princesses, what chance did you even have? You didn't doubt your looks, you were gorgeous, but your personality is what caused you to not wed as soon as other princesses.
You were a free spirit, and a lot of men didn't seem to like that about you, which was fine with you, but you knew your parents felt very differently. They looked down on you, saw you as an embarrassment and always asked why you weren't like your elder sisters.
Proper, elegant, and poised.
But-- you were supposed to be wedded off to a different prince, the Midoriya's only son, Prince Izuku. They didn't offer much, not a lot of riches, not a lot of territory, but the prince wanted to marry you for some reason even though he had multiple other choices, but your parents were thankful that someone would finally take you off their hands-- yet clearly the Todoroki family had offered more. You had actually become somewhat attached to Prince Izuku, he was shy, yet kind and he never disrespected you so you were a bit sad when your Father dropped the bombshell that you would no longer be seeing him.
You closed your eyes and laid your head back slightly, frustrated at the flashbacks that flooded your mind. The lecturing from your parents, beatings from the etiquette teachers, and snide comments from your own family members and other royals that would visit for exquisite events. Then the letters from Prince Izuku being torn up or burned, all the gifts he sent being confiscated and most likely sold..... You were sure you were only thinking this way from your anxiousness because you knew that for some reason King Enji had paid your Father in advance and within days an elegant white wooden carriage with the Todoroki family crest had come for you.
You even had your suspicions about the whole ordeal, you didn't understand why the Todoroki family's heir was suddenly interested in you or why their family in general wanted anything to do with yours. The Todoroki's were a very powerful and well known family, you were sure there were far more suitable royal families than yours to mingle and bargain with.
'I'm probably going to be killed...' you sadly thought to yourself biting your bottom lip to hold back your tears, 'I've been sold off to be killed...'
You had no idea how far the coachman would be taking you or how long it would take to get to Todoroki Castle, but even though you were feeling nothing but dread and betrayal you decided to enjoy these last few moments of freedom or even the last few moments of your life that you would be allowed to experience. Your dull (E/C) eyes full of tears looked at your surroundings and found the forest scenery to be more beautiful than it ever had before.
It took 4 days to reach Todoroki Castle, you were craving a decent meal, a bath and to sleep on comfortable fine linen fabrics. You weren't pleased with the fact you would meet Prince Shoto smelling of multiple day sweat while you felt as though your life was on the line, but you were hoping you would be allowed to bathe and prepare yourself beforehand. The coachman helped you out of the carriage, but no one had come out to carry your luggage yet even though you were certain they would be aware of your eventual arrival. You looked on towards the castle with uncertainty, it felt wrong to be here and you were fearful of what was to come. Either being killed or going through your entire life living an absolute lie by getting married and having the children of a man you didn't even know, let alone love. You waited for a butler or maid as your patience started to grow thin. You started to make your way towards the stone staircase, your shoes clicking on the stone in a huff, ignoring your senses of danger from earlier. You had expected more from one of the most prestigious and feared families in the region, but just as you thought that, a loud thud had captured your attention as you approached the large stone staircase that led up to the towering arched doorway of the castle.
It was a maid who had been tossed to the ground from the top of the steps that led up to the large doorway. You looked up from her position on the ground and locked eyes with the abuser. It was one of the king's butler's, he glared down at the maid with a deathly stare as she struggled to get up from the ground. He ignored your look of disapproval and apologized for how late the help was. The maid shakily passed you and hurried to grab your luggage, as she passed the butler who had thrown her to the ground she quickened her speed, most likely fearing that the butler would assault her again. The butler had made a gesture to enter the doorway, as though he were trying to get you into the castle as quickly as possible. You hesitated as the feeling of dread flooded back into your brain because of many reasons. The castle gave off an eerie aura, the staff seemed highly unstable within the first few seconds you've met a single butler and maid!
Nonetheless you lifted up the end of your dress slightly as to not step on expensive material and cautiously made your way up the stone staircase, realizing that with each step your legs became weaker and weaker. You didn't want to enter this place, you didn't even want to be here! It was as though you were walking towards Hell's devilish gates clouded in misery and suffering. When you entered the entrance hall you took in your surroundings. It was lavish and far more superior than any castle you had stepped foot in, including your own. It was spotless, not a speck of dust or dirt was in sight and everything seemed to be trimmed with gold, even the stone walls. The outside of the castle left much to be desired, but it was apparent that King Enji cared much more about the interior.
The butler directed you all throughout the castle until you reached an extravagant looking door that was as large as the entrance, you realized it was the throne room.
"P-Pardon me, but I was hoping to wash up before meeting-" you started, but were shortly cut off.
"The King insisted that he meet you as soon as you arrived," the butler stated, "not to mention the young prince."
'Humiliating' was the only word that came to your mind.
You hastily brushed the dust and dirt off your dress, fixed your hair to the best of your ability without a mirror and prepared to walk through the large double doors that towered over you. The butler reached for the circular iron door handle and opened both of the doors for you to enter. You approached the throne room trying to look your best to radiate confidence while hearing the towering doors you had just entered from close with a loud bang behind you as you descended down the walkway, but you knew you most likely resembled a common peasant pretending to be royalty. You looked all the way to the back of the room where King Enji sat on his humongous throne to suit his tall, muscular stature. The throne was on a staircase of its own and gave the impression that the king felt far more superior than to be on the same level as anyone who visits him. Not too far from him stood, you assumed, his son, Prince Shoto. He displayed no emotion on his quite handsome facial features despite the burn scar covering his left eye, not that it bothered you. His heterochromia eyes, one a brownish gray and the other a beautiful shining turquoise, you took notice that they didn't glance your way even once finding it oddly irritating.
But yet you found yourself entranced with his turquoise eye, it was as though you had been swallowed whole by a vast sea, a refreshing feeling washed over you even though his eyes seemed dead and darkened. You had never seen an eye color so beautiful. The prince wore a white undershirt with frills, over top a blue vest with darker blue stripes, it had gold trimming and gold buttons. His boots matched the lighter blue on his vest and it was aligned with gold. He finished the outfit with white pants that had a brown belt wrapped around his waist with a gold buckle. His hair was half red and half white, you wondered if it had anything to do with his magical abilities or if it was just genetics, but you only wondered this for a second as you recalled your own miserable position.
Once you got as close as you could to the end of the staircase to which the throne King Enji sat on, you curtsied and greeted the terrifying men in front you. Some loose strands of your (H/C) hair came to rest near your face, you gulped at the image of how filthy you knew you looked. You could have swore you heard a snicker come from the prince, but you didn't dare to look up at him. Your face was red with embarrassment and distain for the events proceeding before your own feeble eyes. To be humiliated like this was unbecoming of a princess! Your heart felt as though it was caught in your throat.
Why would your parents do this to you? What could you have done to have avoided this outcome? You wondered if you shouldn't had bothered them with changing your routine? Your mind raced for answers as the king and his son looked down on you from above.
"What an ugly sight..." the King teased to your dismay.
You flinched at the harsh word, ugly. In all your years never has anyone dared to call you ugly or even think that your appearance was other than beautiful, gorgeous, or cute. It felt as though it were a shot to the heart, even though it was the just the king saying it, ugly.
You had to stop yourself from scoffing at the king's rude behavior and finally decided to end your gracious curtsey, standing up and finally making eye contact with his highness. Unlike his son's, his turquoise eyes showed an emotion, but that emotion was arrogance. Not something a king should show as proudly as King Enji did. The king took every opportunity to lash insults toward you during your entire greeting. All you could do was stand there taking insult after insult, fearing you would have been burnt to a crisp if you dared to say anything in retaliation against him. You clenched your fists shakily at your side.
'Ridiculous! Absolutely mortifying!' you thought.
You felt completely and utterly berated when King Enji was done "welcoming" you to his kingdom. You clicked through the empty halls on the flat stone flooring, sighing begrudgingly. The sun flowed in through the large glass pane windows that covered the hall's left wall. You were trying to find your way around the castle as you just bolted off right after you had exited the throne room, not wanting to wait for a maid to guide you even though you knew you would get lost otherwise. You continued to walk aimlessly until you suddenly felt a cold chill overcome you, as though a massive snowstorm had just passed through you. Your spine started tingling from a blistering wind that was invisible. You whipped your head around without hesitation, you didn't think about what could've possibly been behind you, lurking at you this entire time you had been venturing around the castle entirely clueless. But when you had turned around you came face to face with nothing.
There was no one.
The hallway remained empty except for your own form. You continued to stare behind you as you kept feeling a sense of unease, but eventually you started to walk once again when you felt comfortable enough to turn around, but you walked at a much faster pace. You exited the hallway onto an interior balcony, the stone pillars were covered beautifully in vines. You approached the balcony ledge lowering your guard and straight away you were grabbed roughly from behind, your left arm pinned to your back and the other hand of the assailant pushed you forward by your right shoulder onto the balcony stone railing, making your chin land roughly on the stone. The scent of cedar wood and frosted mint leaves tickled your nose as your left arm seemed to ache with a slight burning sensation from being grabbed so tightly around your wrist and also the amount of pressure the attacker was putting on your joints. You violently turned your head, skidding your chin more just to see who had dared to grab you in such a way, but when you looked at your attacker you were taken back by the sight.
"P-Prince Shoto...?" you hesitantly muttered out with wide eyes.
The prince didn't respond with any words, but you could feel his grip get tighter around your wrist and shoulder. He just eyed your weak and pathetic form with those beautiful yet almost dead-like eyes, making your stomach drop. Your heart was thumping so loudly in your ribcage out of fear, you were afraid that he could even hear it clanging against your chest like crash cymbals.
BA-DUMP
BA-DUMP
BA-DUMP
Your (E/C) eyes squinted in confusion as his face grew closer to your ear, his cool daunting breathe hitting your lobe as his body moved in closer to yours. You wanted to squirm and be free of this uncomfortable feeling overwhelming your body as though you were a deer in headlights, but just like the deer you were frozen by your own terror. Your heart felt as though it stopped at the words that soon left the prince's mouth, the very first words he had even said to you throughout this entire petrifying encounter.
"You don't remember me at all, do you?" Prince Shoto vaguely questioned.
You dreaded answering him as you thought you had never met this man before in your life, but apparently that wasn't true. You would have been certain if you had met a Todoroki before, but your mind just couldn't seem to remember. You were afraid of disrespecting one of the most feared future leaders throughout the land, it could end badly for not only yourself, but also your family that willingly and without hesitation gave you up for cold, heavy bricks. You cursed at yourself for worrying about them after what they had done to you, but for some reason deep in your heart you knew you still loved them and wanted to protect them.
"That's fine, I suppose..." he muttered almost as though he was disappointed rather than insulted. He let go of your shoulder to wrap his arm around you so his hand could grab a hold of the bottom of your jaw and used enough force to tilt your head in a rather uncomfortable position that suited his needs, "It wouldn't change what's about to happen to you either way." the prince finished darkly.
Your face wrinkled in bewilderment until Prince Shoto's lips came crashing against yours. Your (E/C) eyes widened in shock. His lips were chapped, and they were hungrily attacking yours, clumsily clicking his teeth against yours and nipping at your bottom lip. You had finally worked up the courage to try to struggle against the prince's tight grip on your body through a slight adrenaline rush, but to no avail. He growled into the sloppy kiss, warning you to stop struggling against his touch. You tensed up in his arms and tears started to form in the corners of your eyes, begging to fall down your sweet red cheeks. Suddenly you felt Prince Shoto's tongue touch the tip of your beautiful red lips, seeking entry into your mouth.
'What...is happening?!' you tearfully thought to yourself.
He pressed his body up against yours roughly, making your ribcage push against the railing to the balcony even harder than before. You grunted in pain, but the prince didn't even hesitate to stop licking at your enticing lips like an unaware animal in heat. When you still refused to let him gain access past your clenched teeth, the prince didn't give it a second thought. He moved the arm that he still had pinned behind your back up just slightly, as to not break the bone, but enough for you to open your mouth to instinctively groan out at the pain. Prince Shoto hummed in satisfaction at the fact that he could now taste what lied behind your locked soft lips on his salivating tongue. He started to rock his hips in between your ass cheeks, making you realize the twitching sensation that had started to form in his loins. The bitter tears finally began to fall as you closed your eyes in denial as you now knew what was fully in store for yourself and what Prince Shoto's intentions were.
The way his wet muscle wrapped around your own and pressed itself up against the inside of your cheeks making your head spin, almost as though you were seeing stars. When Prince Shoto had finally pulled away from you, breaking the messy wet kiss with a string of saliva left between the two of you, he let go of the arm that he had pinned behind your back and yanked at the top of your dress near your collarbone down the middle. He tore bits and pieces of dark blue fabric off of you with ease until he left nothing, but the sleeves attached hanging loosely from your arms and the undergarments that you had worn underneath. Without warning you had seen a red and orange spark form in front of your very eyes from the prince's left hand. He was using his fire magic to burn your dark blue dress to ash, and you watched with fearful yet mesmerized eyes as parts of the used to be dark blue fabric floated off into the warm Spring breeze. His arms came to rest at both of your sides while his hands grabbed onto the stone railing, caging you in against the balcony. You were exposed in your stained chemise, dirty and sweaty, just dripping with shame in every way. Your face could only display a sheepish frown and you struggled to stop yourself from croaking out mid-stopped sobs from the aching lump that started to form in your throat.
"So filthy..." Prince Shoto rudely teased as he lifted up the back end of your chemise to look at your plump, round ass that seemed to eat your white laced panties that tied into ribbons around your hips.
He moved his right hand to one of your enticing rear cheeks, caressing it and watching with lustful eyes as his fingers molded into the fatty flesh. The prince's fingers were cold to the touch, sending a chill up your spine that made your body shake and ass jiggle. He started to slowly untie one of the ribbons by pulling on one of the hanging strings as he licked his lips and you began to whine in protest at the prince's actions, but he quickly decided to silence you with a harsh smack to your right cheek, catching you off guard and making you hiss from the stinging sensation. He took this opportunity to fully untie the fabric and watch it trail down all the way to your ankles and fully off of you as he chuckled to himself at your resigned response. The prince started to roughly grab and rub the spot where a bright red handprint was starting to form on your beautiful, smooth skin. It was almost as though Prince Shoto was hypnotized at watching your bare ass move with the motion of his big yet slender hand just before he decided to strike down again and again to see your juicy cheeks bounce from the heavy-handed impacts.
ONE SLAP.
TWO SLAPS.
THREE SLAPS.
FOUR.
Then FIVE.
With each slap to your behind the prince could feel his cock grow until it was tightly pressed up against his waistband, making a significant outline that could easily be spotted and felt even from your position. The stinging on his palm and fingers didn't bother him in the slightest, if anything he thought it connected the two of you more, feeling one another's pain bounce off of each other. You would hold back your voice as much as possible, not wanting to give Prince Shoto the satisfaction of hearing you writhe under his control, but on his final and tenth strike however, you couldn't hold back your voice any longer.
"Ahn!!" you mewled.
Prince Shoto stopped his active motion of punishing your spoiled ass more once he heard your sweet voice ring out in agony. You looked back at him with a pitiful frown almost making the prince's heart leap out of his chest and his dick even harder to the point that it was almost painful for himself. The prince placed one of his legs in between both of your luscious thighs as to make sure they stayed separated, placing his left hand on your left thigh while his right hand grabbed ahold of the low collar lining of your chemise.
"P-Please stop..." you softly begged out of fear of being spanked again, your legs shaking from the tingling sensation of discomfort running down them, but yet something else lied underneath that, a small but deep burning sensation was building up within you. A wanting sort of feeling that grew more and more intense with each passing second of the prince's foul actions.
"Hm..." Prince Shoto pretended to ponder for a moment, "so the spoiled princess does know how to say 'please'?" he questioned cruelly.
The distress on your face worsened to Prince Shoto's delight, "You sure seem to moan like a whore for wanting me to stop..." he trailed off, eyes scaling over your half naked body, noticing and taking in every little movement you'd make.
Your face reddened with embarrassment at the insinuation that something as barbaric as this would pique your interest, and to be called a harlot in the same sentence...did this man have no shame or morals! Your arms were now in front of you, trying to support yourself and get some kind of leverage off of the stone railing that was creating the immense pressure right below your ribs now, but it was hopeless. Prince Shoto was far stronger than you ever could've imagined or even feared. You couldn't move a single muscle; it was as though he was controlling everything in this situation to your excruciating demise.
The prince would impatiently tear the collar of your chemise straight down and proceeded to use both of his hands to rip the fabric opposite ways of each other, once again burning parts of the cloth off of your petite yet curvy form, this time a little too close for comfort. The mangled and burnt material would dangle in the crooks of your forearms along with your other torn sleeves from your exquisite dark blue dress that was no more. From the way Prince Shoto had torn the clothing, everything hung loosely around your figure. Your back, shoulders, the top of your ass, almost everything was revealed to the prince's heterochromatic eyes, except for your front nether region which was still protected by the front skirt of the burnt chemise, thankfully.
Your soft breasts were now exposed in the brief sunlight that was hitting the balcony giving you a slight warm feeling of comfort, but that wouldn't last just like how summer would eventually have to turn into winter. You wanted to cover up your chest, but before you even had the chance to Prince Shoto's calloused hands cradled them in his palms. His hands felt as rough as sandpaper from all his swordsmanship training throughout the years and from other special activities noblemen participated in. You could feel every scar and callous that was etched into his hands, making your inner walls throb and flutter as you tried to close your legs wanting to feel the friction of your own thighs press on your womanhood, but to no avail because of the prince's leg still pressed up against your drooling slit.
The prince toyed with your tits by forcefully cupping them in his hands so his fingers would seem to disappear within the ample flesh of your bosom. You noticed Prince Shoto's breathing would start to get heavier and heavier as he groped and pulled at your perky assets, feeling his now hot heavy breathes hit the crook of your neck making you softly moan. He would start to kiss and suck at your exposed neck, leaving tiny lovebites trailing down to your bare shoulder. You could feel your own breathes betraying you and becoming heavy along with him as your chest steadily heaved up and down slightly faster than usual and your hips would slightly move on the prince's leg in a humping motion, he wouldn't let this go unaddressed. A small smirk would appear on Prince Shoto's features and soon you would feel a cool, light frost cover your right nipple.
"Hngh!!" you groaned out in shock.
Prince Shoto's icy index finger and thumb playfully squeezed at your tender nub as he used his power of ice to make his fingertips freezing and form the light frost that dusted your nipple, making it harder as you continued to cry out soft moans uncontrollably and shamelessly.
"Who told you, you could dry hump my thigh like a needy little brat?" Prince Shoto calmly asked, internally pleased by this action from you.
You jolted at this question from the prince, not knowing what answer to give him, stopping your lewd motions of pent-up desires. You didn't even notice your own hips were moving and allowing yourself to sensually grind your deprived clit on his muscular thigh.
"Don't stop now, you've already shown your true colors." he insisted mockingly.
The prince's other hand found its way back to your left inner thigh, he felt himself being tempted to touch you where no other person had ever touched you before, especially since you decided to stop your little thigh riding session, but he couldn't...not yet. He wasn't even close to done punishing you for not remembering him.
The prince was going to make sure you learned your lesson and learned just who you belonged to now, before even thinking about spoiling you. He had only met you once before, but that was still no excuse for you to forget about him though. Despite not caring for other people's presence that much Prince Shoto was immediately captured by your beauty and how you held yourself when he had first laid eyes on you. You hadn't even glanced his way at your own family's ball, yet you had the audacity to judge others on how they acted and presented themselves when you couldn't even greet the guests that humbly traveled from great miles and several days just to be there. You had worn an enchanting tight white dress that night that showed off your perky, plump breasts and ass. You had your (H/L) (H/C) hair wrapped up neatly in a bun exposing the back of your neck making the prince's cock immediately jump to attention, taking in the loose little strands that escaped. Your luscious hair was adorned with pearls and within it you also wore a big silver barrette designed as a lily that was beautifully decorated in many fine jewels such as diamonds, emeralds and citrine. Prince Shoto was enamored with you, but he could tell you had some manner issues and also problems with visual representation, as in you were far too picky, but it was nothing he couldn't fix. The prince would lick his dry lips at thought of training you to be his diligent little lap dog, touching himself to the thought of it almost every day and night for years, but now... you were right here in front of him.
Prince Shoto could only tease you for so long before it ended up becoming a punishment for himself, but he had his own ideas for solving this problem.
"Turn around and get on your knees." Prince Shoto demanded.
You gulped.
'He couldn't possibly be serious, could he?'
You turned your body half way around so you could see the prince from behind you and slowly looked up at his charming yet sin filled face with big (E/C) doe-like eyes, tears still falling down your stained cheeks. Prince Shoto looked dead serious, he continued to eye your disoriented state as he unbuckled his belt from around his waist, waiting for you to follow his order. The sound of the belt being undone was echoing in your ears, you couldn't believe that this was really going to happen you. Time even seemed to slow down for you as you would recall times of when you were a young child. Naive and full of life, not a care in the world. No studies, no discussions of arranged marriages, and certainly no punishments. You were envious of your younger self as you now stood beaten and bent over a stone railing on an interior balcony as the sun shined brightly overhead.
Prince Shoto's glazed over eyes lowered in annoyance when you still hadn't moved away from the balcony railing, not throwing yourself onto your knees for him as he had commanded you. The man couldn't wait for your daydream to end as he roughly pulled you by your hair, gripping his slender fingers within and messing up your already unkempt braid, making the pearls scatter everywhere along the stone balcony flooring with multiple clicks-and-clacks.
"Agh!! No- Please!!" you fought.
Prince Shoto easily shoved you to the ground, making your knees hit the stone harshly and scrapping them. He quickly cupped your face, held your head straight up so you would be looking up at him, your face directly in front of his crotch. Your eyebrows were turned upward, tear stains covered your cheekbones and more of the salty liquid begged to fall down from the corners of your eyes. Your cheeks were plastered in a deep red tone from a mixture of embarrassment, humiliation, and the constant weeping, cherry lips pouting from the mistreatment to your fragile body. Your (H/C) hair was a tangled down mess and strands came to rest at random parts of your face, sticking to where your tears had reached. This was the facial expression he loved the most on you for many reasons, but one of the biggest reasons was how beautiful your eyes shined with tears glistening in them like diamonds. The prince decided he couldn't wait any longer and moved a hand down to his waistband, finally letting his dick out for you to see in all its glory. He had a red and white happy trail leading down from his belly button to the trimmed patch of hair that lied above and slightly around his massive member. It was big, girthy, had a few thick veins protruding and the swollen tip was already dripping with pre-cum. You were surprised by how huge he was, granted you didn't have anything to compare it to as you were a virgin, but from what your elder sisters had discussed in front of you and explained, none of their husbands were as lengthy or wide as what you would describe Prince Shoto's to be.
The prince took his cock into one of his hands, pumping it a few times before he decided to tap his tip against your plump lips, making you shiver in disgust, before smearing his leaking pre-cum across them to your left cheek.
"You're too cute even when you're defiant..." he trailed off staring intently at your mouth.
You felt your heart almost flutter at the compliment, but you turned your head defiantly and ignored that feeling just to be firmly grabbed by your face again in Prince Shoto's left hand, it was warm to the touch. As he held onto your face, squishing your cheeks into the calloused tips of his fingers, you could feel his hand get increasingly hotter, it became so hot you had actually started to struggle against his grasp again, but his grip on your face was too much. His gray and turquoise eye just glared down at you with his mouth in a straight line, not seeming to care about if he scarred your beautiful face or not. Deep down, the prince knew he could never do that to you, but it was a fear tactic that he didn't mind using against you if it meant you wouldn't fight him anymore and he got what he wanted.
"This will be the only verbal warning you get, princess." the words convincingly spit off of his tongue like venom.
You froze at the threat and relaxed your body to the best of your ability even though you were sure you were still shaking out of the immense fear that was ingulfing your already traumatized body, apologizing through distressed sniffling. Soon the heat from Prince Shoto's hand would fade and his grip would slightly loosen as he would lower his hand to the bottom of your jaw, holding your head upward with just his index finger.
"Open that dirty little mouth of yours." he directed with heavy eyes.
Hesitantly you opened your mouth little by little, bittersweet whimpers leaving your throat as you tried your hardest to not look up at Prince Shoto, but this feeling of a yearning desire to peak up to see his stern facial expression looking down on you pitifully wandered in the back of your mind. Your stomach was churning, yet you could still feel the burning deep within you. It was intense at this point, but you didn't know what it was...you could feel your panties getting slightly wet, but you assumed it was because of how much terror you had been going through and you had possibly wet yourself not realizing it.
"Wider and stick out that tongue of yours." he groaned as he directed one of your hands to his cock. It was warm to the touch and sticky from all of the pre-cum that was dribbling down his thick shaft. He motioned for you to jerk your hand up and down his length, you did so, but it was easy to tell how little you knew about sexual encounters. You were clumsy and uncoordinated, but the prince found it to be cute and a part of your virgin charm.
You immediately stretched your jaw muscles further and stuck out your tongue, not wanting to displease the prince and receive whatever vile punishment he had in mind next if you disobeyed. You were already on your knees, one hand pumping his cock, while you held your mouth opened wide in front of this brutal man who was ready to ravage your filthy body at any given moment. Before you could think a second more, Prince Shoto had pursed his lips, gathering up a pool of saliva in his mouth. He now tightly grabbed your chin, making sure you couldn't turn away as he slowly spit out the clear liquid creating a string strategically leading down onto your awaiting tongue. When his saliva touched your wet muscle, you felt your stomach start doing violent flips, you wanted to move away, stop pleasuring him and spit out the taste of the prince that was invading your mouth.... but you couldn't. You let the taste of what lied behind Prince Shoto's lips wash over your gums and when he broke the string of saliva, he ordered you to swallow it. A heavy knot started to form deep within you, you felt butterflies forming and wanting to shoot up your esophagus, but you retained what little of your calm demeanor you had left and swallowed the pool of Prince Shoto's saliva that he dripped into your mouth.
"What a nasty woman," he chuckled under his breathe, making your pussy throb.
You gasped in realization at your own body's reaction to the prince's horrid ones, but your thoughts were quickly interrupted by the prince pushing your hand away from his cock and aggressively thrusting it past your abused lips and down your tightened throat. You gagged and violently put your hands on Prince Shoto's thick muscular thighs to try and push yourself off, but he just grabbed the back of your head and kept you at the base of his dick with your chin deep in his sweaty balls as you continued to make unpleasant noises, choking for air. He smirked down at your miserable form, taking in the whole picture fully wanting to savor it in his memories forever. How sexy your innocent face looked as you glanced up at him with tears streaming from your eyes that silently plead for him to pull his cock out of your muzzle, your sweet cherry lips wrapped around him so lovingly, how your tits rested pressed up against his knees feeling like pillows, and how if he angled his head correctly, he could look down past your head and follow your bare back down to half of your exposed ass. The tightness of your sloppy throat clamped around Prince Shoto's dick and the feeling of your spit dripping down his inner thighs made him deeply groan. He would use one of his hands to pet your head as he couldn't help himself from praising you this time with you looking up at him with that adorable pout, he could slightly make out even with your mouth full. The small head pat would cause your eyes to sickeningly gleam in slight delight that would normally only be described as disgusting, but Prince Shoto couldn't be happier at the look from you.
"Look at you, so pretty with my dick in your mouth." Prince Shoto panted as he bucked his hips feeling the pad of your slick tongue glide across the underside of his shaft and one of the few prominent veins with every harsh stroke.
The prince would plunge in and out of your cavity, deeper into your throat viciously as if he were carving his name in it until you were to become a sniveling, drooling mess-- that he longed to see what you would look like after he was done abusing your face hole. Your throat burned from the way his cock was violently invading your entire larynx. The prince was pulling on your (H/L) hair to maintain his stability, but you could feel your flooding eyes rolling to the back of your head with each intense and precise forced bob of your head. You could feel your juices dripping down your thighs as it wouldn't stop leaking from your needy, twinging core. Every time his cock dove down your wet, warm airway Prince Shoto could discern that his knees were getting slightly weak at the extreme pleasure it brought onto him from his lengthy shaft all the way to his twitching tip.
"Fuck-" he cursed.
Ater one last hip roll he finally pulled out, giving you the opportunity to heave for fresh air, coughing periodically. Your chin was covered in your own dribble making the prince's cock twitch with anticipation at his next thoughts. He fisted himself quickly as he sat down on one of the available stone benches and barked another order at you to kneel down in front him. You hastily kneeled down, sitting on top of your legs, making your boobs bounce erotically earning a craving look from the prince as he earnestly eyed your curvy form.
"Put my dick in between those huge tits of yours." he lustfully panted, "don't forget to spit on it on first, princess."
You moved your head to the side and pouted shyly at the indecent demand. You worked up the clear liquid within your cheeks while shamelessly looking the prince in the eye, he adored the reddish glow that covered your facial features as you spit on his tip and watched as it dribbled down to his shaft, but before it could reach his patch of hair you grabbed ahold of his cock and rubbed your spit all along it. You felt one of his thighs twitch and a low seethe of ecstasy escaped through gritted teeth. You could feel your inner deepest parts try to clench around nothing making your own patience wither. You placed Prince Shoto's girth in between your sweaty breasts and cupped them together, making them shape around his entire dick other than his rosy tip peaking out from over the mounds. The softness of your tits wrapping around him made his thighs slightly shake, he took in a long soothing breathe trying to make himself relax and his legs to stop shaking from the gratification he was getting from you. He wanted to make this first encounter with you, after years of not seeing you, last forever.
It was easy to slide your tits up and down his cock from your own mouth made lubricant, also making it easier to achieve a well-paced rhythm even with your insecure movements. The prince groaned out from the intense pleasure he was feeling, the heat between your soft massive breasts made his cock feel as though it were melting.
"Haaah-- I've wanted this for such a long time." Prince Shoto admitted, "When I heard you were going to get engaged into some lowlife family like that-- ngh... I had to step in and claim you for myself!"
You paused your actions.
'H-He's the reason I'm not marrying Prince Izuku..?'
"W-W-Why...? Why would you do such a thing?!" you exclaimed completely taken back by this reveal.
Prince Shoto's hands grabbed your tits roughly and continued to forcefully make them bounce up and down on his cock. Moving them in sync or even gliding them in opposite directions at the same time on his hot veiny shaft, he moved them in any way that he thought would bring himself closer to toe curling euphoria.
"Do you really think a dirty, easy woman like you has the right to question any of my actions?" he sternly asked looking you directly in the eyes now instead of at your jumping chest.
You bit your tongue, the icy glare from his seemingly dead eyes pierced your soul and shook you to your core. You wanted to talk back-- you wanted to fight!! But....
"N-No...I'm--," you looked downward and gulped trying to choke down the words that were about to leave your cherry lips, "Sorry." you finished looking up at the prince with the saddest eyes and twitching frown.
"A wise decision." he scoffed, "I shouldn't even entertain the idea of answering such a ridiculous question, but I suppose I have to let you know your place-- not only through my actions, but even verbally."
Prince Shoto's strokes became harsher as he put his full hips into it, his pale thighs slapping against the bottom of your breasts from the force he was putting behind his movements. His different colored eyes once again focused in on your chest, the way they practically swallowed his dick whole and how he could only see his tip slightly peek out when your tits were pulled downward on his length. The slick of the prince's pre-cum covered the area between your tits and was even spreading onto them, you started to moan out from the sensitivity that was starting to affect your breasts.
"Ahn--!! P-Please Prince Shoto...!! Hnngh!" you begged in a high pitched voice yet knowing deep inside of you, you craved for the prince's dick to fill your hole.
"You're mine to do whatever I want with so enough with your obnoxious crying. My family paid handsomely for a brat like you because of your greedy pig of a Father." the prince grunted, "But you're all mine now, and mine alone. That's all that matters."
His thrusts in between your boobs became sloppy as his paced quickened, Prince Shoto's face despite his foul treatment was red from ear to ear and dripping with sweat. His body felt as though it was on fire! He wanted to shove his cock right into that virgin pussy of yours and make you see heaven, but he'd settle for that beautiful face of yours for now as you weren't even close to earning a ride on his thick girth yet. Prince Shoto would let go of your breasts and stand up from the stone bench, he pulled you back by your hair making your head face upwards towards him and with his other hand he proceeded to jerk himself off. Soon you would feel the release of his warm seed land on your face, making you instinctively close your eyes so none landed in your eyes. The prince heavily panted over you as he continued to pump himself dry, hoping to get every last drop on your form, his legs shaking as he stood on his tippy toes from the intense feeling of sexual release.
"S-Shit..." Prince Shoto moaned out as he threw his head back.
When he looked back down at you, your eyes were still closed still wanting to protect them from his thick, salty cum. It was truly a site to behold, seeing a princess such as yourself covered in dirt, dress torn and burned down to nothing but rags and your hair a wild scraggly mess. He couldn't help but chuckle as he compared this version of you to the one he had first laid eyes on at that ball. He tapped his tip on your lips, catching your attention.
"Clean it." the prince demanded, seemingly out of breathe.
You tried to open one of your eyes, your vision slightly blurry while looking up at Prince Shoto noticing the smirk he wore on his lips and the way his eyes just felt as though they looked straight through you as his bangs hung away from his face.
It was sinful how sexy he looked.
You stuck out your tongue and circled his tip at first before licking up and down his shaft, trying to lick up all the cum to the best of your ability. The feeling of your breathe and the tingling sensation of your wet muscle wrapping itself around his sensitive dick was incredible. Prince Shoto had never felt anything so pleasurable or relieving in his life, maybe it was just because he finally got to see you, got a little taste of you before fully digging into the meal. Once you licked and sucked him clean of his sticky seed, he wiped the hand he was using to jerk himself off onto your already dirty chemise. You sat there unfulfilled, tarnished and distraught by the events that had just occurred in such a short amount of time, but felt like an eternity to you.
The prince fixed his attire and walked over to the archway which you had both passed through to get to the interior balcony, he made a hand gesture and a maid had appeared as though she had been waiting out in the halls this whole time.
"Take this woman around the castle, show her the places where she's allowed to roam without an escort and then show her to my bed chambers. Once done with that you can prepare my private bath and notify me when everything is ready. Do not let her wash herself before that." he finished instructing the maid before turning to you, "Once you enter my bed chambers do not leave. If you leave there will be dire consequences. Once the maid is done preparing the bath you will immediately enter it, wash yourself and wait for my arrival. Do I make myself clear?"
You stupidly sat on the ground, dumbfounded by what you had been directed to do-- dumbfounded by the fact that this monster still had more in-store for you. Prince Shoto approached your body in its shocked state and yanked you up by one of your arms, not even a meek gasp passed through your lips from how stunned you were. You felt as though your head was spinning.
'I must be dreaming I must be dreaming I must be dreaming' was the only words circling your brain, but you mustered out a mumbled "yes" and proceeded to follow the maid throughout the castle walls to the very few places you were allowed without an escort with cum dripping down your face, your arms covering your exposed chest, and your elegant dark blue dress now in tatters. You felt as though you had officially reached the breaking point in your life and nothing you did from now on would matter.
You were simply a tool-- an item for the future malicious king of the Todoroki kingdom to use however he pleased and whenever he pleased, leaving you frightened and anxious about the possibilities that lied ahead for you.
Arranged marriage au with Shoto. He’s quiet, barely even having a conversation with you since you first met a few months ago. And he always has a cold, stoic look on his face that makes you believe that he hates you. You would understand if he did, you weren’t exactly thrilled about the arrangement yourself.
tw: noncon, forced marriage, breeding kink, shoto really needs to learn how to communicate lmao. fem reader. everyone is 18+!
i need more yandere shigaraki idc what you do with it just please give me more
tw: not proofread, yandere, stalking, noncon, somnophilia
Online boyfriend!Tomura who you began dating a year ago after befriending him through a video game.
You go about venting and yapping about the petty things he couldn’t care less about on voice calls. But he listens, jerking off to your voice as he mutes himself, spilling all over the screen when you realised he’s been quiet for some time now; repeatedly calling his name until he apologises with staggering breaths.
“S-Sorry, I got distracted.”
“Mmm, you’re always neglecting me!” you whine, not knowing his palms are sticky just because you. Isn’t this a sign of his love? Gosh, he had to bite his tongue to not tell you that.
He never gives you pictures of himself no matter how much you beg, but it’s a different case for you. He demands to have you send him photos when you’re out with your friends as proof—zooming in on the screen to make sure there’s no guys around. And if he catches one, he blows up your phone with “who the fuck is that?”, “you think you can cheat on me and get away with it?” and his tone turns venomous, fangs bared and ready to maul. Then, the guilt trips follows shortly after. Tomura is clever enough to turn the tables on you and make you apologise with your adorable voice messages spewing some shit like
“I’ll be careful next time! M’sorry, Tomura. I love you.”
God, you’re so fucking dumb and gullible. You don’t even realise your boyfriend is a wanted villain, and he’s been watching you in real life without your knowledge. You don’t realise the guy with his hoody up in the alley near your house is him, nor the person who follows the same route as you at night after you leave a cafe. How easy must it be for you to be snatched off by some weirdo. But you’re in good hands because your Tomura is always watching over you.
You ask him when’s the time you can finally meet, almost like you’re craving to see him and he always delays the date. He’s busy, it’s work, or it’s inconvenient. And you? Still the adorable dumb bimbo who whines and says
“alright, guess we’ll have to wait a lil longer.”
You tell him the things you want to do with him when you meet. You say you want to hold his hands—not knowing he’d be the last thing you feel before you crumble into nothingness, you want to wear his hoodie, the same ones he fucks his fist in thinking about his sweet little girlfriend, and you want to give him lots of kisses.
In turn, he imagines how soft you’d feel against him, how much cuter you could be if you’re in his clothes and the moans spilling from your lips he’d swallow as he fucks your cute little cunny.
Oh, Shigaraki Tomura is a villain through and through. Deceiving you into thinking he’s just some normal dude, and that you’re in a normal long distance-like relationship. He imagines the colour draining from your face when you somehow finds out his identity—he’s no mediocre fuck, nor a nice guy. He’s Shigaraki, fucking, Tomura.
Of course, villains never get their happy endings, do they? You had to call him one night, hesitant and all—and tell him you’re breaking up.
Hah—fuck. You? The only person he’d let into his heart, the only person who he wants to protect in this fucked-up world, the one who promised to always love him and stay by his side? His sweet sweet girl is actually abandoning him?
No. Fucking. Way.
You don’t even let him speak before you hang up, and block him on all platforms. You turn your accounts private so he can’t stalk you on his alts. You’re really testing him, huh? But it’s okay. He understands that couples fight—and this is just another silly argument blown out of control. You want him to chase you, and apologise while you play hard to get, don’t you? He’ll play your game.
At first, he slips back into your life with letters in your mailbox.
I’m sorry, baby. Tell me what I did wrong so I can properly apologise to you. I love you. You know that. You got me begging, you better unblock me, you stupid bitch.
He watches your reaction through the webcam of your laptop, long hacked in—your eyes were wide, throat bobbing like you’re suppressing the urge to puke. Maybe he was too aggressive at the end of his note. He’ll try again.
I’m sorry again, for the tone in my last note. I’m not used to this. I haven’t been okay ever since you left started giving me the cold shoulder. I miss you so much. I miss your voice. I love you.
It went unopened. Tossed into the trash before you could even read the contents. You must’ve wanted him to be more direct. Ahh, his needy girl.
So there he was, knees sinking into your mattress as you sleep like the world is safe and so were you. It barely took him a few minutes to enter your apartment, someone else could take advantage of that, you know? You’re so fucking dumb—it’s okay though, because your Tomura is always there to take care of you.
That’s right. Your Tomura, slipping your shorts and panty off, hovering over your sleeping form with his pants taut at the crotch, rubbing your clit with a course thumb.
It’s not the first time he’s seen you in the flesh, but he’s never seeing you this close, your pretty features illuminated by the moonlight peering through your window—soft, petal lips slightly parted with those adorable gasps spilling through. He’s so lucky to have a beautiful girlfriend like you—as if he’d let go. The gods would have to pry his fingers off of your body to part the two of you. He’d take you right then and there, he’d let you know you belong to him and something as fickle as a lover’s quarrel would not soil the love you share.
You said you wanted to give him loads of kisses when you get to meet him, right? So he licks his lips and paste them along your jaw, inhaling the sweet scent of your hair and feeling his boner hardening at the whiff. His finger slowly dips into your core, thumb still teasing your now-hardened clit.
His free hand comes to pull your top, and he can’t help but sucks in a sharp inhale when your tits lay so prettily in front of his eyes—his mouth watering, craving to roll your nipples with his itching tongue. Gingerly, he lets his four fingers grope your breast, your flesh spilling between his digits. His head lowers to taste your nub, his tongue savouring the sweet layer of sweat coating your soft flesh. You moan as your hips buckle, grinding against his hard on when his fingers curl at your special spot.
Fuck, fuck, fuckk—you’re driving him crazy even in your sleep.
Your moans grow louder, needier, more desperate when he continues to rub your g-spot, your walls tightening around his digits as if your body was refusing to let him go. He swears he could come with just listening to you and groaning with your sweet nipple in his hot mouth.
You’re close, he can feel it. You’re gonna cum from his fingers, in your sleep. Fucking hell.
You shriek when you come, your senses finally returning to yourself. “W-Who are you?!” seriously? You’re asking a question like this with his fingers glistening with your juices and your tits in his face? Obviously, he’s none other than
“Your Tomura.”
Your face falls when you hear his name, “T-Tomura?” You look like you’ve seen a ghost, tears welling up in your eyes. “Y-You’re Tomura?! Why are you doing this? S-Stop!” You’re already begging, barely registering the sight and the feeling you woke up to.
“Shhh. Calm down, baby. It’s okay, you miss me?” his lips curl into a grin, cheeks feverishly burning. You’re finally looking at him. You finally see him. He’s here, in front of you—your Tomura, your boyfriend, your love.
“No—stop! Get away from me, I’ll hate you if you don’t!” you try to push him off of you, limbs desperate to free yourself but your thrashing came into piffling futility when he pins your wrists against the mattress, your face twisting when he neared you. You could feel his hot, stuffy breath against your neck, your skin scrawling with goosebumps when his cracked lips graze your flesh.
“I lied about my quirk, Y/N. I can turn you into dust with the touch of my 5 fingers. It’s up to you to believe me or not, but I wouldn’t want to move much if I were you,” you stiffen upon his words, tears rolling down your cheeks as you huffed for air—panic rising in your chest like a rousing volcano.
“Let me go, please. I’m begging you. Don’t kill me,” your voice cracks in trepidation, airy like your words were tripping off your mouth.
“No, no. I won’t kill you,” your eyes train at his movements as he freed a hand to tug his sweats down, your chest pumping with dread, your head shaking ‘no’ when your sight flick to his bloodshot eyes. You felt like you were begging a demon for mercy. This is no Tomura. This is a monster.
Your thighs slam shut, but the pads of his four fingers trace the side of your leg, reminding you of what he was capable of. So you let him push you open, still begging him through your tear-filled eyes.
“I love you, Y/N. Even if you fucking hate me, I’ll never let you go,” you could feel his meaty cock kissing your pussy lips, his slippery tip spreading them apart, rubbing against your clit.
“W-Wait! Tomura!” you tried again, but you were too late. The air in your chest rose only to be stuck in your throat when he slams himself in until he reaches his hilt. Your walls spasm around his size, a sob ripped through your throat at the burn.
“Fuck—I’m inside Y/N’s tight little pussy. Ahh—I can just cum like this, you know?” he’s completely ignoring you, forehead pressing against yours as he peers down to look at the way he disappears between your thighs; basking in the bliss of entering the very pussy he’s been dreaming of for the past year. “Your insides are so warm, it feels good,” he whines as he presses against your tummy, your muscle shift and you swear you can feel this shaft pressing taut against your walls.
“Tomura, i-it too big!” you try to lift yourself away, only to let out another lewd moan as his cockhead rubs against your sensitive g-spot when his hips roll.
“You’re so soft. So warm. So fucking perfect,” you could tell your words are not even registering in his mind as he continues to groan about how much he needed you, calloused fingers sinking into your hips as he began thrusting—sloppily pulling out then stretching your throbbing walls over and over again, teasing the deep special spot you didn’t even realise you had.
You don’t even realise you’re starting to get needier, your hands gripping onto his shirt and you’re panting like a dog in heat. The room turns stuffy quick and you somehow find his lips moulding into yours—the way he kisses as sloppy as the way he fucks, but it only draws you in more; until you’re chasing his cracked lips and sucking until he groans.
“Mmm—fuck,” you swear when your mouths part, a string of saliva connecting your swollen, plump lips to his now-glistening ones. God, do you look beautiful like that. Eyes hazy from the drunken kiss, your voice calling his name with the airy moan of a tone—Tomura, Tomura…
He stirs, aching cock slamming hard into your velvety warm cunt, shocking you by the sudden thrust deep inside. It feels different now, the way he’s vehemently dragging his cock all the way in and out like an animal. Your toes curl, mouth plumped to an ‘o’ as your nails dug into his skin through his shirt. He’s so deep, so rough…
“I can feel—nngh, my cock kissing your cervix. Isn’t it romantic?” he’s musing as he fucks, moaning in bliss, at the way you’re gripping his meat. He can’t even count how many times he’s envisioned this. You’re taking him in. He’s so happy. You’re a fucking dream come true.
“Tomura, m’gonna cum if y-you keep moving like that!” his pace only fasten to your words, his hips slamming into yours until the sound of skin slapping lewdly ring in your ears. His groan was guttural, and your moans were drooling from your lips. Your walls only clench tighter, his cock hardening, sensitive tip kissing your spongey g-spot with every desperate thrusts until the two of you hit your climax at the same time.
Your mix cum spurts out of your pulsing pussy in a second, your tummy burning with crackles of pleasure as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Tomura’s shaking, keeping his hips still to continue stuffing your cunt with his load. “You feel that—haa—Y/N? You feel my love spilling into your womb? Ahh—I love you, I love you so much,” he’s chuckling from the high, kissing and marking your neck while you lay dazed with cum dripping out of you.
“You’re mine. Don’t you ever try to leave me again, m’kay? Now say you love me, like you always do—”
first time writing for him ! i tried something different, i hope you enjoy it.
word count: 1321
tw: bullying, obsessive behavior, controlling behavior, slight mention of sexual harassment (not nsfw), dacryphilia, fem!reader, yandere
✤you and bakugo had been going to the same schools since elementary school. you've never been friends thought. he always made you an outcast, bullying you and making sure that anyone who wouldn't bully you wouldn't be friends with you either.
✤elementary school, when you both met, was where everything started. you instantly caught bakugo's eye. you arrived after the year started because you moved. you were hiding behind your teacher as she introduced you to the rest of the class, teary eyes and legs shaking.
✤for some reason, bakugo couldn't take his eyes off you, you immediately obsessed him. he tried to find out some things about you, like your quirk (which was a small healing quirk). at first, he tried to become friends with you by showing off his quirk but it was no use you were way too shy. so he decided to do the only thing that would grab your attention, bully you.
✤at first he would only make some snarky remarks or laugh at you. but he quickly realized he enjoyed tormenting you, the teary look you had always made him feel so good. quickly his bullying started to get more physical. he would pull your ponytail, push you to make you fall or even tripping you up.
✤you would often get bruises on your knees because of his bullying, that was something he definitely enjoyed. he saw it as some kind of way to mark you, a way for everyone to know you were his.
✤everything went like this for all elementary school, where you still had some friends despite bakugo's bullying. when you entered middle school everything was different.
✤somehow all of your friends went to different schools, you were left all alone. you thought it wouldn't be a big deal to make new friends, you were very wrong. first of all almost everyone already had friends in your class, moreover bakugo would drive anyone who tried to approach you away.
✤he always sat on your desk during breaks, talking very loudly and making everyone notice him. he was seen as a delinquent by others and him being almost always with you made people want to avoid you. you spent your whole middle school all alone, surrounded only with bakugo's relentless bullying.
✤he would keep making snarky remarks and making you trip but he also started to get more creative with his bullying. for example at the end of middle school bakugo would often unclip your bra whenever he passed behind you, which would always make you cry in shame. you then started to wear sports bra to keep him from doing that.
✤you never understood why bakugo hated you that much he had the urge to bully you all day long. you always felt uncomfy whenever he would order you around or when he would put his arm around neck, keeping you from leaving him. you feared him especially with the way he stared at you whenever you cried, with a hungry gaze that seemed to yearn for more, more of you.
✤to bakugo, now you were dating. he wouldn't do anything he does to you to any other girl, you, his girlfriend. not that you were aware of it, but that didn't matter to him, he was the one who got to make the decisions, he was the one who knew what was best for you.
✤he knew what was best so he also knew which school was the best for you, he forced you to write UA's hero highschool as your first choice so that you two could keep on being together. you obeyed him because you obviously had no choice.
✤by a stroke of luck, you failed UA's entrance examination and you and bakugo were separated. although you were relieved, bakugo was boiling on the inside. he got very anxious, how was he going to keep you for himself, what were you going to do without him.
✤at first, when you entered highschool bakugo would come get you everyday, but you had another stroke of luck. your parents and you moved again, you were going to change schools and bakugo wouldn't be able to track you down, he'll finally leave you alone.
✤you never told him you were moving, he didn't deserve to know for making your life a living hell. one day when he came to get you, you were nowhere in sight and that's how he understood : you got away from him.
.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.
✤you woke up as usual, feeling a bit tired but ready to start the day. you were in your last year of university and you had never seen bakugo again after highschool. well you never saw him directly because he was everywhere. he became one of the most popular hero ever since he graduated.
✤everywhere you could see goodies of him, ads featuring him, interviews of him... even if he wasn't in your life anymore he was still haunting you. well at least you managed to escape his grasp, you couldn't imagine what would have happened to you if you didn't.
✤you made yourself a coffee and got dressed, today was a rough day but you loved medical school so nothing felt like a chore. you were so focused on doing well today that you didn't even notice the hooded figure looming around your apartment.
✤when you came back, it was night time. you were really exhausted of your day. you didn't even notice you left the door open when you left this morning, you entered your apartment and dropped your stuff on the ground sighting loudly.
✤when you entered your living room, wanting to sit on the sofa. you froze when you saw something or more like someone sitting on the couch. their figure was only slightly visible because of the small lamp which was turned on. even if you couldn't see who the figure was clearly, you instantly knew who that was with those eyes.
✤those eyes that took so much pleasure in torturing you, who enjoyed seeing you cry and making you submit to their will. he was here, in your living room, uninvited. bakugo was here.
✤you tried taking a step back but you were interrupted by his low voice, lower than when he used to bully you.
"don't you try running away, it's useless anyway, I have my body guards right outside your house. you wouldn't go far."
✤you bit your lips, what could he possibly want from you after all these years...
"come here. I want to see you."
✤you couldn't gather the courage to resist his orders. you approached him. he grabbed your hand and looked at you, scrutinizing every details of your body, a weird glint into his eyes.
"you're mine, don't you forget that ever again. quit that useless major of yours and get back to your place, as a support for my agency."
✤you bit the inside of your mouth, drawing a bit of blood. you felt your eyes welling up with tears. you couldn't go back to the way it was, you couldn't let him control you or your life anymore. you had to stand up for yourself. you looked at him straight in the eyes.
"i-i won't quit ! i love what im doing, i absolutely won't stop university. so please get out of here and don't talk to me ev-."
✤he got up, towering you. he grabbed your cheeks with one hand, squeezing them as he stared at the tears in your eyes with a cheeky smirk on his face.
"i don't think i asked what you wanted, i know what's good for you, don't forget it. obey me or i'll have to do it the hard way baby."
✤you closed your eyes, tears rolling on your cheeks. you heard him chuckle darkly as he dried the tears off your face. you never really had any way to escape from him did you..?
Damn that Bully Dabi and Hawks fic was an amazing read! I love it when you write them full on bastard mode!
Pro Hero Bakugou sexually harassing his weak quirkless secretary who does her very best at her job. She's good at it but Bakugou always looks mad (read: sexually frustrated). High on success after a good rescue, he wants to celebrate....
OR
Cop Bakugou sees a pretty little thing outside a club. She looks sus so he decides she needs a pat down. Maybe he'll plant something to blackmail her into doing certain favors. Very bully, very bastard Bakugou.
PARINGS: Pro Hero! Bakugou x Secretary! Quirkless! AFAB! Reader
CW: yandere, dubcon/noncon, dirty talk, choking, cunnilingus, overstimulation, scumbage bakugou, use of the word rape, quirkless reader, size difference, age gap, death threats, sexual harrassment, bullying, mindbreak, masturbation, office sex
AN: I’ll probably write the cop Bakugo at some point too! For now, mind the tags and enjoy :)
They say to never meet your idols and in retrospect, you wished you would have listened.
Try as you might, it seemed like Mr. Dynamight was never satisfied with your work. Admittedly, you joined his agency as his office secretary based on having a crush on the pro, but you assumed his brash nature would calm down in an office setting. You did everything he asked, obediently followed his every word, which was all met with harsh glares and what you thought were dissatisfied grunts.
Surely you thought it wouldn't be about your being quirkless, but rumors were high strung in the office about the blonde’s feeling towards those without quirks. It would explain the harsh glares and judgment he passed on you despite your work effort.
The man even went as far as to ask for your personal phone number, only to leave scathing voicemails whenever you couldn't show up to work or miss out on work gatherings he put together. You couldn't help but flush at the thought of him missing your presence. Maybe you were just bad at reading his signals? Or maybe he was just hell-bent on bullying you more than the rest of the staff.
The job paid very well, so you couldn't exactly up and leave based on his behavior. However, you did notice how...handsy Mr. Dynamight has become with you. It was subtle at first, brushing shoulders in the hallways, letting his fingers ghost against yours when he handed you paperwork.
It soon escalated to always having a hand on your shoulder, holding your hips when he had to brush behind you, towering over you from behind your chair when you showed him something. You couldn't say that you weren't flattered, but his rough demeanor remained.
It started becoming uncomfortable when he made passes at you, making sure you were cornered and alone when he did.
“C’mon, am I really that fuckin’ intolerable that you can't get lunch with me, pipsqueak?”
You assumed that he was just messing with you, so you always turned him down with a flushed face and ran back to your desk, leaving him blue balled and more desperate by the day. There's no way a pro hero like him would actually be interested in someone quirkless and weak like yourself.
But that's the reason why he liked you anyway. So small, so weak, so obedient, so perfect for him to fuck up. God, if he didn't want just to rip your tiny pencil skirt to threads and spear you on his cock like no tomorrow. A pretty thing like yourself shouldn't be working. No, no, no. You should be at home, in his home in his bed with his ring on your finger. You belong to him, don't you see that?
Katsuki only ever gives you the time of day, not those other stupid bitches who crawl up his ass every morning trying to get a crumb of attention. And what do you do with his precious time? Waste it. Always whining about how you really shouldn't, that he shouldn't be seen with someone like you. As if he gives a fuck about what the media has to say.
He even checks up on you when you're not at work! Isn't he such a gentleman? Sure, he's a bit vulgar, but he's trying to show he cares. But if you want to act like a stuck-up bitch, then he’ll gladly treat you like one.
After a particularly tough fight with a villain, the blonde wanted nothing more than to use and abuse you to get some steam off his chest. It was late, but he prayed to whatever gods were out there that you were still in the office. He left you a voicemail for good measure, hoping that you would do what you always did best and stayed obedient for him.
It was locked up for the night, but he could see your office light on from the street. Perfect. Such a good girl for him. Little did he know that you stayed late quiet often.
You hadn't even seen his previous call come through; you were too busy listening to an old one with plenty of derogatory terms being spat your way. A hand shoved in your skirt, you couldn't help but finger yourself the sound of his voice calling you moronic for skipping out of work. Mr. Dynamight was your childhood crush after all, you had jerked off to plenty of interviews of him in the past. Sure, it was creepy but no one had to know. The older man was so big, so strong and handsome. You couldn't help but feel fuzzy from the voicemail, even if it was degrading you, it was for you alone.
Speak of the devil and he will appear.
“Well, shit. Whadda we have here, pipsqueak?”
A rough chuckle came from behind you as he pulled your desk chair out and swiveled towards him.
“Caught ya red-handed, huh? Who knew you were such a little slut for me.”
Taking the phone from your hand, he hung it up on the receiver and took your hand out of your panties. He snatched your fingers greedily in his mouth and sucked your wetness off of him.
“You know what, I’m feeling a bit hungry. And you taste like something in the vein of what I’m tryin’ to have for dinner.”
Katsuki devoured you in a hungry kiss, lifting you out of the chair and onto your desk. He tossed aside the papers messily and spread your legs to see your slick moistening your sheer tights and panties.
“Bend over and spread that fuckin’ pretty pussy for me, pipsqueak.”
You shook your head, already feeling humiliated enough by being caught with your pants down, literally.
“That wasn't a question, that was a command, you bratty bitch. What happened to your manners?”
God did his words stir something deep inside you. Waiting was no longer a priority; catching you like this was proof enough in his mind that you were just playing hard to get.
“You should consider yourself lucky that I want you to sit on my face, you know that? I have bitches trying to get on my dick every day, but it only gets hard for you, pipsqueak.”
“I-I thought you didn't like quirkless people!”
“It's all the more reason I want to be balls deep in your cunt right now. So weak and pathetic, it's fucking cute.”
You could feel yourself tighten around nothing just at his words. He was right, you were just a pathetic plaything for him. Not hesitating any longer, he ripped off your skirt and threw it behind the both of you. Your tights also got ripped to shreds, leaving you in your blouse and panties.
“Fuckin’ gorgeous.” He muttered, mostly to himself as he took your panties off and pocketed them. For later, he thought.
Katsuki didn't hesitate to spit on your already wet cunt before diving into his meal. Each stroke of his tongue sent fire straight to your core, each suckle of his lips drew a whimper from your mouth. Hips bucked into his mouth before he held them down, using just one hand to cover your torso. So small and petite for him, how cute would you be up against his massive form.
“M-Mr. Dynamight!”
“Heh, so fuckin’ cute. Call me Katsuki, sweet thing. Or daddy, if you're nasty like that.”
Your hips were held taught against his face, not allowing you to squirm or inch away from his searing tongue fucking your hole. He continued to ravage you with his mouth, pulling away only a few times to give your pussy a nice spank. Groaning into your cunt, he stroked himself at the same time.
Humiliation had dissolved into pleasure as he serviced you, tears springing in your eyes as he gripped his head tightly with your hands and thighs. Having already masturbated before getting caught, it didn't take long for him to make you see stars and roll your eyes into the back of your head.
“K-Katsuki, I’m cumming!” You shouted, squirting onto his tongue as your body shook around his head. Your fingers threaded deeply into his hair and tugged as he continued to work his tongue into your hole, riding out your orgasm.
He didn't stop, though.
“Too much, it's too much!”
“I’ll stop when I’m finished, little girl.”
You tried to push his head away, but he gripped your wrists from under your legs and had you pinned against his mouth, shaking and screaming from overstimulation. Once he brought you another good nut, he pulled away and gave your clit a kiss, chuckling when you jumped.
Standing up, he pushed his mask up to pull his back and took his rock-hard cock from his pants. He spat on your dripping hole once again before lining up his fat head with it.
Katsuki hissed as he sank himself into your cunt, holding your hips in place as you whined and squirmed under him, still overly sensitive. God, were you gripping him in all the right ways. Your legs around his waist, your hands on his forearms, and your cunt around his cock.
“Relax, pipsqueak, or I’ll end up breaking you.” He chuckled. “But you might like that, huh?”
Seeing your teary, fucked out face while teasing you? He nearly jizzed himself on the spot. But he had to hold out for you. A choked gasp was all you could respond with as he got right in your face, breath tickling your cheeks as he looked in your eyes.
“Such a dirty slut, getting off to the sound of my voice. It's better in person, isn't it?”
“D-Daddy!”
Was all you could whine as his thumb made his way to your clit, drawing slow, gently circles with his roughed-up finger.
“Oi, oi, oi, did I break ya already, pipsqueak? Y’know, you coulda just asked for my cock like a good girl if you were gonna get this drunk off it.”
His hips slowly drew back, almost pulling out all the way before slamming back in, earning a squeal from you.
“Or maybe you wanted me to take you by force? Show ya what the fuck happens to quirkless little girls who tease their fuckin’ man so much that he just has to come and take their little cunt to show ‘em who’s boss, eh?”
You couldn't help but tighten around him from his words, squirming under his hot breath as he started to grind his hips up into yours slowly.
“Good girl, letting daddy rape your cunt so willingly.”
Katsuki chuckled, sealing a hot kiss on your mouth while he gripped your throat. His hips began to piston in and out of your pussy, thick veins grinding against your spongy walls.
His brutal kisses swallowed your moans and tears while he squeezed your throat. His other thumb continued to swipe against your clit in fast motions, causing your to clamp down and flutter against his thick cock.
“Shoulda known you were a whore from the start, wearing those skirts that hugged ya in all the right places. Bending over and letting me touch you how I pleased, it's like you wanted this to happen.”
The pace of his thrust increased as he started to chase his orgasm, holding your throat and hips down to use you like the hole he knew you were. He growled and snarled into your mouth as he choked you, even more, watching the blood flood to your face.
“Yeah, baby, I've got your life in my hands now. If you won't be mine, I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Then nobody can have you.”
“Y-Yours! I’m yours!” You managed to gasp out, gripping his forearm and digging your nails into it, hoping he’ll let you up for air
“Damn straight, now cum for me, you quirkless little bitch.”
The haziness from the lack of air and the pleasure pooling in your gut sent you over the edge a third time, making you cry out his name as you came. Katsuki was right behind you, eyes screwed shut and practically foaming at the mouth as he came deep inside you, finally letting you breathe once he finished himself off.
You sputtered and coughed, desperate to fill your lungs with air as he pushed some stray hairs out of your face.
“Ya did good, pipsqueak.”
He praised, giving your ass a spank before pulling out and tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“You’re coming home with me, so don't worry about the mess.”
“By the way, you're fired.”
TAG LIST: @tomurasprincess @suzuki-violin-school @sightoru @alrunemara
WARNINGS -> Yandere behavior /// I just shit this out, so if it’s bad, don’t tell me LOL (i.e. Not proofread) /// Bakugo being a creep /// Fem!Reader
Bakugo is so nosey, he literally cannot help himself. Everything has to be his business—ESPECIALLY when it comes to you. He is all up in your shit when he is yandere for you. I’m talking sneaking breaking into your room, riffling through your drawers, listing off the manga on your shelves, flipping through your notes from class and the latest addition to your diary he is absolutely checking to see if you’ve written about him but he’ll never admit it.
It helps that he’s as close friend to you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t let just anyone know the code to your dorm room. He made sure of that. If he’s a close friend, then you don’t need any other people close, as he can be everything you need. You tell him everything. You make it so easy to infiltrate your life. He loves that fact about you, how you’re so willing and eager to share all your thoughts and feelings with him. You’re kinda a big chatter box, but that’s okay. He can be the vault that guards your heart. No one else but him is allowed in.
He’s too good at it. It’s almost like he has a checklist of everything in there. It’s gets to a point where he knows where your things are in your room better than you do, this also applies to the new things you add. And that fact gets him in trouble one day…
You and Uraraka walk in to class side-by-side, although you have a noticeably higher pep in your step than usual. Bakugo—having already tailed behind you on the way here, but hurried past while you were became busy chatting it up with said pink cheeks as to not be noticed—already saw this. What irritates him is what is causing this. He’s been racking his brain for the last half hour, but nothing major is coming up.
You did okay on your last math test—an 87, which is better than us our previous 81. He helped you study for that test, even though you were hardly a willing study buddy. You jumped every time he chewed you out for every mistake you wrote while forming the math equations. He found it to be…annoying in his language, this translates to down right adorable. All that to say, it wasn’t remarkable to the point where it would have you bouncing on the balls of your feet. You also didn’t do anything major yesterday. You mostly stayed at the dorms and chilled in the commons with Mina and Jirou for awhile before heading to your room and messing around on your phone for a few hours. You didn’t even text him goodnight last night. What could have you so distracted?
“Someone looks excited! What’s up, girly?” Mina was sat backwards in her desk chair, fixing her makeup in a tiny compact mirror as you hopped over to the girls. She currently had the wand of her mascara balancing on the edge of her bottom lashes, pulling a funny face to make sure she didn’t smudge the black gunk on her perfect base makeup.
Bakugo would say he could care less about what you girls talk about, but only half of that statement is true. He doesn’t care what the girls talk about, but when you’re there? All bets are off the table. He’s got his ears pinned on every word that comes out of your mouth at all times. So, even though he’s got his head turned to the window pretending to give a single fuck about that weird shaped cloud drifting by, he’s really listening to every breath you take and the sweet giggle lilting from your soft lips.
“I’m just happy! I got something new and I wanted to share with you guys to see if you like it. It’s this new perfume I got!” Your smile brightened. The girls ooh’d at your reveal, and Bakugo finally unclenched his fists for the first time in an hour.
Ah. This is what this is about. He’s relieved. He totally wasn’t concerned that you’d talked to someone over the phone that he didn’t hear about he’d make sure to break their fingers if that was the case.
He saw that perfume in the drawer of your bathroom vanity yesterday when he came over to help you study some more more like he forced his way in so he could be close to you while not in the presence of other. It appeared after you’d gone shopping at the nearby outlet mall two days ago. Bakugo had come up with some excuse to the guys on why he had to skip out on video games, as he had more pressing matters to attend to. Like, for instance, tagging along behind you as you pranced around from shop to shop in that cute new sun dress you’d gotten for the current blazing summer heat. You made it beautiful, but that’s because you’re you.
Bakugo had looked up the bottle and all its notes and gave it a whiff, but he could only imagine how your natural scent would make the sweetness come through even more brilliantly. He couldn’t wait to be near you when you finally applied it. Lucky him that today’s the day.
“Does it smell nice on me?” You bring your wrist up to the girls, and Bakugo had to bite down on his lip to keep from screaming. They don’t know how goddamn lucky they are to get that close to you. They don’t even have to try to get you to trust them. How come he has to bust his ass to get you to even sit next to them while you present yourself on a silver platter to others who aren’t even worthy of the air you breathe?
“Mmm~! Yes, it does! It smells quite sweet. I-In a good way, of course!” Momo is the first to comment. He wishes he was over there instead of her.
“Sugary, ribbit. Very nice on you.” Tsu tosses her compliment to you as well.
Mina grabs your wrist and drags it closer to take a deep inhale, “WOW! OMG I love it! What is it?!” She talks like a 2000’s text message on MySpace, but Bakugo can hardly focus on what she says when he sees red at the way she so casually touches you. She should watch her grimy mitts and keep her hands to herself beige she loses a finger. Doesn’t she know how bad she can hurt you?! You’re too kind to these fools.
“Nuh-uh! You have to guess!” You giggle playfully and, suddenly, all the rage previously boiling up in his chest melts away. You always have that effect on him. Like a princess calming a rampaging dragon, your words alone could soothe any number of thrashing beasts or churning seas.
“Hmmmmm,” the girls all collectively ponder.
“That new Megan Thee Stallion one! The sexy one~,” Mina, like always, is the first to mindlessly blurt out an answer.
“What?! Noooo, I wouldn’t wear a sexy one to class! What are you, crazy?” Your cheeks heat up at that insinuation. Bakugo perks up and looks over at your group. He wishes you would. Then he’d know for sure you long for him like he does too. There is no one else you’d wear that for but him. He’s sure of it. He’s the closest guy to you, and he won’t let any of these fuckers get the chance to think that have a shit at his girl.
“Awww, boo. I was hoping you were trying to catch someone’s attention~,” Hagakure pokes fun from behind you.
“It’s too sweet to be that anyways.” Uraraka banters.
“Hmm, perhaps a Chanel? My parents got me the Mademoiselle bottle for Christmas, and I find it to be just brilliant.” Momo smiles to herself.
“Waaay too expensive for my budget. Think cheaper, haha. That does sound lovely though, Momo!” You help the group with a hint.
“Maybe Sol de Janerio? I know you mentioned wanting the 68 from them. Not sure what it smells like though.” Jirou tilts her head.
“You’re all so close! Ahh, I’ll stop holding out. It’s—,” before you can share with the girls, a gravely voice cuts through the conversation.
“That new Lucky Charms one you got the other day, right? Sweet as shit.” Bakugo opens his big mouth before he can stop himself.
The group of girls all turn to him, and he feels himself pale. Shit. He didn’t mean to do that. He’s such an idiot. He just wanted to impress you. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
“Wow! That’s right, Bakugo! How did you know? I didn’t take you for a fragrance guy.” It hasn’t hit you yet that he can’t even smell you from this distance. All smiles and rainbows. You’re just happy that he played along. Although, after a second, confusion crosses over your face.
“How…did you know I got a new perfume?” A small laugh forces its way out of your throat. You are still smiling, but it is much more pinched now. Like it pains you to think too hard about the incomplete evidence.
He covers his ass quickly with a half assed lie, “You showed me the other night while I was helping you study, moron. Can’t believe you forgot already. Were you that tired after I throw some knowledge into that thick skull of yours?” He pulls his classic ‘are you trying to piss me off with your stupidity?’ look before turning his head down into his notebook. He pretends to write something down. He doesn’t. The page below him is just as open and blank as it was two seconds ago before he nearly got himself caught. It’s true that he helped you study in your dorm, and it’s true that you were exhausted after training. He hopes he made the fib believable.
It’s much more believable than him fessing up to riffling through the drawers in your bathroom, trying to steal a worn out hair tie just because it smelled like you.
The silence hangs in the air for a moment as he watches you from his peripheral vision. You face contorts as you try to recount the day prior. Your eyes flit across the floor as your brain runs itself ragged, obviously trying to find this missing information that he remembers but you don’t. After a second, and obviously coming up empty, you speak.
“Ah. I guess I…forgot about that! Hehe…silly me. Yeah, it’s that’s one. I hope it’s nice.” You shared, still looking at him. He’s not sure if you want him to answer, but he doesn’t.
The girls, taking this as a positive, launch into all sorts of questions—all of them somehow unrelated to the perfume you had asked about originally. Now, they’re all different variations of, “Why was Bakugo in your room?”, “How long have you been studying alone together?”, “How come you didn’t share this with me?!”.
Even though these new questions were all aimed at you, you didn’t have the heart to answer the onslaught. How could you? When the unsettling truth lingered just beneath the surface of a blatant lie that your “best friend” had just told?
You steal a glance at him. He’s glaring right back at you.
Fuck.
(˶ˆᗜˆ˵)
I cooked. I got this idea because I’m wearing the “Lucky Streak” body mist by SNIF right now (the Lucky Charms ones) and I thought “OMG what if Yandere Bakugo snooped in your room and almost outed himself by sharing a little too much information?”
Anyways, I love you guys! Hope you loved this imagine~ I love Bakugo so much, he is forever my man.
WARNINGS: yandere, implied kidnapping, implied imprisonment, abuse of power, slight codependency, non-consensual implications, implied nsfw, implied forced pregnancy, lot of implications lol
A/N: been sitting in the drafts for a while, figured i should get smth out, hopefully it's alright ^^
read at your own discretion.
yandere ! BAKUGOU KATSUKI X READER
“Her eyes are up there, creep.”
She had to resist the urge to sigh, lip twisting in slight pity, watching the boy stammer out an apology as he fumbled with the mic at her chest. She scoffed internally. Was he supposed to put it on blindfolded? She turned to her lover, giving him a gentle, reassuring smile.
It’s okay. I’m okay.
Crimson irises met her own, hesitating a bit as his jaw tightened reflexively. He smacked his tongue against his teeth, rolling his eyes, and turned to the host who was shuffling through her cue cards. Memorizing her lines, it seemed.
“I don’t want any of that surprise shit, alright?” His voice was laced with the sort of irritation that would normally send her on full alert. They were in public right now, though, and callous, gruff reputation aside, he was no idiot, “We’ll walk out; I’m not fuckin’ kidding, we’ve done it before.”
The host laughed out his name–his hero name–nervously, “Of course not, sir. All of our questions were sent to your assistant for prior approval,” As she caught his unimpressed stare, she stumbled out another placation, “But, I mean–Of course, if you–you’re more than welcome to look over them again, sir.”
“Fuckin’ stop it with that–‘sir’--makes me feel old as shit.” Did it? That was news to her. He certainly liked it when it came from her lips. Her mind wandered to its most recent recollection. When she was forced to her knees, his hand at the back of her neck, pooling the tears from her eyes at the dip where her cheek met the pillow–she couldn’t remember what she’d done wrong that time.
Where he’d brought his lips to her ear, C’mon, voice rough and deep, Ask me nicely, now, And, raising his voice a few octaves to mock her, Please, sir. He huffed out an ugly laugh, Please give me your cock, sir. God, she hadn’t been able to walk straight for days, legs and dignity sore and bruised from the abuse–only one of which ever really seemed to recover.
“Of course, si–Of course. We’re on in–We’ll be ready in five, if that’s alright?” He gave the woman a curt nod, and she’d shuffled off to the stage to prepare, calling the intern tending to her to follow, a direction the boy took with palpable relief, eyes brushing her own apologetically before he hurried off.
“Hey,” The blonde’s attention was turned back to her, and he stalked forward, “Last one, alright?” He brought his hand to her cheek in comfort, though all she could think of was the ease at which he could snap her neck between his fingers without so much as blinking.
She shook herself from her thoughts, humming, and brought her hand to cup his own, leaning into his touch. “It’s alright,” At least I’m outside, she wanted to say, “Long as I’m with you, I’m alright.”
His eyes softened at her answer, and he opened his mouth to reply when the lights dimmed, catching his attention. His hand dropped to catch her own, lacing their fingers together, tightening with tension. She had to resist the urge to wince. Though entirely different in circumstance, she felt slight vindication for his fear, no matter how fleeting. She’d take what little wins she could get.
She was pulled back to reality by the tug of his hand, and let him lead her to the couch across from the host. Fuck. Looking out at the crowd, she remembered how much she really did hate these things. Hundreds of smiling faces, millions more behind the camera, all glinting with pity–for all the wrong reasons–and cooing at the sickeningly sweet story spun for the masses to cling to with glee, without question.
There was a call of her name, “And, how are you adjusting? After what you’ve been through,” What she’s been through. She suppressed a bitter laugh. As if it was all over, as if she was safe.
“It’s been hard, of course,” She’d rehearsed the lines in the mirror, and recited variations in numerous interviews before, “But I’m so grateful, you know,” That didn’t stop the tears that fought their way up her throat, “To have him by my side–he really is–he really,” God, the words felt like acid on her tongue, “He really is my hero.”
The crowd awed, and the host brought a hand to her chest, “How beautiful,” She caught his side eye–suspicious–and she squeezed his hand in reassurance, “The two of you–really the silver lining in an otherwise horrible happenstance.”
She laughed lightly, ignoring the burn in her chest, “I’m so grateful. I don’t know what–I couldn’t imagine what I’d do without him.” She moved to wrap her arm around his own, leaning into his shoulder. Time had conditioned the contact to feel like a sort of comfort.
The host smiled, and turned back to ask him a question, something about how he’d found her, how he’d saved her.
How had he found her? She remembered meeting him a few times before–she’d worked for the number one hero, his childhood friend–and he’d never spared her more than a cursory glance, and the exchange of brief, formal pleasantries while she sat in on their meetings, transcribing, taking notes, just doing her job.
“Was just doin’ my job,” Ha. Ironic. “S’what heroes do.” He looked at her for a moment, softly, and she wanted to tear his eyes out, “We save people and we fuckin’ win.” He gave his signature sharp, crooked smile, and the audience roared to life, hands clapping in misguided awe and appreciation.
How had he found her? What did she have that the millions of men and women and people that wanted him–that dreamed of him–didn’t? She wished she could erase it–tear out whatever part of her had captured his attention–maybe he’d have left her alone if she’d been able to kill it.
“The determination, the grit it must’ve taken,” The host started up again, “Years of searching, it’s truly amazing how you managed to save her.”
How had he saved her? He liked to remind her that that’s what he had done. She remembered being called into work late–a normal occurrence, but she still cursed herself for obliging that day–being met, not by her boss, but him. Maybe she would have said yes if he’d gone about it differently–if he’d taken her out on a date, brought her flowers, spoke to her softly and gently–but he wasn’t ever soft, and he wasn’t ever gentle.
“M’not a fuckin’ pussy, that’s how. I ain’t backin’ down from a challenge just ‘cause it’s hard.” Yeah. He never backed down from a challenge. Though, he never stopped to think that maybe a challenge was not a dare, not something to overcome, that maybe the challenge didn’t want to be a challenge at all. That this challenge didn’t want to be a conquest, that she wanted to be a person.
“And you,” The attention was back on her, “How strong you are,” She hated that look; everyone she met these days gave her that look, “The fear and pain you must’ve endured is unimaginable.” Well, she was half right, she supposed.
She was stupid to think she knew pain before–she didn’t know pain–not the kind of pain she’d come to call home these past years. The type of pain that came in the form of finger shaped burns, and ugly sticky white staining the inside of her thighs. The type of pain that was loud and angry and all consuming, that bruised her hips, rubbed her throat raw, left her aching and shaking and breaking. The type of pain that took and took and took until there was nothing left of her to give–and yet, still took more.
“Hopefully there’s some consolation,” The woman continued at her silence, “That the people who did this to you–who imprisoned you–have faced justice.”
She wanted to laugh until she screamed. She’d long been disillusioned with the idea of justice. Justice. Ha. What a joke. She’d made her peace with the hand she’d been dealt. Resigned herself to what cruel fate the god she didn’t believe in had bestowed upon her. Why then, why now, had he graced her with a window to her prison? She knew why. Subconsciously, her hand fell to trace along her stomach.
“It’s…relieving, to say the least.” She forced a laugh, and caught a look she took as approval on her warden’s face. “All I want to do now is settle down, move on…” She swallowed. Come on. You’ve done this a million times. “Start our family.”
He took his arm from her grip to wrap around her shoulders, flashing a sharp smile, “That’s my fuckin’ girl,” Her cheeks heated–more from annoyance than embarrassment–but the crowd awed all the same. “Strongest damn person I’ve ever met.”
Strong? That was a new one. Usually she’d get the opposite; weak, helpless, quirkless. Was she strong? She could find a million reasons to contradict the idea. Someone strong would’ve fought, would’ve kicked and screamed and cried until someone–anyone–listened to her, until she truly was free. She’d rolled over and shown her belly so easily, hadn’t she?
No. She did fight. She’d gone through all the kicking and screaming and crying she could. But the years had worn her down. She found it was easier–and less painful–to let him have his way. He could be soft when he had his way; he could be gentle when he had his way; she decided she liked it when he was soft and gentle. And so, he had his way.
Still. Someone, not her, could make the case that she couldn’t be strong at all, to go along with this farce. And to this person she’d point them to–
“The Hero Commission truly is an outstanding institution,” The universe had a sick sense of humor, didn’t it? “To keep a case like this–no leads–open so long,” The host smiled a smile with too many teeth, “We are so lucky to have the protection from such noble leaders.”
He replied, something about heroes and how great and strong and infallible they were. She was too busy fantasizing about how lovely the world would’ve been had it been turned to ash and dust all those years ago.
Because, honestly. How bad could the villains be? If it was a hero that had imprisoned her. A hero who had stolen her from her life and raped her and impregnated her all in the name of love. How bad could the villains be if it was the heroes who kept her trapped in this joke of a life? She decided she liked villains more than heroes. At the very least, they owned up to their crimes.
She turned to look at him, his sharp features, built like a tank, and yet, still entirely too pretty for the devastation he had wrought upon her. She couldn’t tell if he was a hero or a villain. She couldn’t tell if she hated him or if she loved him.
“I ain’t into all that sappy shit,” He started, “But, end of the day, I’m the luckiest fucker in the world havin’ her here with me. Wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”
Both? Maybe it was both. Could you hate someone you loved? Could you love someone you hated? He lifted his arm to ruffle her hair, and she decided it didn’t matter. She’d long resigned herself to this fate; what was another resignation?
“No,” She turned as the audience roared to life, “Not a single thing.”
if love is surrender, then whose war is it anyway?
yandere! pro-hero! katsuki bakugou x assistant! reader
content warnings – manipulation, kidnapping, allusions to prolonged captivity
word count – 3.8k
💿 psychoabble by frou frou
It was a phase.
It was a phase, just like every other fucked up, emotionally constipated outburst he’s had in his life. Just like when bullying Izuku was a phase. Just like when bullying you was a phase. It was just a phase, so it would just have to pass like the rest.
He used to follow Izuku around at UA, used to listen in on his conversations, used to butt in on his relationships. And so what? He got over it and look at them now, better than ever. He was making amends. His behavior wasn’t any different from then. Keeping tabs on you was his job as a hero, just like any other citizen in his jurisdiction. Hell, if he hadn’t been there that day, you might not have even been here still.
It was fine. You are fine. He is fine. It’s just a phase. Katsuki does not have a problem.
The problem was solved the day he gave you a job at his agency. The café you worked at got caught in the crossfire of a robbery, resulting in its closure. The dumbass villain couldn’t have picked a worse location at a worse time with a worse crowd. It was a rare day off for Katsuki, so sue him that he went out incognito to get some coffee made by you. So what that it was a 45-minute walk? Was it suddenly against the law to go out of your way for coffee in the morning? He sure as hell didn’t think so. Besides, you were the only one who knew how to make a cup worth a damn.
But it wasn’t the fact that the villain had directed his threats towards you that had him nearly blowing up the whole block. There was a whole lobby full of innocent people at stake; no other reason for him to act rashly and nearly blast the man to death. ‘Course, his disguise was ruined, but to hell with that. He was more concerned with the fallout of everyone involved, but you were the only one he collected a statement from. Funny how that happened, but, hey, that’s just the way it happened.
Katsuki was sure he didn’t make your situation better by having your childhood bully save you. It was the first time you had recognized him in years, and it showed. You hunched in on yourself despite the minor back injury you had sustained from a hit from the villain. Your arms crossed despite their cuts, your eyes sharp despite their weariness. He couldn’t blame you as much as he wanted to. He wanted any other reason for you to treat him with contempt other than himself.
The medics on the scene were quick to dismiss you for your bumps and bruises. You were quick to disappear. Katsuki could justify a lot of things, but he couldn’t justify chasing you down from an active crime scene. Not to the police, at least. It was a few more days before he decided to track you down. Just some standard follow-up bullshit. Nothing weird.
He couldn’t exactly show up at your ratty apartment uninvited despite stopping himself on multiple occasions before. And he could have gotten away with it, too. A building without security cameras made you a really easy target. Lucky for him, your landlord was quite the fan and chatterbox – expressing his sympathy for losing your job, going on and on about how hard it was for a quirkless young woman like yourself. Apparently, you could barely hold down a job before the café because of your quirk status. Hell, most places don’t even rent to quirkless people on their own.
Small talk was hardly tolerable for Katsuki. He stomached as much as he could take before excusing himself to your apartment. At least he got some good information out of the bastard, but he didn’t trust him. Said too much, especially about you. It made him even more anxious to see you in such a place. But he couldn’t pretend to understand your circumstances; he had no business to judge your choices. He had to remind himself that you finally opened the door he’s stood by so many times. You didn’t look any more pleased to see him the second time around.
“What are you doing here?”
Katsuki was expecting some bark, but you were even more shrunken in on yourself than last time. He felt like he was looking at the little eight-year-old girl who cried her heart out after confessing to him all over again. Small. Weak. Defeated. He had half a mind to wrap you up in the arms that once pushed you and show you just how gentle they could be now.
“It’s standard for witnesses to be reevaluated after an attack .” Real smooth, Katsuki. But then again, he wasn’t there to flirt.
“Could have left that to the police like all the other witnesses.” You avert your eyes. He’s losing you. “As you can see, I’m fine. You don’t have to waste any more time. I’m sure you’re a busy man.”
His foot lodged in the door the moment you began to close it. One. Take a deep breath. Katsuki can’t afford to lose his temper. You already look scared enough without him practically forcing his way in. Two. Katsuki removed his foot and adjusted his posture.
“Sorry, force of habit.” It was a quick remark, shy almost.
Fuck, he had never had to try so hard in conversation this many times in a single day. Three. Be honest.
“I wanted to…” Wanted to what? Check on her personally? Apologize? Confess? “I want to offer you a job. I know you lost yours due to my… recklessness.”
“A job.” You sounded even less thrilled than you looked. “That’s a nice offer, but-”
Four. Five. Another deep breath. Be honest. Six.
“I mean it. Look, I…”
For the first time in a long time, Katsuki felt at a loss for words. He wanted everything to stop. Time. Him. You. He wanted you to stop looking at him like he was going to trip you or tease you or shove you. He wanted you to look at him as he is now, not like the boy who laughed in your face when you told him you liked him.
Seven.
“I want to apologize. For everything. I’m sorry. Let me do this for you.”
You scoffed. Eight. Deep Breath. You stood there, looking at the ground and chewing at your lip the same way you did ten years ago.
“What do you expect me to do for you, huh? I’m just a quirkless, worthless loser, remember?” You spat, finding some bite to your bark.
Nine. She’s just trying to get you to react, Katsuki.
“I need a secretary, someone to keep track of my bullshit back at the agency. It pays way fuckin’ better than whatever you were making there.” It was his turn to sound timid, to feel afraid of rejection.
“Fine.”
“Good. I’ll see you at my agency tomorrow at 8 AM.”
Ten. Exhale. Just a phase.
It had been a year since that day. Not that he’s been counting. Definitely not. You adjusted quickly to your new environment at the agency– at his side. It was like he dragged in a feral stray when you first started, too skittish and too guarded. Sometimes, he feared that you would really bite him if he got too close too soon. Now, you’re much more like his comfortable pet, sitting perched in front of his office where you belong.
Even after you accepted the job offer, you hardly seemed interested in accepting his apology. It was cool. Fine. Good. Katsuki could move at your pace, no problem. He’s waited this long; what’s a little while more now that he has you in his pocket? No reason to be so anxious now that he’s got you so close. It’s not like you’re a goddamn flight risk, he’s made sure of that.
Katsuki was older now, much more keen on the idea that slow and steady can indeed win the race. But, my god, did you like to take a Sunday stroll right through his life. He thought by this point, you would have given in to your own affections – if you were even aware of them yourself. It’s like an instinct he’s developed after being a public figure for so long, and an attractive one at that. He knew the shy looks; he knew the subtle blush. He bet you didn’t even know.
He knew how to spot a fangirl from a mile away.
‘Course this was bound to happen, damn near planned to happen. Leaving his love life up to fate? Fat chance. Katsuki knew how it was going to go down; he’s had you stuck in his mind for too long not to. He practically glowed at the thought of you, or he would if that was something he did. He wouldn’t mind doing it for you. Despite the swelling pride in his chest for his confirmation, you were still too…guarded for his liking.
Hasn’t he been good to you? Given you a chance, even you yourself didn’t think you deserved? Showed you how he changed? Showed you how capable he was? Because he was capable of a lot, a lot more than he let on. He knew his childish arrogance would get him nowhere – despite how much he wanted to flex for you. Katsuki was tired of being subtle, tired of holding back in fear of coming on too strong and scaring you off for good.
He hadn’t felt this emotional since he was 15, twisting and writhing with himself when he wanted to twist and writhe with you. Izuku was the one who suggested he start writing his thoughts down just to get them out of his system. “Journaling,” or whatever the fuck he called it. His past therapist had suggested the same thing, but he never saw the need for it; work was all he needed to get the frustration out.
But this was different. This wasn’t frustration directed towards himself, but directed towards his work. This was deep-seated, rooted in the core of insecurities he really didn’t know existed. This was not his hero ranking, his stats, his work ethic – all things that he didn’t need approval for, at least not anymore. He knew he was the best hero on the scene, and he didn’t really need to do much to prove it. He could take it when he was criticized for it; too aggressive, too ruthless. It didn’t matter to him.
But this? This was him. No rankings, no smoke and mirrors, no quirk. Katsuki could be the very best of himself, and it still might not be good enough for you. And that was a rejection he could never accept. A rejection he would never accept.
So he wrote. Katsuki wrote and wrote and wrote until he felt like his hand would come clean off his wrist. It started out simple, surface-level things anyone could see about you if they cared to look hard enough. Easy right? All out of his system. No problem. Just some simple detailing about what he thought about you.
And it was simple until he got to the real details. Details that were just a little too personal, a little too intimate. Details he wasn’t supposed to know, details that should make him ashamed but don’t. Details that were years in the making. But it was fine, right? Izuku was the freak with hero journals, dating more than ten years back, with classmates he barely spoke to anymore. Hell, the nerd had some on heroes he’s never even met before. So Katsuki wasn’t a freak for keeping one on someone he spoke to every single day. It wasn’t weird at all.
Even when the plan started to become a real plan with a real timeline, it still wasn’t weird. His thoughts and feelings couldn’t get him in trouble; they belonged to him just as much as they belonged to you. The way he felt about you, the things he wanted to do for you. Writing down what he was too afraid to admit out loud, admit to himself. It was fine because he didn’t act on anything; this was just a release for him.
But that’s just it, isn’t it? Katsuki wasn’t weird. No, no, no. Katsuki was an addict, and he could admit he had a problem. But it wasn’t all bad. He was doing his own rehab on his own time. The more he accepted his feelings, the better he felt. Acceptance and wellness, it’s just so easy to conflate the two. However, Katsuki still knew that accepting his feelings and acting on them were two entirely different beasts.
Prepping a room for you didn’t mean he actually planned to make use of it. Once you agree to move in with him, he can just convert it back into an office. He just needed to get it out of his system. Easy. Done. Following you around on his off days was his way to decompress. His form of relaxing. God knows he could use some more of it. Seeing you safe made him at peace more than anything massage or meditation could offer him. Hell, he even had the restraint to never approach you outside of the office. Perfectly fine. Not weird.
So what if the original plan was not what was on paper? It was fine. You weren’t sticking to the plan he had in his head when he first hired you, so why should he? These things happen, and Katsuki can adapt. You were too shy, he surmised. He won’t let it slow him down; he can be plenty bold for the both of you. His new plan was more realistic, more thoughtful, more tailored for success. Katsuki left no margin for error.
And this is exactly where his plan led him, down to the minute. The time was 10:18 on a Friday evening, well past the time his main agency was closed for business. It was just you and him left in the quiet halls, just like it always should have been. Half the lights had been shut off, the music had been cut, and the chatter followed everyone else out the door for the long weekend. He waited for a beat, watching you, too engrossed in your work to realize you had been left behind. Not by him, though. He was more than eager to pick you up, finally.
“You still here?”
He wanted to chuckle when you jumped, your gasp filling the almost deafening silence. You were the one to laugh it off, placing a hand on your chest.
“Yes, I’m still here. I had no idea it had gotten so late.” You sighed, the small smile from your laugh still gracing your face.
Katsuki always liked the way you looked after work. You had a slightly messy look to you after so many hours, a look he’d always hoped to ruin one day if you ever got brave enough to slink into his office when no one was around to see. The light above your desk was one of the few that stayed on, illuminating you like an angel. His angel. He was comfortable where he was, leaning on the wall across from you. The light was only half as good on him, making him more unreadable than usual whilst he lurked so close.
“Let me walk you to your car.” It wasn’t really a request; these things hardly ever were with him. He knew you didn’t have a car. You didn’t know that, though. Always so impersonal with him.
The bag you brought to work was a worn thing, a little satchel in your favorite color with a Dyanmight bomb keychain attached to it. It was the first thing he ever gave you, a frivolous tchotchke you still held onto. You barely reached for the bag before he took it for you, slinging it on his shoulder as it belonged there. Your coat was already in his left arm as he gave you his right.
“I, uh…I actually don’t drive.” You acted like it was something to be ashamed of, something he would shame you for. You take his arm anyway, just your hand nesting its way into the crook of his elbow. “I take the train a few blocks from here, you don’t have to-”
“Bullshit.” He interjected. “Like hell I’m lettin’ you walk and take the train at this hour. I’ll take you home.”
There was an almost awkward moment of silence in the deadened hallway, save for the sound of your shoes and the rustling of his costume against your things. You let out another short yet contented sigh, slightly squeezing his arm. “If it's not too much trouble.”
“For you? Heh, never.” He was equally as contented, hardly able to contain the grin that wanted to split across his face.
The silence was comfortable after that; there wasn’t much to be said anyway. Even in the awe-inspiring size of his agency, there still wasn’t enough room for the both of you. There are too many corners, too many places to be spied upon, despite being the only ones in the building. Too many places for your feelings to hide. He opened the car door for you, placing your things with more care than you would grant him to have in the backseat. The car was much more spacious, much more intimate. Less worry about the ears listening in and more worry about too much truth coming out.
His choice of music was odd, you thought. More odd than his strangely calm behavior. You didn’t take him for someone who would listen to something so sappy, so earnest. But then again, he never was too good with his words, was he?
“I really appreciate you doing this for me.” You murmur, afraid to be the first to break the silence.
“It’s really no problem.” He was so blunt, so matter-of-fact about things.
“Not just about the car ride, I mean.” You blurted out, fearful you would lose your courage if you didn’t say it fast enough.
Your gaze was fixed on the road ahead, not daring to meet his. He was handsome, too handsome. You felt shy just to look at him; your resolve would crumble if you had to. And he knew it, now more than ever.
“You gave me a second chance, you know. With this job? You didn’t have to do that for me.” You felt like you were out of breath, eyes now shut tight. His hand found its way to your knee, grounding you, encouraging you. “I just… I want you to know that I really do forgive you… for everything.”
Katsuki might as well damn near crash the car at that point, one hand on the wheel with a heartbeat that wanted the car to match its speed. His thumb stroked the inside of your knee, grounding himself as much as it did you. Thank god you hadn’t noticed he already passed your apartment.
“I’m..I’m just so damn happy that you can see that I’ve really changed.” His grip tightened on your knee as he locked the doors to the car. “I’ve always wanted to make it up to you. I finally know how.”
The lanes around you started to get slimmer and slimmer as you realized you were driving out of the city.
“We…we passed my apartment. I think you can flip a U-turn up here.”
His grip was suddenly too tight, the car suddenly too small to sit comfortably in.
“I know, I said I was taking you home.” Way, way too matter-of-fact about things now.
It was wrong; everything was wrong. The car, your job, his hand, it was all just wrong, wrong, wrong. You should have taken your chances with the train, never accepted his arm, never allowed him to take your bag. What were you thinking? Letting him grab his stuff for you like he owned it? He-
“Take a deep breath, you’re okay.” His thumb was still stroking your knee, but you could feel it slowly inching its way up.
“Please, just turn the car around. Please, Bakugou. We can forget about-”
“”S call me Katsuki.” He was humming along to the song now. The road had narrowed down to one. It was so dark.
“Okay, K-Katsuki. Please, just turn the car around, okay? It doesn’t have to be like this.” You really thought you were going to hyperventilate now.
“I know it doesn’t. Just relax, okay? I said I was taking you home, ‘s exactly what I’m doing.” His arm moved from your thigh to holding you flush against the seat by your chest.
“My home, my home is back there!” You were hysterical at this point.
“No, it ain’t. Your home is with me.” He exerted more force to hold you down, expecting your panic to set in and your thrashing to be erratic. Katsuki knew this would happen. He’s okay with it.
The car pulled into a gravel driveway and parked inside the garage, the door folding quickly behind it. You were crying, crying much harder than he thought you would. He expected a fearful submission from you, but here you were, writhing like a wild animal on its last legs. He was quick to catch you when you escaped the passenger seat, hauling you over his shoulder while you screamed and kicked. He let you. There was no one to hear you anyway.
It was a struggle to get you to the room upstairs, with you grabbing onto whatever you could find purchase with. Katsuki didn’t want to hurt you, but he was okay with getting a little rough. He hoped you’d grow to like it with time. He spared you no comfort until he got into the confines of your room, where he shushed you and laid you on the bed. Your entire frame was kept down with one arm as he reached into your bedside table, taking out your syringe.
“You’re more feisty than you let on,” he chuckled. “I like it. But right now, I think you need a nice, long nap to feel better, yeah, angel?”
You were damn near biting him as he injected you, watching you practically foam at the mouth for a hit into whining and letting your tears run as fast as they came. Your hyperventilating had simmered to a heavy pant as you stared up at him, eyes wide with fear and betrayal.
“I know, baby. I know.” His bare hand came to stroke the hair on the left side of your head, brushing away whatever stuck to your tears. “I know you’re scared, but it’s okay. You don’t know the real me yet.”
❤︎ SYNOPSIS: your boyfriend katsuki gets hit by a quirk, and splits into two versions of himself. this bodes both beautifully and horribly for you.
❤︎ CONTENT: boyfriend!katsuki, pro hero!katsuki, kat is actually lowk an asshole, light choking, making out, lots of petnames (sweetheart, princess, baby), cunnilingus (ew—that word), fingering, technical threesome, squirting … 18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.
❤︎ XOXO, PUMA: alternatively, y/n vs both of katsuki’s brain cells. also ty sm to @kamislop for beta reading !
♫ NOW PLAYING: what you want, angéle ft justice
read on ao3 | 3.9k words | masterlist.
“BABY, ‘M HOME!”
“Shut the fuck up—loud as shit, my God.”
“…We have explosions for hands.”
“And I said what I fuckin’ said!”
You hear the familiar jingle of Katsuki’s boots at the front door. Except, there’s double the sound there should be—louder belt clanking, extra foot stomping—and, at first, you think he’s brought back a friend. Probably Eijirō, maybe Izuku. But, as you leave the shared bedroom to the sound of the front door slamming shut, you remember the call you received from his redheaded bestie about an hour ago.
“Okay, I’d like to preface this with everything is fine, Kat is safe and unharmed—well. As unharmed as he can be, but, like—”
“Eijirō, you’re stressing me out.”
“Sorry—sorry! I, uh, just wanted to give you a heads up that he’s coming home early. He got hit with a quirk, and like—again, he’s fine, and Recovery Girl said he’d just have to wait it out, but. Just a heads up.”
Yeah. Vague as hell, and now, you understand why.
Either you’re going insane, or your eye sight is deteriorating with a quickness, or both—because once you reach the entrance to welcome your boyfriend home, you’re seeing double.
What. The fuck.
“Oh thank fuck—c’mere, Baby.”
Katsuki—a Katsuki, you suppose—starts moving independent of the other. He all but collapses into very confused arms, dropping his chin on your head and squeezing you tight. The other one glowers, messily shoving two pairs of boots under the bench with complete disregard for his strict organizational pattern.
“Um…”
You blink at the Katsuki that cradles you. He gives a soft smile in return, one that usually requires blood, sweat, and tears to crack (even if it takes you a significant less amount of blood, sweat, and tears than the average human—they’re blood, sweat, and tears nonetheless) and you don’t know what to do with it. Where to put it.
“Got hit with a fucker’s quirk,” the other Katsuki explains after giving up on making the boots fit. Typically, there aren’t two pairs, but one—and the shoe rack is feeling the added pressure.
“So…it’s the quirk that split you in two,” you ask, even though you know. The answer is staring you right in the face, but, like. Just in case.
The Katsuki still holding onto you grunts in agreement, and you finally manage to peel away. He steps back as the other Katsuki steps forward, and you finally get a good look at how identical they are. Which, obviously, but it’s still slightly alarming, nonetheless. Like…the shining twins, if they were blond and angry. And covered in grime.
“Holy shit…” your eyes dart between the two of them, trying to find discrepancies in anything other than mismatched dirt. You find none, save for the way they hold themselves. You need better names—you can’t keep calling them Katsuki and other Katsuki.
“Do…you know when it’s going to wear off?”
A self-indulgent question. Perhaps.
“Fuckin’—no.” Angry Katsuki digs a knuckle into his ear, and the other one yawns. “They gotta track the fucker down, first. Apparently, I can’t do my goddamn job like this.”
He gestures between the two of them, and you teeter your head in semi-agreement. The other Katsuki pipes up, and god, you need better names.
“’M not pissed about it, though,” He steps out of line to grab the hand limp by your side, kissing your knuckles with the lightest touch you’ve ever felt. “Means I get to see you.”
Oh?
“I am,” angry Katsuki growls, slapping his counterpart’s hand away from yours. “I should be out there, hunting that mitosis motherfucker.”
“If you go out there, you’re killing him,” other Katsuki defends. Angry Katsuki rolls his eyes.
“Fuckin’ exactly.”
Other Katsuki just sighs, turning back to you. Immediately his features soften along with his voice. “How’ve you been today, Baby? I left early.”
“Um…good? This is just…” you peer around Katsuki’s body to view the other one, who rolls his eyes again, almost completely ignoring your presence. That is, until:
“Ima fuckin’ shower,” he grumbles, and walks down the hall.
“A lot?” Other Katsuki finishes for you, watching his parallel until he disappears into the bedroom, and you nod.
Something like that.
“Okay. Kat.” You point to Angry Katsuki, who’s now glowering on the couch, much like he did at the front door, and much cleaner than before. Your finger shifts to Other Katsuki, until his head becomes a small point at the top of your fingernail. “Suki. That way, if I call, you both don’t come running. Cool?”
While Suki nods his head with diligence, Kat finally smiles. Not the soft smile that’s reserved for you, but the self-satisfied smile reserved for villains, the one that barely hides his hunger for blood.
“Hear that, Nerd? I’m Kat, not your bitch-ass.”
Suki blinks, relatively confused, and tips his head to the side. “Why the fuck does that matter?”
“’Cuz I’m the original!” Kat says loud and proud, digging a thumb into his chest. “Not you.”
“…Again, why the fuck does that matter,” Suki grumbles, less a question and more an observation. A statement. “We got split in two. We’re two halves of the same person, not a copy-paste.”
“I fuckin’ know that, shit stick.” Kat’s hands crackle at the prospect of being challenged, and while Suki tries to hide the way he shrinks in on himself, you throw a spare pillow at Kat’s head.
“Ow, what the fuck!”
“No explosions in the house!”
Kat grumbles, but his hands fizzle out. He shakes them out at his sides. “’M not doin’ this shit—’m goin’ to bed.”
“Ah-Ah! No,” you say, and Kat freezes like you grabbed him physically, like there’s an invisible wall that separates the living room from the rest of the house. “You said we’d watch that move tonight, remember?”
“We said,” he amends, looking unimpressed before jerking his head to Suki. “Make him watch it.”
“No! It’s exactly like you said—you both promised. Technically,” you smile and look at Suki, who, honestly, looks like there’s no other place he’d rather be—he just watches you talk with his chin propped on a hand and love in his eyes. “So. We’re both watching it.”
“Fuckin’—fine,” Kat groans, loud and obnoxious, and to the ceiling. He sits back down with a huff. “But I swear to God, if it’s some fuckin’ Twilight shit again—”
“It’s not.” You get up only to shove Kat over with a hip, quitting his manspreading, and make yourself enough room between them. He lets you. Suki wraps both arms around your middle, and cuddles you close and tight, like you might up and disappear tomorrow. “That was one time—”
“One horrible time, when I was forced to watch five fuckin’ movies of absolute bullshit—”
“It wasn’t that fuckin’ bad,” Suki defends with a quiet grumble, and you want to scoop him up and run away with him. “’S…campy.”
“Thank you,” you nod, before redirecting your attention to Kat, patting him on the leg. “See? Suki understands quality content when he sees it.”
“Get the fuck out my face.”
You don’t put on Twilight—but you do put on Argylle, and that’s not much better.
“So, you’re tellin’ me,” Kat trails off, and you watch the movie flicker in carmine eyes. “That the whole damn time, this chick was writing a book that predicts the future—”
“Specifically a spy-future, yes—”
“And, that’s why…y’know what? Fuck this shit, my head hurts.”
“You have no sense of whimsy,” you sigh, unimpressed. Kat rolls his eyes.
“Listen, Sweetheart,” He fills his voice with faux saccharine, artificial flavoring, and you scowl at the mockery. “I got a job—a real serious job. Don’t got fuckin’ time for ‘whimsy.’”
Kat hangs air quotes with a hand, and that just pushes your frown deeper.
“Oh, and I don’t?” you smile, but it’s just as artificial as his words. Kat glowers, and behind you, Suki goes:
“Uh oh…”
“Somethin’ like that.”
With a huff, you snatch him by blond spikes—and, if Kat is even a little tenderheaded as Katsuki is…
You yank and pull upward, and Kat rises with your grip. Yep. “Ow, what the fuck?! Ah—okay, fuck, I’m sorry—”
He hisses, face twisting in agony—and finally, you relent the torture. You let him go with a satisfied smile, and Kat snarls at you, rubbing the soft points of his head.
“What did we learn?”
Suki snickers under his breath. “Fuckin’ nothing.”
Kat scrambles at that, getting to his feet in preparation to attack. Fear flashes across Suki’s face, making you wonder if his statement was supposed to come out quieter, perhaps unheard. He scrambles over the arm of the couch, and you get thrown around in his rush.
“You’re fuckin’ dead meat!” Kat hollers. Suki takes off in a mad dash.
It isn’t before long that they’re chasing each other in circles around the couch, like a pack of wild dogs, snarling and huffing and puffing. (With the occasional spark—which you’re quick to put out.) You watch your movie, and occasionally, them, and eat the majority of the popcorn in the process.
Eventually, they collapse back onto the couch and into their respective sides, twin chests heaving and glistening in sweat until their breath makes the mile long trek to catch up.
“You two done?” You ask, but never take your eyes off the screen. It’s getting to the good part.
Suki nods. “Yeah, sorry.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Kat snaps, and you double check to make sure he isn’t talking to you (because, if he is—you’re locking him in the basement), but he’s still glaring at Suki like he murdered his family. “You piss me the fuck off.”
“Clearly,” Suki snorts, this time quiet enough for Kat to not hear. Still vaguely out of breath, he squeezes your thigh to get attention, and slings his other arm behind you. “I wan’a kiss. Can I get a kiss, Baby?”
You giggle, because as stated, soft Katsuki is a Katsuki you’re used to having to work for, and then some. His hand lifts to your chin as you say, “Sure, Suki.”
And then, you’re getting snatched back by your pajama shirt, nearly choking in the process with an embarrassing and garbled noise.
“Abso-fuckin-lutely not,” Kat grunts, and you nearly fall backwards into his lap. “My girlfriend.”
“Your—” Suki cuts himself off with a scoff, grabbing your hand and pulling you up again—up and away. “One, we’re the same damn person, she’s both our girlfriend. And two, I want my fuckin’ kiss.”
Back.
“Well, that’s too damn bad,” Kat huffs, and you’re yanked again. This is starting to get dizzying. “I don’ want your bitch lips all over her.”
Forth.
“Okay,” Suki chuckles, and you’re tipped forward. Seriously? “And, I don’t want your ugly ass mug anywhere near my girl, so—”
Back.
“Oh, now it’s ‘your girl’—I thought we—”
Forth.
“Yeah. My girl, ‘cuz you don’ even know how to treat her.”
Back—Forth.
“You’re loud, and rude, and angry—”
Back and Forth and Back and Forth.
“Y’don’t appreciate shit that she does for us, and it fuckin’ shows—”
Back and Forth and Back and Forth. Back and Forth and Back.
“Yeah, and she loves me for it anyway, Dipshit—”
Back and Forth and Back and Forth an—
“Can you two quit it!”
When they still, you go tumbling forward and into Suki’s lap—which, Kat doesn’t like very much, and grumbles under his breath about it.
“Sorry, Baby.”
“Fuckin’ what.”
“You guys realize I can kiss both of you, right?” Your words border on exasperated. Kat rolls his eyes.
“Fine—I get first.”
“No, I do!”
“I will blast you to goddamn smithereens.”
“Fine! At least I get my fuckin’ kiss—”
“Oh my god,” you groan aloud, running hands over your face and sinking deeper into the couch. It’s endless. “Y’know what? No. Stand up.”
You pat both of their backs to urge them upwards, and they follow. Standing side by side and watching you—and if you thought that one set of Katsuki’s eyes were intimidating enough, try two.
“Okay, Suki—you asked first, so you go first.”
Kat grumbles under his breath, something about ‘well if I fuckin’ knew that, woulda asked ages ago,’ but relents relatively quiet. Suki bends over with a smile, cradling the side of your face to lift it higher.
“Thank you, Baby.”
Katsuki’s lips always feel warm, and Suki’s are no different—they move slow and soft and patient, like he knows what’s coming, when it’s coming, so might as well take his time until he can see the finish line. He inhales like he could breathe you in, and the hand cupping your face tightens with want and satisfaction.
When Suki pulls away, you’re both breathless, and he rests his forehead against yours. “Missed you.”
But, before you can respond—
Suki is shoved out of the way, out of frame, and in comes Kat, who would be on fire if he could. “Y’call that a fuckin’ kiss? Watch and learn, Loser.”
Kat grabs you by the chin and kisses you with weight. He presses into you with his upper body, using a free hand to rest on the back of the couch, and placing a knee between your legs. Kat kisses you into the cushions and out of any breath you have left, leaving you scrambling for air.
“How was that,” Kat asks once pulling away, dragging his thumb across your kiss-swollen lips. You swoon, before remembering that this Katsuki is downright evil.
“It was…um…” you try to say fine, try to say okay, I’ve had better, but the weight of two intense stares fill your veins and cloud your judgement. And, just overall ability to speak as a whole.
“See Dumbass, what’d I say?” Kat hollers over his shoulder, standing up to glare at his doppelgänger. “Kiss her right and she fuckin’ melts.”
Suki bristles at that, but doesn’t bite back with words. Instead, he quietly assumes Kat’s place with a hum, thumbing the highest point of your cheek as he looks down. He studies you.
“Mmm…looks pretty solid to me,” Suki mutters, tilting your head every which way, like he’s trying to find something that’s not there. Kat yells from the back, ‘shitty ass joke!’ “Wha’d’ya think, Baby? Who’s better?”
“Um,” you swallow, and try to stifle your inner goblin. “I don’t…I think I’ll need more than that to…y’know…know?”
And, yet. The goblin comes out, anyway. (At least she’s respectful, this time.)
Suki teeters his head in consideration, and Kat snorts from behind him. “Fuckin’ pervert.”
You gawk. Because, like, yes, but also, “how am I supposed to know based off a three second kiss?”
“Valid question.”
“Listen—I don’t know about Mr. Chastity over here, but mine was definitely longer than three seconds.”
Suki gives him a look over his shoulder, and though you can’t see it, you can guess based off the way he goes, “Seriously?”
“I said what I said.”
You see the tail end of Suki rolling his eyes as he turns back to you, and the look of pure annoyance on his face shifts to one of affection. His thumb brushes your cheek again, as he leans forward, close enough for you to feel his breath across your lips.
“Well, Baby? Should we prove that fucker wrong?”
But, you’re not paying attention to much else other than the way Suki’s lips round and soften to form words that you barely hear. So, you just nod, let out a quiet ‘uh huh,’ and let him close the distance.
Suki kisses you with more passion this time around, but less vigor and aggression than Kat. You feel comfortable and grounded, and gasp, hands finding the middle of his shirt as he tilts his head to the side. You don’t get kissed stupid like you do with Kat—like the earth got flipped upside down and you just have to deal with it—but held and loved, and that’s stupefying enough.
Suki moans into your mouth, making your body run both hot and cold. It takes ages and alcohol to convince Katsuki to make a sound, to stop holding himself back, but this one might not. This one might not, and God, if that doesn’t make your head spin.
A tongue licks the seam of your lips but never pushes further than that, just enough for you to be aware of the threat and the want, but never enough to give. You whine, pushing deeper—and Suki smiles against your lips like that was exactly what he wanted, before his hand encompasses the front of your neck to squeeze, restricting your airflow just enough.
When he pulls away, the hand around your neck slides to your collarbones, and your eyes flutter shut. It continues to snake lower, past the waistband of your sweats and even lower than that, until two fingers run along your folds. They’re gone as quick as they came, and Suki pulls them out to reveal—
“See? She’s soaked.”
Kat growls, but before he can say anything, Suki tucks both fingers into his mouth and sucks. It’s obscene, and you think you see his tongue poke through at some point.
But then, he’s getting shoved in the shoulder, falling into the couch and more importantly, away from you, as Kat takes his place between your legs. Before you have time to protest (which—you won’t, but you might’ve for a second, for like, posterity) Kat is shoving your sweats down to your ankles, clearly tired of playing fair.
“I’m sick of his shit,” he grumbles, shifting your hips forward until you’re nearly laying flat. “Aren’t you sick of his shit, Princess?”
You don’t really know what to say to that. Luckily, you’re not given much time to—Kat sticks his tongue out and licks a fat stripe up your pussy, swirling his tongue around your clit, and dragging it back down.
“Fuckin’—take your goddamn time,” Suki growls, and Kat just rolls his eyes and continues his ministrations. “I worked hard to get her that fuckin’ wet, y’know—”
Kat only pulls his mouth away to give his double an incredulous look, pointing at your pussy like you’re not even there. “Oh, you think you did this.”
“I know I did,” Suki snarls at the slight, and when Kat chuckles around your clit, it makes your thigh seize. “But, fine—fuck her dry like an animal. See if I care when she comes runnin’ to me ‘cuz y’don’t know what the fuck you’re doin’.”
Kat doesn’t grace his words with more words, just flips a middle finger in his direction before that hand finds your thigh. Only to spread your legs wider, broaden his plate, and you nearly keel over when he sucks too hard.
“He bein’ too rough?” Suki coos, grabbing you by the jaw and running a thumb along it’s sharpest point. “’S okay if you can’t cum, Baby—he has absolutely no finesse.”
Suki rips Kat away from you by the hair, his lips flushed and glossed from you, and yanks him out of the way. Kat snarls and lets his palms pop, but one halfhearted glare from you, and they fizzle right out.
“He’s being a dick!” Kat defends, gesturing at the perpetrator with open hands—said perpetrator simply settles between your legs, licking his lips. Kat is ignored.
Suki moves a lot slower than Kat does—still hot and heavy, but languid, like he knows you’re not going anywhere any time soon. He licks you up and down, avoiding places that would do anything more than simmer. But, even low heat will eventually come to a boil, and your breath hitches when a finger brushes your entrance.
Kat yawns. “I’m fuckin’ bored.”
Suki rolls his eyes and can’t help but pull away, get another word in—but his finger finally quits (some of) the teasing and plunges right in. You shiver, then melt. “Well, that’s too damn bad.”
“Yeah, it is—make her scream or somethin’ before I fuckin’ fall asleep.”
“Oh, please fall asleep,” Suki insists, but never takes his eyes away from you—your pussy—as he berates his double, too fascinated by the way you squeeze and relax around him. “I’d love if you fell asleep—I could be both of us, and she wouldn’t even notice.”
Kat barks out a laugh, loud and sarcastic. “You get mad at me for bein’ rude, then you call her stupid? Some white knight.”
“No,” Suki says, and adds another finger and curls them upward—it makes your leg kick involuntarily, and it probably would’ve done some damage if he didn’t catch it in time. “I’m callin’ you basic. Bitch.”
“Oh, you fuckin—”
“Guys! Please!” You scream at the ceiling. You’re exhausted and annoyed, semi-horny and so far away from the finish line. “Stop arguing—do you want me to cum or not?”
And, well. That shuts them up quicker than you expected.
“Absolutely, Baby.”
“Ugh—fuckin’ whatever.”
Suki focuses on you, after that. Kat tries to distract him with playground insults, tugging at his hair like a childhood bully, but the most he gets in response is a middle finger. Suki hoists your thigh onto his shoulder, and, when you wiggle too much, uses a free hand to pin your waist in place.
It’s an embarrassingly short amount of time until you feel the fire in your belly turn dangerous, like wind carrying bonfire embers into trees to ignite them. It’s not your fault—there’s two pair of eyes when there should be one, equally eager, equally fascinated. Kat catches your chin and pulls you in for a rough kiss, and Suki’s eyes flutter when you squeeze around him, like he’s fingering himself and feeling every curve of his fingertips.
You squirm, understanding the specifics of the feeling that builds and hating them. “Ah fuck—think I’m gonna…?”
“Squirt?” Suki finishes with a knowing smile, like that’s what he’s been aiming for this whole time, and you bristle.
“Fuck you,” you pant, but it get infinitely harder to argue as your vision starts to blur with your breathing. “Yes, Asshole.”
“Hot,” Kat nods in agreement, and if you had the wherewithal to, you’d chuck a pillow in his face. Again.
“You know I hate this.” You give Suki an half-hearted glare, and he fights the smile growing on his face. “Why do you do this to me.”
“Because it’s hot,” Suki hums, and honestly, he deserves a pillow to the face as well. “C’mon, Baby—relax, let it happen.”
He starts stroking your thigh like that’s going to help any. It doesn’t, and the stick you use is no longer good enough to defend your impending orgasm, which is horrible, horrible news for the couch cushion. You’ll need to flip it over. Again.
(So—maybe you should just buy a new cushion, at this point. And avoid sitting in your usual spot on the couch.)
While the orgasm doesn’t catch you by surprise, the strength of it does. Your thighs squeeze around Suki’s head as much as they’re able—as much as he allows—and a hand finds Kat’s to hold on tight and squeeze. You feel Kat fall into your shoulder, or maybe you fall into his. Your body burns, buzzes, anything that starts with a b that sounds hot. You’re hot. On fire, actually.
You don’t open your eyes until the feeling subsides—in time to watch Suki pull away, face soaked, and the couch cushion even more so. Kat takes two fingers and runs them along your folds, only to dip them into his mouth and hum with contentment.
“Sweet, right?”
“Fuck yeah.”
And you, feeling the wet cushion under your back, haven’t decided whether you’re going to smother both (?) your boyfriends in their sleep.
(You make both of them sleep on the couch that night—the wet couch that’s their fault. Kat doesn’t get it, he didn’t even do anything. Suki accepts his fate with a knowing grin.)
summary: you’re leading choso along so he’ll tutor you for free
contents: 18+, MDNI, various!jjk characters x reader, smut, explicit sexual content, yandere!choso, kidnapping, implied stalking, non-consensual drugging, non-con/dub-con, age play (ish), pet names (daddy & little girl), slight stockholm syndrome?
word count: 2.4k
part 2/31
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notes: hi everyone, hope you enjoy!
“Heyyyy, Choso,”you sing, coming up to him in the library. Your skirt sways with your movements as you stand before his desk. “It’s good to see you!”
“Shh,” he whispers, glancing around at the surrounding students.
You look around, too, finding that they’re giving you the stink eye. You huff and lower your voice. “Choso, thanks for doing this for me. I would totally fail my exam on Friday if you didn’t help!”
He smiles softly and nods, his expression almost shy. All this time tutoring you, and he still can’t quite meet your eyes. An adorable little blush colors his cheeks, and you giggle softly, twirling your hair.
You know you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.
You slide into the seat next to him, and his blush burns deeper, redder. You giggle again and pull your Intro Bio textbook out of your backpack. You flip through the pages until you reach the chapter you’re studying: genetics.
Why in god’s name do you need to know punnet squares?
You take out your notes from the lecture and huff as you set them down on the table before you. “I just don’t get it!” you say indignantly. “How am I supposed to draw a family tree from stuff I don’t know?”
“Here,” he says, grabbing your notebook and a pen. “It’s easy; I’ll show you.”
So you spend the next hour and a half trying to figure out inheritance patterns and genetic traits, and though you’re not sure you understand, you do learn enough to complete your homework assignment. You just hope your little study session helps you enough to pass the exam on Friday.
Once you’re done, you start packing up your things. “Thanks, Cho,” you say, and you lean in and kiss his furiously blushing cheek. “I owe you one.”
He stammers, “U-uh, what are you doing this weekend?” He looks like he wants to smack himself for his awkward delivery of an otherwise smooth question.
You giggle, smiling at him. “I have a date! That guy from our history class, Naoya! He’s a total hottie, I can’t wait!”
At the news, Choso’s expression seems to flatten. “Naoya?” he asks. Then he shakes his head and offers another small smile, though it’s much less convincing this time. “That’s nice.” Then he digs into his backpack. “I forgot, I made these for our study session.” He pulls out a bag with cookies in them.
“Aww, Cho, you’re such a sweetheart,” you coo, placing another kiss on his cheek. He doesn’t blush like he did last time. “Hope these aren’t fun-time cookies,” you giggle, knowing that he’s not the type to put weed in any of his baked goods. He’s too button-up for that.
He just smiles and offers one to you. You take it and nibble on it, humming in appreciation. “These are good!” You take another for the road. “Thanks!”
You can feel his eyes on you as you walk away, waving over your shoulder. He just waves back, letting you leave the library.
And then, your vision starts to close in, and before you’re even halfway back to the dorms, your eyes close and you collapse.
Just in time for someone to catch you.
~
You wake up tied to a bedpost.
You lift your hazy, weary head, blinking away the bleariness in your gaze. You look around, lids heavy, taking in your unfamiliar surroundings. You don’t recognize the room you’re in, but you can tell that it’s a dorm room by the shitty carpet and dinged up furniture. You’re sitting on the floor, with your wrists bound to the bedpost, and your ankles tied together.
Right as you try to force your wrists apart, a familiar voice says, “I wouldn’t do that.”
Your head whips around, and you see Choso lounging on his bed, hands clasped in his lap. Your eyes widen, and you try to shrink away from him, but the ropes on your wrists keep you from moving too far away. You stare at him for a moment, and then you shriek, “Choso what the hell?!”
He cringes at your shout, but doesn’t move. He says, “You were going to go on a date with that…” His expression darkens. “That swine, Naoya.”
“And so you kidnapped me?” You’re still yelling. You fight against the ropes binding you to the bedpost once more. “What the hell is wrong with you? Let me go!”
He sighs and shakes his head. “I can’t do that. I can’t let you go with him. You’re mine.” He says it with a growl so low you don’t even recognize his voice.
You shiver at his tone, but you try to continue acting tough. “I am not yours, Choso! You had no right to take me! Or drug me! Or do anything without my consent!”
He huffs, shaking his head. “You don’t understand. I’m saving you a lot of heartache, a lot of hurt.”
Your eyes blaze as you glare at him. “And what if I had no expectations for him? What if I just wanted to fuck him? What if he never would’ve had my heart in the first place? You didn’t think about that, did you?” Your voice pitches higher, though if it’s in anger or panic, you’re not sure.
His eyes darken once more at that, and he grits his teeth as he snaps, “Don’t you dare say that! I said you’re mine, sweetie, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. I just had to remind you who you belong to, see?” And with that he stands, his leg brushing against your upper arm as he goes. You shrink away from the contact.
He goes to the closet and takes out a small binder – a photo album, you realize as he opens it, letting the transparent sleeves flutter. But as he turns it to show you, your stomach drops to your feet.
Inside, there are pictures of you – dozens of them. Candids, selfies, pictures you took together while you were pretending to flirt with him to get him to tutor you for free. All of them compiled into a collage of obsession, of infatuation, of delusion.
Your eyes widen at the sight, and you look from the album back to Choso. His eyes are earnest, wide open, like he’s expecting you to be happy, to be flattered by the display.
You feel sick to your stomach. But you swallow the bile that threatens to rise and offer a wobbly, wary smile.
You’re afraid he will kill you if you don’t.
You’ve seen this sort of thing on television, where a man becomes so obsessed with someone that he deludes himself into thinking they’re together. And you think, maybe it was partially your fault, too, stringing him along like that. Using him just to better your grades and then shoving it back in his face.
Maybe it’s your fault you’re in this situation.
So you just smile and say, “Oh, Cho, that’s… that’s so great.”
He’s practically beaming. “You think so, right? You really think I’m good enough for you. You love me back, I know you do.”
You fight away a grimace; love was never something you were trying to look for. Especially from someone like Choso. But you nod, still smiling, and say, “Y-yeah, I… I do.”
He grins and kneels down beside you, taking your cheeks between his hands. He cups them gently, gazing into your eyes; his own are a lovely chestnut brown, so wide and earnest you can almost pretend he didn’t kidnap you and tie you up in his dorm room. “I’m glad you’re seeing reason, sweetie,” he says, his thumbs brushing against your skin, and you have to hold back a shiver of revulsion. “It means that we can just enjoy ourselves, that we can go back to how things used to be, right?”
You nod eagerly, hoping that this means he’ll let you go.
But, of course, you were naive to think that. Now that he has you – now that he knows what it’s like to make you his – he won’t be letting you go.
~
“Come on, little girl,” Choso breathes, pushing open your thighs to get a good look at the pastel pink panties he put you in, “let me taste you.”
He's got you on his mattress now, wrists tied over your head to one of the bedposts. His dark eyes are intense, watching you with rapt interest. You squirm and whimper, trying to push him away, and you have to resort to shoving him away from you with your legs. He catches the movement, though, and forces them apart again. He gazes up at you from between them, his eyes hardening.
“I thought you said you’d be a good girl,” he chides quietly, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest. One of his large hands strokes up and down your thigh, clearly aiming to be soothing, but how could anything he do comfort you when he’s the one who took you away from your life and keeps you tied up in this shitty dorm room?
But then his touch trails higher, just barely brushing the gusset of your pink panties, and fuck why does that have to feel good when it’s him?
He’s staring between your legs again, watching the pink fabric slowly grow damp with your arousal. He huffs a small laugh and leans in, breath fanning over your core. Your legs threaten to close again, but he just pries them apart once more.
“Be good,” he rumbles, and then he leans down to press a kiss to your messy, drooling cunt through your underwear.
You gasp, back arching up from the bed, hands bound over your head. “Choso–” you pant, hips tilting, trying to run away from the mystifying pleasure that he’s giving you.
He growls, deep in his chest. “What did I say to call me, sweetie?”
You shiver, chest already heaving. “Daddy,” you whisper, eyes squeezing shut in shame.
“That’s right,” he whispers back, his hand slowly trailing up your thigh. “Say it again.”
You swallow your pride and whisper it again. “Daddy.”
He groans, lashes fluttering as his eyes close. “Fuck, little girl, that’s it. Gonna cum just from you saying it.” His hand finally reaches the gusset of your panties, and he brushes his fingers against it again, gathering your slick on the fabric, creating a growing wet spot there.
You whimper at the contact, hips grinding down into his hand now instead of tilting away, chasing the pleasure he’s slowly offering you. His fingers dip into the fabric and pull it aside, finally revealing your pretty pussy to his eyes. You can hear his breath catch in his chest.
“Fuck, sweetie,” he says, one finger brushing the seam of your lips, sliding through slick arousal. Your hips jolt at the gentle touch. “You’re so fucking pretty.”
And then he leans in and presses a kiss there, and you can’t believe a loser like him, a nerd who you were just using to tutor you, knows how to eat pussy like a starving man. He makes out with your cunt, tongue slipping between your folds like it’s sliding into your mouth. Then, when the tip of his tongue brushes your clit, he focuses there for a moment, flicking it lightly with a gentle touch.
Then he goes back to kissing your lower lips, teasing you, taunting you. It’s not fair; you can’t even fight back, grab his hair and force him into your pussy, because your hands are still bound above your head. Instead, you just try to grind your hips against his mouth, hoping he can tell by your moans and cries that you need more.
He smirks against your cunt and looks up at you, whispering, “If you need something, you just need to ask daddy, sweetie.”
You whine, back arching again. “Please, daddy, eat me out. Put your tongue inside, lick my clit, anything. I need it, I need–” And before you can continue to beg, he’s already heeding your request, his tongue brushing against your clit, circling the bundle of nerves before he dives into your cunt, tongue plunging inside to taste your sweetness right from the source. He groans, the sound rumbling and vibrating against your pussy, and you cry out again, fingers curling into fists.
Then, once he has thrusted his tongue inside you a few times, he returns to your clit, this time sucking lightly while flicking his tongue against it. “Like this, baby girl?” he whispers before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking again.
“Oh, yes!” you cry, hips rocking against his face. “Please, please,” you beg, nearly sobbing at the intense sensations he’s giving you. “Please, lemme cum, daddy, please–”
He nods, chestnut eyes locked on yours as he watches you slowly fray at the seams, coming apart at the edges. You look so beautiful like this, so close to cumming in his mouth, that he can’t help but rut his hips against the mattress, humping the bed as he continues eating you out with fervor.
He moans into your pussy, his own cock pulsing in his pants. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, slurping at your clit, fingers digging into the plush flesh of your thighs. “God, you taste so good, little girl, so fucking good for daddy. You gonna cum on my face? Gonna cum for daddy?”
You nod desperately, nails leaving crescent imprints on your palms as you clench your fists. “Yes, daddy!” you whine, still grinding against his tongue.
“Come on, pretty girl,” he says, voice muffled by your thighs on either side of his head. “Cum for me.”
So you do, white hot pleasure shooting through you all the way out to your fingertips. Your back arches off the bed, and you writhe in place, cunt quivering and clenching around his tongue as he continues to lick you through it.
And as you cum in his mouth, he ruts once more against the mattress and cums right there, untouched by either your or his hand. He should find it in himself to be embarrassed, but he’s not; he can only be proud that he made someone as perfect, as beautiful, as you cum with his tongue.
So as the wet spot in his sweatpants starts to form and spread, drenching the sheets, he just gazes up at you, enjoying the sight of your bliss.
And as you watch him watch you – for just a moment – you can’t remember why you’re supposed to be resisting him at all.
summary: what should have happened to you happened to him. his wish, the potion worked, but at what cost? or, aerion's obsession au (version one)
pairing: aerion targaryen x ladyinwaiting!reader
warning(s): psychological themes, DARK!FIC, descriptions of violence, allusions to smut, angst, mention of death, slight valarr x reader, manipulation, aerion becomes somehow more psycho??
word count: 5.2k
a/n: a little late but here :)) also was listening to this song on repeat while writing this, hence the title
The whole thing is below himself. A pathetic means he’d snatched from the hand that held it in all but an instant.
A prince of the blood seeking help from townsfolk, a woods witch out of them all. And for the very purpose of the one thing he cannot seem to get his hands on..
You’ve lingered at court for years, brought from the confines of your noble house when you were just a girl, standing at the same height as him then. A lady in waiting for Lady Jena Dondarrion, his own aunt, and you were exactly what he viewed you as, what you should be.
Forbidden fruit.
You were taken under her wing, shielded and protected by the elder ladies just as you were by your father’s title. And it still leaves him with a scowl at just the thought, because he shouldn’t even give you one.
You’re careful, always present, a sparkling eyesore in royal jewels and silken dresses that remains standing in his way in corridors and blinds his view as you cheer for his cousin in the royal box at tourneys. You’re simply there, and yet still, you find a way to take over, laughing in jest, sitting so close, so comfortably with his family, his blood. The very people he only orbits, you bond and live beside. So pleasant and proper and.. captivating.
The same woman who stands dutifully among ladies and Kingsguard, the very one that charms his uncle and cousins with a smile and quip, the same who has his own younger brother chasing after you with laughter so loud it makes his head ache.
So achingly beautiful it grates at him. Chips away at everything he’s laid so properly before everyone like a vice. That now it’s seemingly driven him to the point of madness.
He shouldn’t have to do it, any other maiden or lady would be falling at his feet, no matter how nervous or scared. And he should have that, you should be doing so, but you won’t pay any mind to him, nor even give the chance. Kind and polite, tight lipped smiles from across the long table or a simple nod in shared company, that’s all. He doesn’t return them, but he watches, he waits.
In fact you bide more time into his cousin Valarr. The Young Prince, the one they speak of such a dutiful husband he will make, a great man like this father, that betrothals are soon to flood in with time. The man you reserve the softest smiles for, your arm in his as you walk amongst court.
And it makes him seethe.
Because he knows who it should be. And it should be him.
—
The ride back to the keep was a deadly silence, eerie with only the distant thunder of Ser Donnel’s stallion behind his own. Rain washed down in torrents, chasing them into the gatehouse as he slid from the saddle.
Ser Donnel had not questioned his Prince on the whereabouts, or why he called on him at such a late hour to journey into the streets of Flea Bottom, but they had done so. A small cabin the place was, down the back of a dingy, cobbled alleyway, lit only by torchlight in which the man stood vigilant underneath. Many would go to such a place for their ailments, whatever troubled them, their head, their aches, but no such place for a royal.
They had maesters for that. Though Aerion insisted, shoving past the older knight with a frown.
Whispers carried just as fast through King’s Landing, more so than their Ravens did. And the ailment the Prince had ordered for would not be cured by some lowly maester’s balm. This was urgent. And Aerion listened, far more than people cared to notice, and those whispers led him there.
“Should you need anything else, your Grace?”
Aerion fumbled with the belt of his cloak, tugging it from himself as the dirt caught from the streets and rain fell to the ground, leaving only his shirt and trousers clinging to him. His eyes flickered only for a moment, before shaking his head, shoving a small bundle into his pocket.
“No. Leave me.” He called back, straightening the tunic at its collar.
And the man took his leave, standing straight backed as Aerion passed him from the stables and walked in heavy strides through the pouring rain and into the lower stairwell of the Keep.
The damp still drips from him now, the warmth of the chambers doing little to settle the aching anticipation in his bones. The backs of his calves press sharp into the wood of the bed frame beneath him, boots planted harsh into the floor. His finger flicks back and forth along the clasp that encases the bundle.
A sphere, much like a perfume or pomander lord’s carry on their belt, something unsuspecting. Its patterns cover in gold and silver, wrapped in black twine all along its outside. A witch’s knot. One he’d heard through the woman’s rambling inside of the rickety, old store. Supposed that it was to ward evils away from its user, if used correctly.
He lets out a huff, sharp and drawn, eyes drifting along every intricate detail before cracking it open.
A singular diamond shaped vial lies inside of it.
He wasn’t certain what to expect, the witch left that much of it out. But its results are the only thing he’s after, no matter how queer the insides might seem. The liquid near enough matches his eyes, a deep velvety purple, swirling with a dark shimmer silting at the bottom.
Thunder rumbles low in the distance, rain now lashing onto the windows with a ferocity that would make some tremble. Would leave others to think on their decisions, to take their time to weather the storm around them, to think of such outcomes.
But he doesn’t, because Aerion never has, and he doesn’t care to any longer.
The instructions come back to him in parts, staring solely into the palm of his hand where he reaches for it with jerked fingers. But it doesn’t come simply, nor without price. He goes to take it, reaching in before he can stop himself from embarrassing himself any more. Though his movement acts otherwise, just as he plucks it, he jerks back, raising his finger to his lips where a searing pain pricks at him, the sphere tumbling to the floor.
A thorny branch from the twine sticks into his finger, catching along the skin and pouring blood from down until it drips onto his wrist. He bring it between his lips, sucking it into his mouth and licking it once before snatching it away, the sting of it dripping into his palm, his brow pulling tigh.
Remove the binding, break open the seal, speak your truth.
And drink.
That was all he was told. He can’t help but think how pathetic it sounds.
But he does it regardless, uncorking the vial with a sharp pop and bringing it to his lips before he can think against it. Aerion pauses in a single breath, eyes fluttering closed and open halfway.
“Make her be mine.” He rasps.
And he drinks, tipping the substance down his throat without another second that passes. It catches in the back of his throat, the taste tangy and bitter, a sickly bitterness that coats his tongue, slapping it against the roof of his mouth.
And it’s done.
—
The morning welcomes the way it does most often. With a chambermaid and gentle greetings, and a pitcher of water at your bedside. News of an upcoming tournament held in the near Stormlands is on everyone’s lips, carrying from room to room before a knock wraps at your door.
Your maid eyes you, following carefully as you nod, “Please.” She bows with a simple smile, settling the tray of cloths and linens in her hand onto the table before stepping towards the door.
Lady Ellyn steps in with a peek of her head around the heavy wood, near enough making your maid jump as she steps back, sliding the door open further. Your closest confidant, one your own age unlike many of the other ladies. Her hair cascades in a braid that weaves her golden hair down her back, as fair her complexion. A wide smile breaks on her rosy face when she sees you, thanking the young girl gratefully before jumping at the end of your bed.
The very image of her cousin, Lady Aelinor Penrose, married to the Prince Aerys. You only hope, silently, a similar sorrow won’t fall on her also. A girl far too giddy and joyful, even at this time in the morning.
“Come we must break our fast.” Her hand taps the plush furs, tugging them slyly as they slide from your legs, the cotton your your nightgown going with it. You snatch it with a warning glare, stopping her from pulling it completely.
“If you’ll allow me to be ready first.” You huff, raising your arms above your head with a yawn. She nods, rolling her eyes as she stands from the end of the bed to round to your side. The mattress dips as she sits herself onto it, kicking her legs off of the edge as she waits. And waits, expectant eyes blinking at you.
“Fine, fine I’m coming.” She claps her hands at that, rising as you do with her, sliding, less wistfully out of the comforting warmth of your bed.
Lady Ellyn stays with you as you are dressed, chatting away about the travelling market passing through King’s Landing. You listen, but her voice drifts, eyes following out of the window, watching the birds that circle the street. Hands lace your bodice carefully, a deep pale gold with trimmings of crimson and silver jewel.
“Oh.. you look ethereal.”
Your feet step from the stool carefully, taking a deep breath from the boning breaking into your spine and chest. Your maid curtsies, both women looking at you in a profound awe, and though she doesn’t speak, her face tells that she agrees.
“Careful, wearing such a dress, the Prince Valarr will be all over you.” Lady Ellyn takes your arm with a snicker, and you swat her with the other, a grin finding its way to your face.
“Well suppose I’d have some competition with you, my lady.”
The pair of you find your way through every winding hall until you settle in the great hall. You break your fast with the ladies. Lady Jena, Lady Dyanna greet you with a nod and a smile, seated already beside their good sisters Lady Aelinor and Lady Alys. All seem to be in good spirits, you and Lady Ellyn seated opposite one another as another elder lady sits at your right.
Talk picks up as it usually does, fresh fruit picked from gardens and far away orchards, toasted bread and jams are decorated and layered china bowls and plates. You take your helping as the rest of them do, chatter echoing the hall, heard only by yourselves and the Kingsguard that stand tall by each large door.
It only depletes to a silence when they open once more, all heads turning in a wondrous gaze. Prince Valarr steps across the hall, greeting the older ladies first and his mother with a kiss to the cheek.
They remain in their seats while you and the lower ladies rise at his arrival, chair scraping out behind your knees as you hold your skirts.
His aunt Dyanna teases him, remarking with a sip of her summer wine that he’s avoiding council again. Valarr only laughs, light and courteous, completely princely.
And then from across the table, his eyes land on you. It’s natural, just as he’d expecting you to be there, and the smile softens on his face, meeting his eyes as he steps closer. Only then does he excuse himself from his mother, leaving them to resort to their whispering just behind.
“My lady.” His voice is gentle, more tender than it should be for such a meeting and you feel another pair of eyes on you. Lady Ellyn. Staring obviously from across the wooden table as she sits down quietly.
You curtsy, inclining your head before your eyes meet again. Golden brown and violet, the very image of his father’s, except they aren’t as hardened, boyish still beneath the young manish demeanour.
“My prince.” Your skirts sweep the stoney floor as you stand upright, mere inches between you, blinking up at him.
“I’ve been hoping I’d catch you.” He speaks hushed enough it’s for you, but loud enough it doesn’t inspire scandal.
That alone makes Lady Jena exchange a knowing smile with Lady Dyanna. One only mothers seem to be aware of. And his glaring advance to orbit your side.
A short laugh escapes you, tucking your arms in front of you, “I wasn’t aware I was difficult to find.”
“No,” Valarr smiles. “I’ve simply been elsewhere.” He states it as though disappointed, as if elsewhere were not where he wanted to be at all.
“I’d hoped…” He clears his throat, a rumble under his breath, inclining his head, feeling the burn of eyes at his back, before they swiftly look away. “Though it may not be proper, that if you attend the tourney…”
He looks almost embarrassed, a blush creeping his pale cheeks as he shakes it from himself. You offer him a nod of encouragement.
“…you might consider lending me your favour.”
A thumping appears fast and palpating in your chest and you blink, once, twice and hard. The pair of you have known each other since you were children, surrounded by propriety and politeness in close encounters, and you had always been close. But a favour was something else entirely. A favour was a promise.
Surprise wracks your features, and somehow everyone around the table is far more interested than they were before. Lady Aelinor covers her mouth to hide the grin that appears, though you cannot say the same.
Yours widens, more than you can stop yourself, stumbling out your words, “I’d be honoured.”
It is simple, courtly. Nothing improper that would leave gossip for either of you, but he takes your hand in his, a warm palm curling gently around your own.
“Then I will not disappoint you.”
He bows his head, releasing you from his grip carefully before returning to the hall, bidding the rest and his mother a farewell. And nothing more. However as the door closes, the table erupts. Laughter and chatter, swooning and fawning over you as you make an attempt to sit down again. A reddened blush covers your cheeks as you listen to them.
A favour..
Perhaps you’ll be crowed his Queen at the tourney.
Lady Jena hushes them, finding you from across the raucous, and she simply nods, lending an understanding motherly gaze, settling you the way it always had. She doesn’t speak it aloud, but talk for far longer than known have you and Valarr been considered for a match.
She had only hoped it had happened this way.
Valarr had chosen of his own accord, and he had chosen you.
However, shadows encase the halls of the Red Keep, tracing the very perimeters of tapestries and stone that you can’t quite see. Another pair of eyes, beyond Ellyn’s excitement and the ladies’ awe, watches on.
Aerion sees it all.
He hadn’t planned to stay as long as he did, merely passing through on his way to his own duties. To things much more important. But then he saw it, witnessed with his own eyes how his cousin stood himself before you, cohorting and smiling.
Only his eyes were not on Valarr, they were on you.
His fingers tighten around the twisted pommel of his sword, shoulder resting onto the thick, marble pillar beside him. It’s tight enough his knuckles are turning white, skin near splitting with how he hard he curls his hand around it. But he doesn’t notice, not even as a voice addresses measly and careful behind him.
Aerion doesn’t just pretend to not to hear it, he can’t. All he can hear is the rush of blood thrumming in his ears. All he can see is Valarr’s smile, proud and affectionate, and you smiling back. And he twists his hands tighter.
The bell tolls and breakfast comes to an end, clattering plates and pattering footsteps that don’t even notice him standing in the distance. Not his mother, or his aunt, or you. Instead you’re taking Lady Ellyn’s arm, whispering happily as you leave.
“The roses must finally be blooming.” She speaks to you as a jest, nudging your arm as you follow everyone toward the outsides. Though it sparks something in you, softly joking back as you loosen your arm.
“I believe I’ll see for myself.” You purse your lips as you move from each other, turning your backs with a promise to find the other later.
Aerion doesn’t move for another minute. Or maybe two. He isn’t counting, only turning his head without his eyes following to the voice insisting at his side.
A squire. A skinny young man dressed in washed colours. He says something about his father and uncle, that he has been called upon.
Aerion only tells him that he’ll be there shortly, waving him off. The boy scurries away, ducking into a bow before leaving once more to deliver the news. Even though he has no intention of following just yet.
And it is not questioned, because it’s completely him, even if more detached. Callous and careless, perfect in the fractured way of a Prince not bothering to concern himself. And only when the hall has emptied, does he rise from the pillar.
He adjusts his hand, tearing it away from his sword without urgency, straightening the drape of his cloak as he turns for the other doorway. He’s attempting not to explode on the spot seeing you disappear into the gardens. But he doesn't follow openly, he lets you leave first, down the steps of the Keep and out onto the balustrade that overlooks the hedgerows and flowerbeds. It’s rare for you not to have an escort, it's improper, wrong even for you.
And so Aerion takes another path, stepping with a practiced ease across the other side of the balcony, circling it so that by the time you reach the rose garden, he’s already standing around the altar of flowers, rocking on his heel. If you did not have an escort, you will. His hands clasp behind his back, one lazily on the pommel of his sword, staring out over the hedges, as though he’d been admiring the flowers.
It’s something you’d always done when time would allow it, escaping endless company and lessons to be with your thoughts. You were looking forward to it, on your lonesome, time to think over what had just happened at breakfast. But the head of mussed silver hair made you slow where you walked. You pause for a moment, the crunch of gravel turning his head at the sound, and for a moment you go to walk the other way but violet eyes catch you. You curtsy just as fast, the way you’d been taught.
“My Prince.” You speak gently, wavering in confusion. It doesn't feel as familiar as it did before, as it did with Valarr, but you do it out of politeness.
He doesn’t answer straight away, only turning to face you with his body, face still fixed on the roses.
“You favour this garden.”
It’s not a question, but a statement. And you smile, rising to straighten your knees.
“I do.”
You always have, stalking away from court just as enamoured with the ocean of greenery in the midst of the stone and hardened rock, as you have since you were a girl. He was right. Though how he one was a mystery.
“I’ve noticed.” It’s simple, nothing but a mere observation, one that perhaps had been made by many over time.
But he changes the subject before you can ask.
“The white roses are dying.”
You glance beside him, toward the bed of them.
“They bloom again in spring.” You counter softly, tutting silently at Lady Ellyn’s comment from earlier.
“I know.”
You squint your eyes at him, tempting a foot forwards, skirts hanging in between your fingers. You hadn’t many conversations with the Prince, with orders to keep your distance always whispered into your ear, you’d listened, but you hadn’t realised he’d been so odd. Cocky and dismissive, yes.
But the tension was almost one sided. The grit of his teeth evident as if he were in deep thought.
“You usually come earlier.”
“I beg your pardon?” A muffled laugh escapes your throat and you blink.
“You’ve been late this week.”
“I.. have?”
“You’ve been attending to my aunt, have you not?”
It’s as if discussing the weather, once again, only an observation, and a crystal one at that. One anyone could work out easily enough.
“Well she has a great need for me, for all of us. I didn't realise anyone had noticed.”
“I notice many things.” Aerion falls casually, the natural hint of arrogance clear in his tone.
Like my cousin Valarr taking a liking to you.
He looks at you then, finally. And you feel yourself shrink, not shyly, but under the complete intensity of it. And so you busy yourself, standing on the opposing side to him as you reach for the dying roses, plucking the heads from them.
“Do you enjoy court?” His eyes follow you, burning into your back as you tempt a smile back up at him.
“Very much.”
“Four years you've been here.” He tastes it on his tongue like he's contemplating it, settling in his stance to take you in fully.
You go to pluck another rotten bloom, grasping it in between your fingertips when a thorn catches the pad of your finger. A sharp hiss escapes you, a dark bead of blood welling across your skin. It’s small, simple, only enough to burn, you could have wiped it away on your skirts and been done with it.
Only a figure appears at your back, a hand enclosing around your wrist. Quicker than either of you had expected. Your eyes flicker between him and your hand, his grip turning it in his hold. His thumb steadies your palm, studying the crimson beading across your hand like something catastrophic.
“It’s only a thorn, my Prince.”
He doesn’t answer, his thumb hovering closer, just beneath the cut. A touch almost reverent as he punched it by the slightest to stop the blood.
You laugh again, sharper this time, attempting to ease the strangeness.
“I’ve survived worse. Suppose we both have in this court.”
It’s still silent, but his face contorts. Agreement in a sense you wager. And then you realise, he’s still holding your hand. The skin is warm, warmer than you’d expected, calloused from swords and rough at the edges even though it’s pallor is almost entirely without blemish. Save from the risen line across the side of his palm.
“You have hurt yourself.”
He blinks for the first time, slowly, flickering his eyes to your own. As though he’d forgotten.
“What?” His eyes snap up, still holding his fingers around your own.
“Your hand.”
You turn it gently before he can pull away and stop you.
”This.”
The scar where the twine bit into him.
His skin shudders under yours, and for a heartbeat he simply stares at it, and the memory comes rushing back.
The linen, the black twine, the vial.
Her to be mine.
His fingers tighten, not simply to hurt but enough that you notice, snaking your hand from his carefully, but it stays there.
“It’s nothing,” His voice comes too quickly, brow pulling tight and tone distant, “A scratch.”
“It looks painful.”
“It isn’t.”
"I suppose we both enjoy injuring ourselves." The words cut deeply, your smile more cutting. Almost innocent just as you try to ease the awkwardness.
But Aerion cannot tear his eyes away from the two hands. Yours and his. The tiny drop of blood from your finger and his faded scar, resting against one another.
A sign. And for the first time it settles wholly in his chest, there isn't doubt, not just arrogance, but something is telling him.
Divine.
He doesn’t speak of it, he releases your hand instead, a beat too late. Your own fingers enclose around your wrist absentmindedly, swiping away at the last drop of blood from your finger, the wound closing already.
“It has been five.”
He looks up again.
“Five years in court.” You correct him, smoothing your sleeve over your arm.
“I know.” He takes a step back, eyes growing distant as he nods, flexing the length of his fingers to curl them into his scarred palm.
Aerion doesn’t answer. Because he didn’t learn any of that from record, he had learned it by remembering. Something that now, is all he seems to know.
You go to speak, to dismiss yourself and apologise for the predicament you’d found yourselves in, that somehow that would cure the pained confusion from his face. But another voice calls out and does it for you. You cannot quite make it out, but you turn your head, Aerion’s ears pricking, barely acknowledging it.
“I ought to go.” You call out to him, inclining your head to attempt a better look. Out of pure politeness.
He nods, “Of course.”
And you go, leaving with a scoop of your skirts and taking off the way you came. He doesn’t follow, he doesn’t even move, simply rests back onto the wooden beam beside the roses, fingers resting out along their stems. Across the thorns and petals and the drops of blood you’d left onto the whites of them.
He exhales sharply, violets fluttering closed as he watches on from the opening of the gardens. Because he doesn’t have to move to know where you’ll go, what will happen next. It’s already mapping over and over in his head.
You’ll take Lady Ellyn’s arm, and journey your way to the Lady Jena’s compartments, making your way across the east gallery of Maegor’s Holdfast to join the rest of them.
And through the bay windows of the lower quarters, he can see it all, just as he predicted. The first crack of satisfaction breaking its way onto his features, because now he doesn’t have to want for anything, it’s coming to him.
Or so he thinks.
—
The corridors bustle far too early for the hour, alive with movement and the sounds of footsteps and talk echoing the halls of the Keep longer. Ladies hurry between apartments, while squires carry polished helms. Servants step hurriedly aside as members of the royal family pass.
The tourney is only days away, and everything feels louder. An inescapable chaos that for once is more joyous than it is uncontrollable.
You walk beside Lady Jena and Lady Ellyn. Conversation drifting from gowns to the coming lists, Jena wonders aloud who might be crowned, eyeing the pair of you at her side
“Perhaps Prince Valarr has already chosen.” Lady Ellyn teases and your cheeks warm.
“Do stop."
More footsteps resound from the opposite end, steel plated heavy ones, already armoured from morning drills and practice, cutting you off from where you’re about to further scold Ellyn.
Aerion's breastplate catches the light filtering through the window, one gauntlet hanging loosely in his hand. You catch sight of him in a rush as you turn the corner, and the corridor narrows.
There is no avoiding one another.
All of the ladies curtsey.
“My prince.”
You offer the same polite smile as always without saying a word.
And for just a heartbeat too long, his gaze travels over you with quiet familiarity
Lady Dyanna notices, “Aerion.”
At last he turns, his mother’s voice reaches him.
“You’ve been on the practice field since dawn.” She mentions gently, looking him over and the scratches and dents that litter the armour.
“I have.”
"You’ll wear yourself out before the tourney.”
A faint corner of his mouth lifts, self assured and arrogant.
"I doubt it.”
Yet while he answers her, his attention drifts.
Back to you, with just his eyes. Like a compass stubbornly finding north.
You shift your weight, suddenly and strangely aware of yourself. Lady Ellyn begins speaking again, incoherent and hushed into your ear as the congregation begin to dismiss themselves.
“Aerion.”
Prince Maekar’s voice cuts cleanly through the corridor, as commanding as you'd expect. Aerion straightens instinctively, his father approaching with measured strides. He is dressed for the yard himself, a stern coldness set onto his features as he reaches him.
“You’re late.” The older man speaks with a measured annoyance.
“I arrived before sunrise.” Aerion bites back coolly, not enough to push, but enough.
“And yet Ser Donnel has been left waiting.” Maekar stands at his side, starting to shoulder him out of the way, “You’ve kept him.”
Aerion glances toward the training yard, then back to you. For one final time. And it is enough that even Maekar notices the delay.
“What is it?”
The question is simple, heads turning to face them both as Dyanna shakes her head, Jena on her arm huffing amusedly.
Aerion answers almost immediately, “Nothing.”
Maekar follows the direction of his son’s gaze for an instant only. He sees, a cluster of ladies and his son’s disobedience. Nothing else. And the sight annoys him further.
“Come.”
This time Aerion obeys.
But not before inclining his head toward you. A gesture no different from any other prince might offer. Only when he’s disappeared around the corner does Lady Jena murmur, almost teasing,
“The prince seems unusually attentive of late.”
“The tourney must have everyone restless.” Lady Ellyn laughs, the group of you stepping through the stoney corridors and out into the halls.
You smile because it’s the easiest response. Because what else could it be? And yet find yourself looking towards the empty corridor where he’d vanished.
You try to shun the thought, the idea of it. But it had felt, for one impossible moment, as though none of them had held his attention quite as completely as you had.
—
The chambers are thrown into darkness by the time he gets to them, ordering every servant out of his way as he enters. Every one of them scurries with trays and pitchers in hand, doors closing swiftly behind them.
Aerion had taken up all day in the training yard, fighting whatever prickling itch had settled itself inside of his bones. And no amount of driving his sword had aided it, it only made it worse.
It was supposed to work out in his favour. To do exactly what he had asked it to do. For you to be his more than anyone else in the realm. And he had been plagued for so long, too long, made to live a life so troubled and pathetic.
But it was going to be different, because he found a cure. It was meant to be what he wanted, and what he wanted was you.
The witch must have cursed him, tricked him into another means in his desperation, because it twisted itself into something far different.
It will enhance what is there, leaving only the truth. Her words still ring loudly in his head, pulsing in his temples with every moment that passes. Love shall grow deeper, desire will burn, and obsession.
Well, it overflows.
And denial is a cruel mistress. One that comes back to bite those that aren’t careful, and he denied it even now, but Aerion had fallen into its trap. Because you did not feel what he had, desire and lust and want wasn’t your emotion. You were simply oblivious, trying to figure out every advance he had been making.
It was his.
The idea angers him. That you would have been anything else but his the way he wanted you to be. It makes him tick to imagine you elsewhere but at his side, a rage so raw it pumps tight in his veins along with whatever else has planted itself inside.
His hand collides with the marbled basin, hard and fast, stone cracking under force. A pained groan leaves his throat, eyes flickering to catch his face in the reflection from the dimly lit candles behind. The expression he finds undoes him, wide eyes and crazed, deep violets blown a deep black, rimmed a bloodshot crimson at the edges from lack of sleep, rendering him almost lifeless.
“What the fuck is this.” Aerion isn’t certain who he’s talking to, but it comes out a lowly whisper, the pain pricking hard up his fingers. He attempts to flex them but they only freeze his grip, stiffening like the aching in his back. The muscles of his chest stretch in the glow as he straightens, watching his hand intently. He doesn’t go to aid it, nor bathe it in the warm water below, he just stares. Allows himself to feel the tingling sensation run up his arm.
And that’s when it replaces itself. Like a sudden snap of a tree branch underfoot.
A new feeling washes over him all at once, one that takes the pain away and the angst with it. His eyes squint at his skin, focusing on the broken skin of his knuckle. And suddenly it breaks him open much like the wound, the confusion fading, like the first drop of wine onto a pure tongue.
Why was he questioning it? Why not just let it happen? The questions differ from the old ones. He no longer asks why it’s happening, or what is. This is purpose, this is what he had asked for, and pride would not let him falter.
No, he wouldn’t let it.
If the potion was strong enough to come to fruition, to bring him closer to you, he’d give into it. It wasn’t doing harm, it was the divine, the way it should be. And so he’d let it take over, allow it to do its work, he’d continue his advances like he had planned to all along, this time harder.
Perhaps that way, you would come around.
—
Muddled. That’s the only way you can describe it.
The days before the tourney pass in a blur of banners, arriving lords and restless anticipation. And they pass with excitement not only of the celebration itself, but of you, and the two princes who are circling you.
Aerion begins appearing where you’d least expect him, not often enough to call it coincidence and yet it’s too often to ignore.
The library one afternoon, though he’d never struck you as a man fond of books. The castle walls at dusk, overlooking the training fields where you’d only stopped to escape the heat. The sept of all places. One other place you’d found that grants you freedoms and peace away from court, and yet a shadow lingers behind the entrance, beyond where the candles burn low at the altar.
Aerion treats it like chance, hardly speaking, still looking down his nose at everything that passes him by. He is still what exactly what you’ve come to view him as, cutting, controlled. A deviant in the eyes of many. The Prince you’d been warned about hasn’t changed, he’s only embedded himself.
And you told yourself it was. Chance.
You had to.
Yet something had shifted. And not even in him, in you.
You’d begun looking first. Before entering a room and before stepping into a corridor, some foolish part of you wondering whether violet eyes might already be there. And more often than not, they were.
At supper, he no longer sat with the detached indifference you’d heard whispered about since first arriving at court. He still spoke little, carried himself with that same cold composure, yet whenever laughter drifted from your end of the table, his gaze followed it. Fleeting glances had turned into things you’d feel, long enough that the burn of a cold stare was almost always on you.
When the eve of the tourney came, the Great Hall filled with music and anticipation. The feast was brighter than usual, draped in crimson linens and the dragon’s banger. Knights boasted with their cups in hand, ladies quietly wagering amongst themselves.
You were situated in the very center, taken with the conversations of Lady Jena and Lady Dyanna, attending to their husbands who they sat beside, no doubt in private jest of other lords. Your plate was empty, wine steadily sinking to the bottom of your cup as you glanced around the room.
Prince Valarr accepted endless well wishes with an easy smile, turning about the hall gaining many a favour from the crowd. Though Aerion remained almost entirely silent, not rising from where he shoved himself into his chair at the far end of the table.
The only time he seemed truly attentive, was when another lord leaned a little too close to hear what you’d said over the music. A meagre thing. Elder Lord Beesbury sharing his excitement for the tournament to come, as he had done in his drunkenness to near everyone else in the room.
But Aerion saw what he wanted to, his goblet paused halfway to his lips, watching over the golden, jewelled rim before taking a sip. Lord Beesbury had departed with a gentle hand to your shoulder, fatherly, encouraging, and nothing more.
And Aerion had already turned away, sinking the last of his Arbor Gold with a sharp clatter to the table.
It became difficult to remember the Prince people had warned you about. Though not for the reasons as before. Before it was duty, responsibility to bow to those higher than yourself, it was recognition.
But now, he seemed sharper than ever. It felt as though the rest of the court occupied his attention by obligation, while yours held it by instinct.
And what was one to do when he has suddenly deemed that you are worthy of his attentions.
Aerion had never proved them to you as his cousin Valarr did. He did not leave tender written letters in the hands of your maids, nor did he have flowers brought to your chambers, in fact you’d had more conversation with squires in the years you’d been living beside him than ones with him.
But he stood closer, vigilant like he claimed it his as his birthright, across every space that had you found yourself in, in places that were hard to ignore.
And it was enough to leave you wondering.
Why, you?
—
Aerion had always resorted to some sort of violence. It was custom, to be expected. He was a knight, a Prince, he had some reason to make people fear him.
It was how he first gained the name, Brightflame.
But something flickered deeper beneath it all, something more fierce than the anticipation sitting amongst the lists. This was a drive unpredictable, a thirst for blood that couldn’t be quenched. He'd splashed his face in cold water many times before leaving the pavilion, adorned from helm to toe in the agile, scaled steel.
It wasn’t nerves that consumed him.
He had ridden in too many lists for that, and the young lord opposite him was hardly a challenge. One look had been enough. His seat sat too high, his grip too eager on his reins.
He would not last, that much was certain.
The thought made something warm and terrible course beneath the steel on his shoulders. It had begun the moment his eyes found you amongst the royal boxes.
Bathed in Targaryen crimson and black, sunlight catching the embroidery upon your sleeves as you leaned forward beside the other ladies. Unaware and smiling politely at those around you. He committed that to memory, tightening the reins of his stallion as he swung himself atop it.
Before more of the scene caught his sight, unconsciously following to where you sat beneath the sun.
A young lord lowered his visor only halfway, flashing that broad, youthful grin at you as he stops right before the box.
“For you, my lady.” His lance tips toward your stand, blinking up at you hopefully. A ripple of laughter and knowing murmurs traveled through the galleries surrounding the lists.
Whispers had already begun these past days. The courteous letters from Prince Valarr, the lingering conversations. Now another young knight had found courage enough to dedicate a tilt in your honour.
You smile because court demanded it. Nothing more, and instead your mind began drifting to who would be his challenger. Valarr came across your mind.. and you’d hoped in silence it would be. That the tourney would be as grand as people were speaking of and you had reason for your favour to be given. Truly.
But it had already been decided, hooves thundering in a burst through wooden gates before anyone could catch him.
The herald’s voice carried across the field and all heads snapped up.
“Prince Aerion Brightflame.”
The roar that answered swallows the rest.
His horse shifts beneath him, stamping impatiently against the earth. Aerion settled the lance beneath his arm with practised ease, violet eyes never once leaving the man opposite.
Few seconds passed as squires rushed to each of their sides, checking the lasts of their armour and swiftly running back as the first horn sounds.
They charge, steadfast with a few yards between them until they narrow. Wood shatters, the impact echoing across the lists as both lances splinter into flying shards. Neither rider yielded an inch.
A respectable pass, an unassuming one. The crowd applauds loudly, Lady Ellyn gripping your hand with the same harsh tension squeezing in your chest.
The young lord laughs as squires hurried forward with fresh lances, Aerion rounding his stallion from the other side as he snatches the one from his hand.
“Well struck, my prince.”
The second tilt comes harder, the laughter from the lord ringing in his head beneath the helm, the sight of a smile through his visor. The young lord aimed for glory now, lowering his lance sooner, riding faster.
And so Aerion waited.. and waited. He did not bite. Not until the final heartbeat, where he shifted barely an inch in the saddle.
The opposing lance skims harmlessly across his shield. But his own strikes true, a sharp angle upward to the shining bottom of his breastplate.
The crack rings across the grounds, breaths held tight in throats as both men waver from the strength of the collision. The young lord lurches violently, nearly torn from the saddle and every face leans in, clutching fans and wooden beams. A breath passes and coin is slyly passed in the lower crowds, predictions already being made. But he rights himself to cheers from the crowd, swivelling his helm properly back onto his head.
A close thing, too close.
Aerion watches him recover, slamming down his visor with a growing satisfaction.
All eyes watch on with an intrigued intensity. Prince Baelor with his hand wrapped around his wife’s own, face unreadable as he studies his nephews movement. And his expression cracks, the familiar recognition of something dreadful to come. Prince Maekar sits near enough the same from the other end, only with less interest and with his back slumped in the chair, knowing just as much as a father would.
Something is wrong.
You manage to stomach what you can, gaze flitting between both men as they prepare themselves for another round. A hush falls over the stands, and by the third pass, the laughter disappears. completely.
The young lord no longer smiles. And all of the joy seems to fade. He adjusts his shoulder where the last blow had landed, wincing before taking another lance. And from across the field, Aerion is an unnerving still, his horse breathing steadily hoof kicking up the mud, where his chest heaves, unable to.
You find yourself gripping the edge of the splintered wooden beam below you. Though you aren’t certain why, only that something about the Prince was more unsettling than usual.
Not his skill. But his focus. Far too narrow for what could be considered normal, as though the rest of the tournament had fallen away, a deadly calm.
And it leaves only one obstacle before him.
The final horn.
The horses spring forward once more as it sounds, dust exploding in the mud beneath pounding hooves.
The distance vanishes almost instantly, because this time Aerion does not merely seek victory. He seeks blood. And he drives through the impact, lance sticking squarely against the young lord’s groin with a sickening force that sent him flying clean from the saddle.
He hit the ground shoulder first rolling to his side and then landing on his head. The sound silences the cheering, every one jolting backward at the side of his horse continuing riderless down the lists.
The young lord does not rise, his groans turn guttural and wheezed, breathless with the dented armour shoving into his cracked rib.
And for a lingering moment, no one moves, only squires rushing to his side with maester’s following. Voices erupt from every side of the field, your head turning to follow and chase every sound.
“A healer, we need one.”
“Clear the lists.”
Aerion slows his stallion at the far end of the barrier, glancing back only once with his head held high. His face stays unreadable, hidden beneath the dragon scale helm without so much as a scratch. As though he, too, were merely watching another unfortunate accident.
Yet from your place amongst the royal boxes, something cold settles in your bones, a shiver wracking your body. You remember the way the young lord had raised his lance towards you, the way Aerion was watching, or must have been the way he entered himself upon the tilt. And though the applause had died, the feeling that this had not been simple misfortune refused to leave you.
Because it was not.
The herald concludes Prince Aerion the victor for the morning despite the scene. Though he does not smile, in fact his face doesn't change at all as he raises the visor for a final time. The man’s blood drips down his cheeks, splattered across his nose and forehead, silver hair dirtied with mud and sweat, and the faint curve of his lip.
One that can only be seen as, pride.
Most eyes remain fixed upon the injured knight as he is lifted carefully from the churned earth, one arm hanging limp, blood soaking steadily through the padding beneath his breastplate. Servants hurry around him as the lists descend into organised chaos and the royal box remains seated, lords with faces in their hands, ladies shuffling readily to exit, quiet in the tense understanding you all are aware of.
Tradition demands its ending. The victor must name his Queen of Love and Beauty.
Moments pass before his horse turns, midnight black under armoured bone and ivory. But he doesn't ride to the pavillion of noble ladies, nor does he stop before the Prince's to bow, he turns to you.
Your stomach knots in one impossible heartbeat, and you wonder, hope, that he might pass. Maybe he will choose another, forget the weeks that have passed and the confusion he had led you both into.
But he doesn’t
He continues guiding the stallion to the royal boxes, lance still tucked beneath one arm. Its splintered tip is dark with mud, a smear of blood stains the ash wood lower down where it had been gathered after the final tilt.
The crowd falls strangely quiet, even the murmurs seem to wait and you rise because every lady chosen before you has risen. Because there is no graceful way not to.
But he doesn’t stop for them, Aerion stops beneath you.
Violet eyes meet yours, and for once they look whole. Bright in a sinister sense, like you are the very thing he can see. And only him.
Without speaking, he lowers the broken lance, the use of a weapon now tranformed asan offering.
Upon its jagged end rests the circlet of winter roses. White petals, much like the ones you recall from the gardens, already beginning to bruise beneath flecks of drying earth.
“My lady.”
His voice carries only far enough for those nearest to hear. There is no flourish or perormance, not even for the sake of his victory, but there is confidence, out of want. Because everyone’s eyes are on you both, you can feel it, everyone can see. His father, his mother, the crown Prince, even Valarr from the distant saddle of his own stallion, seated tilting his head in intrigue.
And a jealous silence.
The circlet trembles ever so slightly as you reach for it. And so he takes it himself, rising as you lean clutching the balcony, to place it upon your head.
His fingers brush your temple as he does, deliberate with a singular touch of a strand of your hair, before pulling back. He shifts back into the saddle as you rise straight in front of him, forcing a smile and the bend of your knees into curtsy. His head turns, taking the reins in hand as he faces Prince Baelor and the hosting lord.
“Your Queen of Love and Beauty.” Aerion announces.
Only then do the cheers begin, scattered and uncertain, excitement growing louder as tradition overtakes unease. You shove yourself back into the wooden chair, glancing at Lady Ellyn as her she eyes you back, mouth agape and in shock. Everything that is expected of you, you have done, posture straight and graceful.
Yet beneath the roses, your skin has gone cold.
—
By sunset, the remaining tilts are abandoned. Officially, it is out of respect for the injured knight. Unofficially, no one much wishes to continue after what they’ve witnessed. The boxes empty early, the crowd sifted back into their respected pavilions where music plays quieter, more tranquil, and wine flows heavily.
Every conversation somehow finds its way back to the lists, and you have long left the bustle behind, choosing to be farthest from it. The roses have begun to wilt against your hair, sticking thorny into the corner of your head as you remove them before reaching your pavilion, carrying them loosely in one hand.
The petals leave damp marks across your fingers, the broken ones falling onto the carpeted trail beneath you.
Aerion sees you before you see him, though you don’t notice him at all. He has been walking without destination. Or so he tells himself. The maze of tents stretches ahead, canvas walls shifting gently in the evening breeze.
He rounds one corner with a roll of his shoulders, the weight of his armour discarded.
And he stops, not because of you. He lets you walk on, the dark hues of dusk creeping in over the shadows of the trees. The flap of a healer’s pavilion hangs open, and inside something more curious. The young lord laid beneath candles and incandescent, his breathing shallow as the maester binds cracked ribs while another mixes milk of the poppy nearby.
The knight’s eyes are closed. But he is alive, broken, but alive.
Aerion watches for only a moment, the maester’s do not notice him, no one does.
You step quietly between the rows of pavilions, clutching the circlet of roses he’d placed upon your head. You never glance toward the healer’s tent, never see the knight within, disappearing into your own, canvas falling shut behind you.
Aerion remains where he is, gaze lingering first on your tent until he shifts back to the injured lord.
The maester speaks to another as he shakes from the bed, “If the night is kind, he shall recover.”
Aerion’s jaw tightens in certainty, looking once more toward the closed flap of your pavilion, toward the place where you are beyond sight.
The decision settles over him with terrifying calm, an inevitability.
He turns away before anyone notices he’d ever been there. And long after the camp has fallen into silence, hours passed when the last torches burn low and even the horses have stilled, Prince Aerion returns to his own bed.
Alone.
—
You’d been none the wiser, in fact no one had been. Wine flowed delicately in your system and sleep succumbed you in the early evening. Though your mind lingered occasionally.
The Prince.
You hadn’t thought much of him before. Only what you had been told. Callous, cruel, a bully to many, even his brothers. Much like his father in a darker sense someone had mentioned. Though Prince Maekar was cold, he bore the love in his children and for his elder brother Prince Baelor quite clearly.
Aerion was something different.
There was a glint in his eye that often unnerved many people, many young maidens falling into hushed whispers from his presence alone. There was a darkness there, one you had witnessed today with your own eyes, as much as you wanted to deny it.
He shouldn’t have paid attention to you at all. As a lady in waiting to his own aunt, it was hardly a need for you to cross paths at all, but somewhere along the lines, he had began appearing inside every part of your life, forming his own web that had you tangling and restless even in dreams.
Existing where he never had before.
The morning comes damp and cold, due prickling the morning grass where drunkards still sway and grumble their chants past the tents. The stoked fire has burned low, the furs from the bed gifting you the last covers of warmth. You toss and turn for a while, shifting under the sheets so harshly your hair musses around you. You sit up at last, abandoning the idea of sleep altogether.
Myrish carpet finds your feet as you press them into the ground and into your slippers, tugging the large, silken coat from its stand and around your shoulders, your chemise hidden dignified underneath. Maids sleep in their beds around you, snoring softly where rest has not yet escaped them, but you don’t go to wake them. Instead you let them rest, crouching and tiptoeing out of the pavilion and into the morning air.
There are few still moments before it comes tumbling down. First it is a scream, shrill and piercing from metres away, and then running, the first breath of fresh air you take stolen as your eyes snap fully awake.
You follow the sound, and it seems others from every direction have the same idea, men and women rushing down the road, to find something that makes you stumble.
“The knight..”
You don’t hear the rest, the crowd picks up before you're drawn from it, sliding through the sea of heads until you find your place at the front, coat cloaked tight around your middle.
The knight had succumbed to his wounds, crumpled in a heap in the middle of the stoney pathway, and in a pool of his own blood. How unfortunate, voices counter. It happens.. a tragic tilt, an injury too great.
“Shame..” Another voice you hear.
But something doesn’t feel quite right, it doesn’t make any sense. He was taken away by the maesters and that was the last anyone had seen of him. A stab wound opened from his back, ripped around a hole in his thin cotton shirt. This was no injury, it’s fresh and still leaking..
It’s murder.
The commotion grows wild, biting colder than the chill of the morning as you glance around, stepping back from it as the thought punches you in the chest. Perhaps it’s a lie, perhaps it’s just another fool making scandal for the sake of it.
Perhaps—
A familiar face makes its way out of the crowd, one that stirs you more than it should.
Aerion.
Standing on the outskirts of the townsfolk jeering and yelling, far from the royal pavilions you’d both been assigned to.And he’s looking, already. Not at the knight’s crumpled body, not at the crowd.
At you.
As though your opinion and the shock on your face matters more than the dead man lying fifty yards away.
That should be the first thing to properly make your stomach turn, and then the memories come. They rearrange themselves cruelly.
The gardens, the roses and the way he knew you’d be there.
The thorn and the scar on his hand, the way he finished sentences before you were able to even speak. The fact his pride was not just about bitterness, it was knowing, it was stating facts only you were aware of.
The way he’d watched the knight all afternoon and the prolonged silence when the man spoke. The crown he placed in your lap and the burn of his eyes bearing into yours.
It’s all there, it just wasn’t in the right order before.
—
You don’t accuse him, you can’t. Doing so would be high treason, and stating it would be against what you want to believe.
But you cannot breathe in this air, swarmed with people and stuck between the entrance of the paviliona, and him. So you leave, you take off behind where anyone can see.
The woods. The only place you can think of, and you nod to Lady Ellyn as you pass who only gives you a short nod, peeking from the tent beside you own, her face a pale through the mist.
The woods.
And not because you're running, but because it’s quiet, it’s the closest place you can put distance between all of this. You walk further than you mean to, your lungs burning leaving an ache in your throat. Past the horses, past the pavilions, until the shouts are only nearby echoes through the trees.
You come to a stop along the root of a large oak, hand bracing against its rough bark as you catch your breath. The leaves shake and shudder with the breeze, shades of green shading you all around.
“A curious place to hide, dove.”
The name punches your chest, knocking whatever air was left in your lungs from them. You don’t jump, but the hairs on your skin stand on end, your eyes closing tight. Because somehow, you had already known he was going to come.
“Did you follow me here?” You breathe out, pressing your hand tighter to the tree, standing straighter.
“No,” Twigs crunch under his boots, his tone nothing short of calm and collected, the dangerous kind, “I though you’d come here.”
You turn on your heel, and the sight nearly makes you laugh. His hands are clasped in front of him, sunlight filtering on the striking silver of his features, red tunic clasped perfectly.
“Why were you there?” You don’t know what to make of you own words, it comes out so fast in a burst as you rise to stand opposing him.
He raises an eyebrow without looking away.
“At the gardens you were there..”
“The roses..” You continue without cowering, stepping forth on the uneven earth.
“You knew that I would be there.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t falter not once, and your eyes dart past him, right toward where knights and Kings guard rush past over the bushes.
“The knight.”
It’s the first time he looks away, not in guilt or remorse but recognition. The lines of his face draw tight, striking in the dappled light.
And you notice, shuffling in place, slippers sinking into the dirt.
“Did you do it?”
A long silence comes, and so you ask again, clearing your throat as if scratches.
“Did you kill him?”
There it is. His jaw tightens, muscle flexing from the bone.
“He wasn’t worthy. He presumed himself.”
Your nails bite into your fingers as you clutch them at your sides, he dares a look once before looking away, to your hands, to your face. Like it doesn’t phase him.
That’s all he can say. The knight thought himself worthy. Of you. Your blood runs cold, there’s no denial in it, and he doesn’t even begin to give it.
You blink, gaze catching the faintest flicker of blood on his sleeve, darker than the crimson tunic, running a dark brown along the hem.
“You’re frightening me.” You state it loudly, shakily on your breath as twigs crunch underfoot.
That breaks something him, it cuts him deep. Because he didn't intend to frighten you, he wanted you closer, to be near you, to make you see what he sees.
To make you his.
He steps closer, a foot disappearing between you.
“A Prince wouldn’t—” You start, raising your head to meet his height.
“Wouldn’t what?” He takes another step, head tilting at you and your mouth snaps shut. And he answers for you, he’s already forgotten duty, no care left for it.
“I’ve done everything I know.” Another step. “I’ve buried everything else, fought it, ignored it. It refuses to leave.. you refuse to leave.”
“All it’s about is you. Where you are, and why you’re not by my side.” He sounds almost annoyed, like the admission angers him.
He steps forward again, and you're frozen on the spot, rocking back on your heel.
“I have no reason to be at your side.” You speak plainly.
His hand wraps around your arm, looking down as you attempt to yank it back, but you can’t, he has it firmly gripped, shoved between your bodies as he stands right before you.
“Do you think I enjoy this?” He whispers lowly, violets turned a dark purple, so deep you can see your reflection in them, startled.
“Then let it go..”
He chuckles then, low and dark and broken. And the look in his eyes is something you’ve never seen before. It’s chipped away at the edges, so undone and unhinged as if you’ve asked him to stop breathing.
“If I could..” He leans in closer, breath hitting your jaw as you turn your head away, the sickly woody scent of him reaching your nostrils . “I would have weeks ago, but you keep— you’re still here.”
“Why me, all of this.. you don't love me, it’s simply the idea.” You stumble out, biting the words around your tongue as you bare your teeth back in warning.
“Don’t.” His fingers grip tighter, clamping at your wrist.
“Don’t what?” You counter.
“Reduce this.”
You stare at him instead of speaking, and his brows furrow, because you don’t give him anything, a blank space that he’s created, “You’ll see.” He assures and he releases you from his grip, your arm wrenching free as you step backward.
And he lets you, he doesn't chase, left in the hollow of the woodland, nostrils flaring as he hands his head.
—
The walk you take is slow, unnerved with your fist clutched tight to your chest.
The grounds are dismantling piece by piece with servants packing their wagons, pavilions taken apart, and squires rushing by. Everything moving on just as it usually does. And some part of you imagines you’d dreamt it, how wrong and odd it is to think of such a thing.
That perhaps the grief over the knight has made everything seem stranger than it is.
The canvas shifts gently in the breeze as you reach it, stepping inside amongst the maids, now awake and folding your clothes and dresses. Some hand long over the bed, others draped over chests, but you pay no mind to any of it. It is the table that catches your eye first.
More so what’s on it. Beneath the flowered vase, the one Valarr had gifted you in china blue. There it sits.
An envelope. Yellowed parchment pressed in a dark, crimson stamp, pressed with the three headed dragon along its lining. Your eyes stare longer than your fingers are tempted to move, tracing over the seal before you finally break it.
It tears with a pop, the envelope opening to reveal the letter inside. All of it perfectly placed. So calculated it could only be one of two.
All eyes in the room fall to you hushed with their heads low, parchment crackling softly beneath your fingers
It’s not a love letter, or a simple request, it’s formal.
The sort of letter a noble would send. A Prince. It speaks of honour, of houses, of futures and seeking permissions to court.
To take care of you and properly.
Nothing inside of it would be deemed improper, yet every word your eyes flutter over carry the weight of what you’d heard between the trees. Not because of what you have dreamt, or the teases that have came your way.
Not because they are from Valarr, they’re not. But because cause they are his words.
Written in that same dark, unwavering hand.
“By your side, it would be an honour to take my place.”
The words are rearranged, and so clearly not his, at least not the way he’d word it.
Because the words jumble before your eyes as you blink, and the only thing you see, hear, is his voice ringing in your ears and your stomach turns sharp, bile rising in your throat.
What Aerion had been truly meaning to say.
Be mine.
Leaving out the final part, the one that lingers in his head.
Summary: Aerion has never wanted a wife, and now he is being forced to marry his uncle’s illegitimate daughter.
I’m at work and just wanted to get this out as I’ve been slowly adding to it for weeks and haven’t proof read- will do that when I get home and have a bit more time.
Master list
“I do not wish for a fucking wife.” Aerion’s voice boomed, echoing throughout the large hall in which he sat. The sudden loudness caused everyone to jump slightly.
Prince Baelor, hand to the king and heir to the Iron throne, ran his tongue over his top lip as he thought quickly of a response. He loved his nephew for the pure fact that his own blood ran through his veins, he did not however, like him in most senses. He and his brother, Aerion’s father both knew that this conversation would be a difficult one to have.
“This is not about what you wish, boy. This is about the legacy of our house.” Baelor explained, watching him with cautious eyes.
Aerion seethed, huffing air through his nostrils like the dragon that he believed himself to be.
“After the rebellion we have been left fucked.” Maekar spoke bluntly, as he always did. “It is imperative,” his hand slammed onto the table, “that you marry her. If you wish to continue to live the life of a spoilt prince then you need to strengthen our blood line.”
“A commoner will strengthen our blood line?” Aerion retorted.
Maekar very nearly reached across the table to slap his son in the face.
“Raised a commoner, perhaps,” Baelor raised his cup of wine to his lips, “yet the blood of a dragon regardless of status, definitely.” He took a small sip before setting the cup down.
“And you are happy about that uncle? To witness the marriage of your bastard daughter whom you abandoned and your nephew marry?”
Baelor smiled at Aerion’s vicious comment in a desperate attempt to halt the rage that grew within him. Valarr, Baelors legitimate son and heir sat silently, though the expression on his face told a thousand stories.
Maekar reached over the table and gave Aerion a swift slap around the head, deciding that he could not keep the palm of his hand at bay for a moment longer. Aerion scowled at the two of them, a hand now smoothing his hair down.
“Enough of this. Stop fucking speaking.” He commanded, a finger pointed at his son. “Bring the girl in.” He used said finger to gesture towards the doors.
The two guards that stood on each of the double doors moved in rhythm with one another as they pulled the large doors open. Aerion moved his head a tad to the right in the hopes that he would gain a better view, and so he did. There you were, stood alone. He had expected you to look frightened, anxious. Yet you displayed no such emotion, instead looking bored, and quite calm. As you began to walk forwards, he immediately discovered that you were beautiful, unbelievably so. Yet, he also immediately saw that you did not carry the hair colour in which he did.
“You expect me to keep the blood line pure yet you present me with a dark haired woman?” His words came out much louder than he had intended, and Baelor looked as though he could have thrown his own dagger at his head.
Baelor opened his mouth to respond, but you got there first.
“I had not even stopped and you already insult me?”
His head snapped towards you, his eyes darkening at your boldness.
You stood there staring at all four men before you, one of them being your father whom you had spoken to twice, one of them being your uncle whom you had never spoken to, one of them being your brother, and the remaining one being your cousin, and future husband.
You had gone from no family whatsoever, to a very full one in a matter of days.
“A lady bows when greeting a Prince.” Aerion snapped, though his posture remained calm.
“I know.” You replied quickly, his eyes widened.
“Then you choose disrespect upon our first meeting?”
Much to his surprise, you smiled.
“You truly are quite an insufferable little cunt, aren’t you?”
Baelor and Maekar simultaneously dug deep within their brains in the hopes of finding the saddest thought that they could in order to hide their amusement. Maekar resorted to biting the inside of his own cheek.
Aerion’s eyes widened at the harshness of your words, and he tutted, befuddled by you.
“It seems that you are too.”
“That’s funny because only one of us is known in the realm for it.”
Aerion did not know what to say to that, for it was true. A fire lit within his stomach; an anger that grew with every millisecond.
“Daughter.” Baelor started, and then cleared his throat. “Perhaps this is not the most effective start.”
You glared up at Baelor, still unable to process the absolute audacity of him to allow you nothing your entire life, and then call you forward to marry his nephew. He had provided clothing and coin for food and housing your entire life, but at no point had he ever bothered to come and see you, let alone claim you as his own. You saw that as nothing at all.
Yet, here you all were, and there he was, ready to name you a Targaryen and claim you publicly.
“Prince Baelor.” You said through gritted teeth, lowering your head slightly, still refusing to lower your body into a respectful bow.
There was a moment of silence, which felt deafening- no one quite knew what to say.
“Sister, it is nice to meet you at last. Though, I apologise for the circumstance.” Valarr said, his voice genuine and quite kind. You appreciated that, and so smiled at him, this time lowering your head further than you had moments before.
Aerion frowned at the interaction, foreseeing how Valarr’s presence would begin to annoy him more so than it usually did.
“Yes, always the gentleman aren’t you, Valarr?” Sarcasm dripped from Aerion’s words, his brows still frowning and his eyes dark.
Valarr did not reply, instead shooting him a sharp look.
You stood awkwardly, your arms dropping to your sides as you observed the frosty interaction closely, suddenly completely unsure of what to do with yourself. You felt as though a beam of light had been casted onto you, as though you were the largest thing in the room.
“Enough.” Prince Maekar announced after a few moments of tension. He looked at you, his expression holding nothing but boredom. “You and Prince Aerion shall stay here and eat, we shall vacate.”
A swarm of bees entered your stomach at the thought of being alone with your betrothed. Aerion was painfully handsome, yes, but his cruelty seemed to equal his beauty.
Aerion scrunched his face and parted his lips, you had anticipated his detest, yet before he could speak, Maekar held the palm of his hand to his face.
“Enough of your insolence.” He spoke quietly, almost as though he did not want the others to hear. Despite his intentions, all in attendance heard his words clearly.
You saw a flush of embarrassment wash over Aerion’s face, yet it only lasted for a short moment before returning to his usual glare.
Despite the daggers that he sent towards you, he was in fact silenced by his father. You could not help the smirk that arose on your own lips.
The dinner was awkward, and the only interaction that the two of you had were occasional insults, and a varied range of negative looks. You did not bother to attempt a conversation, and neither did he. The guards watched in silent amusement at the frosty atmosphere. Aerion seemed to hate you, unbelievably so.
That evening, you found yourself perched on a long, velvet chair in the library of Summerhall. It was comfortable, and was of the darkest shade of red. It was so comfortable that you had not quite realised how long you had been there.
Despite the grudge that you held for Baelor Targaryen, and in turn his entire family- your entire family, you could not help but to be grateful of the education in which he had ensured that you received.
You were very fond of reading, and not so very fond of people. Most people were insufferable, and you did not see the point in wasting your life by interacting with them.
Additionally, the books kept within the library were magnificent- a vast range of texts that spanned the large room in its entirety.
The clothing that adorned your body made you feel like an imposter; you had been essentially forced into the midnight black gown. You were reminded of your corset everytime that you breathed, which unfortunately, was quite a lot. You were not used to such restrictive, painful clothing.
Regardless of your imposter syndrome, you could not help but feel beautiful in the dress- you had never worn such fine materials. Half of your hair had been designed into an intricate braid, and the other half fell in waves over your shoulders.
You thought yourself thankful for the privacy, and vowed to spent as much time as possible surrounded by texts that would help distract you from your reality.
After two full moons had passed, you had half managed to successfully avoid Aerion for most of it. Though, he did seem to find ways to always make a lasting impression upon every small interaction.
He ignored for you an entire week when you first met, not bothering to acknowledge your existence at all at any dinners or private meetings, which had been arranged beyond either one of your controls. He made no effort whatsoever to interact with you, and he had seemed to want to hurt your feelings.
Hurt your feelings though, he did not. You did not care at all, which bothered him greatly.
One day, he had decided that he had grown bored of ignoring you. You sat at breakfast, spreading honey onto a piece of bread. Only you and Aerion sat at the table, but you had mastered the art of pretending to be alone whenever in his company.
“You have consumed a lot of honey.”
His words caused you to stop dead in your tracks.
“You have ignored me this entire time and now you tell me that I eat too much.”
“Precisely.”
Your relationship with Aerion quickly became a strange one. His ridiculous comments became less offensive, despite his tone always carrying conviction. He sat staring at you whenever you were near him, his eyes burning holes into you that became a new normal. Whenever Valarr tried to speak to you with kindness, Aerion would find a way to distract him and stop the conversation, whether that be discreetly or directly.
His differing behaviours, however, did not waver your own behaviours. You kept your fierce reactions, and used them when they were necessary- something that all the Targaryens seemed to be slightly grateful for, even if they did not admit it.
"I find myself wondering why a commoner would spend their days hiding in a library."
The sudden destruction of silence caused your head to snap upwards. There stood Aerion, his eyebrow slightly raised yet his other features monotone. He rested his back onto a book shelf, with his right hand crossed over his body so that he could rest it on the hilt of his sword.
You stared at him briefly, your mouth parted slightly in disbelief. You rolled your eyes at him, and closed your book as heavy handily as you could, causing a noise to ring out in the quiet space from the impact.
"I prefer the word avoiding, and it was going ever so well until you ruined it."
Aerion’s eyes darkened slightly at your words, though other than that, no reaction was shown.
“How did you learn to read?”
“I struggle to see why that is any business of yours.”
He pursed his lips, removing his shoulders from the wall and standing up straight.
“You are rude and insolent.”
You removed the book from your lap and placed it next to you, leaning back and crossing your right leg over the other.
“You are rude, insolent, and difficult to speak to.”
Aerion walked towards you, showing a clear sign of rage in his expressions. You wondered when he would stop, but he continued until he towered above you.
Despite your fear, you swallowed hard in an attempt to show as little emotion as possible. You would not give into him, and you certainly would not allow him to become aware that he frightened you.
“Would you care to say that to me again?” His teeth were gritted together as he looked down at you, his eyes locked into your own.
You peered up at him, your eyes larger than normal due to the angle that your head had to reach- your neck already hurting.
“You are rude, insolent, difficult to speak to, arrogant, cruel-“
“Enough.”
His command silenced you indeed, yet you could not help the small smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth.
He did not confront your accusations, though he did stare at you for a while. Aerion studied you, every inch of you, in that moment. Your eyes, your nose, your mouth, the sharpness of your jaw, the apples of your cheeks, your flowing hair.
“Your hair is unacceptable.” He shook his head as he spoke. He used his finger and thumb to hold a piece of your dark locks, bringing it upwards so that he could look at it closely.
“My hair is beautiful.” You responded, allowing his hold to continue, your eyes still locked into his own- refusing to back down or give into his strange way of wanting to assert dominance.
“Who told you that?”
“Myself.” Your face held a glare.
You had expected Aerion to say something rude in response, express his differed opinion. He did not. Instead, he tilted his head as he continued to study your face before allowing your hair to fall from his fingers and stepped back.
In one swift movement, his legs bent and he sat beside you, bouncing back up slightly as he collided with the cushioned surface. You considered turning to face him, yet decided against it. Your forward facing position, however, did not stop you from feeling his gaze burning into the side of your head.
“We are to have children, I intend those children to be the perfect vision of a Targaryen.” He stated, his words grating on you more and more.
“You are excessively obsessed with hair,” you began, now turning your body to face him, “if you are so worried about your child’s hair colour then I suggest fucking your sister instead of me.”
Aerion’s eyebrow raised, surprisingly impressed by your fire. A smile tugged his mouth upwards forcefully. Your face flickered subtly at his reaction- it was not one that you had expected. He seemed to have made a habit of catching you off guard.
“No.” He shook his head, pursing his lips to stop his amusement. “I am betrothed to you.”
“Your family do not share the same concerns at you, it seems.” You said, choosing to ignore what he had said.
“Our family.” He corrected hastily, his face as hard as stone and his voice just as firm.
As far as you were concerned, you did not have a family- you never had.
You chose not to respond with words, instead huffing air out of your nostrils and facing your attentions onto your lap.
“Look at me.” He commanded.
Despite his seriousness, you did not do as he had told you too. And so, he used his hand to push your face sideward. His action did not hurt; he did not grip too fiercely, his touch felt more authoritative than invasive.
Your eyes met his once more, and despite his goal having been accomplished, his fingers stayed gripped under your chin. You let out a deep breath, not realising how long it had been since your last.
The pad of his thumb found your bottom lip. Slowly, he felt the plumpness of them and how dry they had become because of him. He felt the nervousness radiating from you, and he liked it.
You felt your heart begin to beat faster within your chest with each touch and look. Despite his arrogance and condescension, he was devastatingly handsome, and you could not deny that.
“I have seen the way that you look at me.” He said, his face moving closer to yours. “You pretend as though you hate me, but I do not believe that you do.”
“You decided that you despised me from the moment you saw me.” Your words came out slightly distorted, the grip on your jaw affecting your freedom.
“As did you.” His own words escaped him as a whisper. “You infuriate me, I find you extremely frustrating.” He admitted, this time his speech louder and certain.
You looked at him carefully, unsure of how to respond. You were offended, obviously; your very existence alone seemed to disgust him.
“I apologise that I am not the woman you dreamt of.”
You did not mean the apology, and he knew that due to the sarcasm that frothed at your words.
“I did not dream of anyone in such a way.”
Your brow furrowed in disbelief- everyone, regardless of how uptight they are, had dreamt of romance.
“Until you walked in and ruined it.”
Your head moved back ever so slightly in both surprise and confusion of his meaning.
“Ruined it?” You questioned, your words small as you became more and more aware of how close his face was to your own.
He tutted. “Your face,” he began, releasing your chin and moving his hand to hold the side of your face, “your voice,” his eyes flickered from your own to your lips, “everything about you sticks in my mind, like a poison.”
You saw a frustration within him, something that seemed to cloud his features completely. You stared at each other, though his darkened eyes did not match your brightly wide ones- complete opposites seeming to challenge each other.
You had no words to say, none at all. Many words, of course, swam within your mind, yet you could not find the gumption to speak them.
Luckily for you, you did not need any words for Aerion used the same hand that held your face to harshly bring you forward. His lips now ghosted yours, and you found yourself weakening at his touch, at the anticipation of what may unfold next.
He huffed, almost as though he did not understand what he was doing- almost as though he was angry at his own actions. His hot breath made you shiver, and you felt your knees become more and more unstable with every bit of contact that he had with your skin.
You could not take it any longer.
“Do it.” You challenged. That was all he needed.
His lips crashed onto yours- not what you had expected. Despite his seemingly cruel nature, you had expected the kiss to be somewhat gentle initially. Gentle it was not. Passion exerted from both of you as you panted, your lips battling one another’s in a desperate fight for pleasure. You felt his tongue tap your own, almost as though it was knocking to seek acceptance. You used your own tongue to invite his in further, craving the feeling of him.
The months of harsh words and looks seemed to have manifested themselves into this very moment. You were no longer sat gracefully on the chair, but more so crammed into the corner of it with him on top of you, your legs parted and bent upwards, your feet resting on the softness of the velvet.
His right hand stayed glued to the side of your face, and his left found yourself breast, his thumb tracing aching circles onto yours nipples. You moaned into his mouth at the tenderness of his touch, and brought your own hand to his throat, clutching it firmly, in turn causing a groan to escape him.
He broke away suddenly, looking down at you approvingly. He smirked at the sight of you- lips plump and swollen, your usually perfect hair a mess, and your legs parted- a vision of you he had imagined but had not yet seen in reality. The moment was better than he ever could have imagined.
With the hand that clasped his throat, you attempted to move his head closer to you once again, craving the feeling of his lips once more. Yet, he refused. He shook his head, a smirk still solidified on his lips at the sight of your desperation.
Aerion lowered his head once more, this time attaching his lips to your neck. He kissed gently at first, using his tongue to trail shapes onto your neck. Your sweet moans filled the room as you adjusted to the tender feeling, and his fingers continued to roam your body. Slowly, he began to use his teeth to nip your sensitive skin, occasionally sucking it- growing more and more vicious with every second. Your hands found their way to the back of his hair, tugging on it as your pleasure grew.
Finding your lips once more, you felt his tongue plunge into your mouth. Your lips no longer battled- your tongues now danced together in a way that seemed practised. Perfect.
You felt a hand in between your legs, and could not help the embarrassingly loud noise that escaped you when you felt the contact.
“What the fuck.”
A voice boomed through the quiet room, causing you to jump out of your skin. Aerion, however, did not seem at all bothered by the interruption. Both of your heads snapped towards the voice, Aerion still on top of you, and your legs still parted.
At the doorway stood Valarr, your brother, something that you knew would please Aerion to his core.
Valarr held a hand out to prevent his vision from landing at the sinned sight of you. Aerion laughed.
“What is wrong cousin? You have never seen a woman?”
Valarr seethed. “I was under the impression that you despised one another. I came to check on my sister.”
Aerion laughed once more, now peeling himself from you and in turn allowing you to sit up and smooth yourself down.
“To despise someone is very complicated.” Aerion said, using his own hands to smooth his own clothing downwards. “Perhaps one day you may understand.”
“I am going to tell my father.”
Aerion pursed his lips. “And what will you tell him? That you found me and my future wife getting to know one another?”
Valarr sighed in defeat at the realisation that both his father and his uncle would probably be delighted at his discovery.
“Do not worry Valarr,” A fake smile beamed on his face as he sat back down next to you, placing a possessive hand on your leg, “I intend to take very good care of the Princess.”
Aerion Targaryen x blood magicker!reader (reader is Baelor's daughter, but no physical descriptions, no names, no use of Y/N)
Summary: Ever since you were a child, ancient voices and powers have been reaching out to you, to revive the glory of Old Valyria and fulfill an age-old prophecy. With an exceptional talent for blood magic but also an aversion to big responsibilities, you instead opt to use your talents for more everyday conveniences. It was all going smoothly, until your infamous cousin decides that you are a goddess of Valyria reborn, and you are destined for each other. (drabble as a start to this AU, lmk if y'all would like to see more!)
Tags/tropes: crack, sort of animal cruelty? loopholes to blood magic, pathetic!Aerion, reader is one of the chosen ones but doesn't want to do all the work, Aerion composes a terrible poem
Rating: teen and up?
My Masterlist
WC: 4,4k words
-
You couldn't exactly pinpoint when you first realized you had a penchant for blood magic. It had started as a simple fascination as a child, with your eyes sparkling in excitement whenever you'd sneaked into the library at Dragonstone to read the old scrolls that had been brought over by your ancestors before the Doom of Valyria. The maesters and your family had dismissed your fascination for a simple child's hyperfixation on her ancestry, which let your growing interest evolve into something else, something dark and potentially dangerous.
Then, there was that fortune teller who passed by the village under Dragonmont one autumn. Your family had travelled down to the village to meet the smallfolk, and show their presence during the harvest feast. Your father, Baelor Breakspear, had always insisted on showing every bit of generosity to the townfolk, as power meant nothing without the support of your subjects.
The hooded woman had approached you at the market, much to the dismay of the Kingsguard. They threatened to chase her away with their blades, but you'd pleaded with them not to harm her.
"I believe I owe you for your protection, little princess," the crone said, her eyes obscured by the hood of her cloak. "Debts are meant to be honored. Let me tell you what awaits you, little dragon."
You observed her, as the air around the old fortune teller seemed odd, somehow. She felt ancient, but in a distinctly inhuman way. Something about her felt familiar, but in a foreign way you could not quite understand.
"The shadows will heed your commands, princess. The blood of Old Valyria runs thick in your veins. Blood and fire will follow wherever you go, and those who behold your power in cower before you." For a moment, it seemed as thought you'd seen her eyes glint under the hood, but when you tried to meet her gaze, she abruptly whipped around, and disappeared into the crowd.
You frowned, perplexed at her words. Later, when you'd told your older brother Valarr what had occurred, he brushed it off as a simple mummer's farce. But the unsettling feeling in your chest did not fade. Could she have possibly known of your interests in the old blood rituals? The answer was no.
When your thirteenth nameday came to pass, the dreams started. They say that Dragonstone was carved out of dragonfire and ancient blood magic, and that the traces remain in the foundations of the castle. Maybe, the dreams were just a result of that magic touching something embedded deep inside of you, awakening something the world had not seen since the dragons disappeared.
The dreams were always dark, ominous, burning, but most importantly, always bloody. Warm, sticky, thick blood was everywhere, and voices would whisper in Old Valyrian from the pools of blood. Red was also the color of the sky, an unnatural, sinister shade of scarlet. The ponds full of blood would then expand into lakes, lakes turned into seas, seas which swallowed you whole, with warm, slimy hands dragging you into the depths. For unknown reasons, the dreams did not terrify you. The warm embrace of blood had felt like home; and the voices had a familiar tone to them; as if they were people you had known in a past lifetime.
Your obsession properly took root when you turned fifteen. You'd spend all of your free time outside of lessons in the old, magic-forged library of Dragonstone, reading through every scrolls that had survived the Doom. One common denominator in old Valyrian sorcery seemed to be omnipresent in these records: blood carried power, and only life could pay for a life. The rules of the bargain seemed crude and simple at first. The old dragonlords of Valyria routinely slayed their slaves in blood sacrifice rituals, spilled blood was used to forge a bond between a dragon and rider in the earliest days of the Freehold, and with the power bought with fire and blood, the Old Valyrians would conquer new worlds to secure new fodder for their bloodthirsty gods.
Simply said, they were cruel, barbaric rituals. But then, your brain pieced something together. Nowhere in these texts was it specified that the blood had to be human. You spent hours upon hours meticulously inspecting every glyph, every line. every scroll, but you found nothing that which contradicted your finding.
After sitting on your discovery and letting it simmer for three days and three nights, you set out to test your theory, as any proper scholar should. You made your way down to the kitchens, and asked for the butcher. The butcher's workshop was situated by the stables, and there he would receive the animals to be freshly slaughtered, then butcher them in the comfort of his own workspace. The tall, burly man had given you a strange look, but nodded nevertheless. No doubt that he just assumed that every highborn child was simply.. odd.
You stood next to him as he slaughtered chickens for that day's supper, and demanded that he let all the blood from the devastated chickens' necks collect into a stone bowl marked with ancient glyphs you'd found in a deep, dusty cellar of the castle. When the bowl was two thirds of the way full, you handed him a copper for the trouble, and headed to your chambers to perform your experiment, careful not to spill any blood in the stairways.
Once arrived at your chamber, you placed the bowl in the center of the room, then locked the door, as to not be interrupted. While you lit the lard candles and prepared the materials for the makeshift ritual, you tried to decide on a bargain, something small and harmless enough which would not end up being disastrous in case the gods decided to grant your wish in a twisted way.
The ritual involved drawing a circle out of chalk and salt around the blood offering, as to ward off any malignant forces which could interfere. Then, the glyphs for solar, lunar, terrestrial, and celestial were written in chalk around the circle. As a final touch, you kneeled in the circle, lit a strip of animal hide on fire, and started chanting the old prayers. The prayer was a plea to the gods to heed your request, and for them to accept the humble offering of lifesblood. As you chanted, it seemed as the smoke from the candles curled around you, turning into quiet whispers, as though they were answering your prayers.
In High Valyrian, you cited your wishes at the end of the chant, as it was custom. You wished for your little brother, Matarys’ mare, who had broken a hind leg yesternight, to be healed of her injuries. Then, you tossed the burning hide into the blood, which, by all laws of nature, should’ve gotten extinguished as soon as it was submurged in the thick, red liquid. Instead, it burst into a white-hot column of flames, as the whispers growing louder and frantic in your ears. Suddenly, all the flames went out, only leaving thin wisps of smoke curling upwards from the candles and the stone bowl. The voices went quiet.
You looked around. Nothing else had changed. Unsure whether that had had any effect whatsoever, you stood from the floor, and exited the circle. You cleaned up the mess yourself, as to avoid having words circulate among the servants about your peculiar antics. Afterwards, you went about your day as though nothing was amiss; appearing dutifully at lessons and to family supper.
-
When you opened your eyes the next morrow, it seemed as though nothing had changed at all. The sun rose from the east, the waves crashed against the shores of Dragonstone just as they always had, and the air did not carry any sense of vicissitude.
The change only made itself known as you made your way down to the dining hall to break your fast with your family. Matarys’ excited shrieks were audible from the corridors already, and the servants who passed by carried a look of perplexity.
“Baby brother, what may be the matter? The entire castle can hear you, you know.” You smiled fondly at him, pulling out a chair and sitting down next to Valarr.
“Sweetpea’s leg is healed! The stablemaster said it is as if nothing ever happened, so she doesn’t have to be put down anymore!” Matarys bounced in his seat. Your sweet, little brother had been devastated when his beloved mare had injured herself, which usually meant a death sentence for horses. Surely, they’d initially planned on putting her down today.
“It could be another mare, son. Perhaps the stablehands have found you a very similar looking replacement,” Baelor’s look remained skeptical, not wanting to bestow false hope upon his son.
“No! I know it’s her, I’d know her anywhere. She answered to her name, and she even has that little brown spot on the side of her neck, father,” the little auburn-haired prince defiantly crossed his arms.
Interesting, you thought, as you attempted to act as if nothing was amiss. It was good that you were a princess of the blood, and not a mummer, because your acting was terrible. Not that anyone took notice. What would a mare’s suddenly healed leg have to do with a young, innocent princess?
After your initial success, you grew bolder. The next little experiment would be on a bigger scale, you decided. Just to see whether the ritual would also work on multiple.. subjects. The dreams also grew more vibrant, but that was not as interesting as whatever you had managed with the horse. That was a problem to be dealt with another time.
The concept of a blood sacrifice ritual was simple, if your understanding was correct. First, you needed to set boundaries where you’d be calling to the Old Valyrian gods. The chant would attract on numerous deities, and that included malicious ones who would twist your wishes into something terrible. You needed the simpler, more direct deities, where the deal could be struck off cleanly, no strings attached.
Secondly, you needed life’s blood to bargain with the bloodthirsty gods. From your chicken’s blood experiment, it did not seem to matter whether it was human or animal blood (you made a mental note to see if fish, amphibian, or reptile blood would work as well). The gods only cared that a life was taken.
Then at last came the wish. For now, you decided to stick to those without world-changing consequences. You were fifteen, for gods’ sake. No responsibilities would be taken for now.
For the next attempt, you scored some pig’s blood from the butcher. When you arrived at your chambers with the bowl, the blood was still so fresh that it was steaming a little in the cool morning air. You drew the circle with salt and chalk, making sure the runes were written in their proper place. The lard candles were lit - and the animal hide laid on the floor, ready to be set on fire. So, the next step was the chant.
This time, the whispers were louder. The candles’ smokes took on more distinctive forms, and they’d speak of old glory and fire and blood in your ears. At the end of the old prayer, you declared your wishes to the gods. All the chickens on the island would lay three times the amount of eggs they usually laid. The whispers grew more frantic, and you caught High Valyrian expressions for greater purpose and ice and fire. You heeded them no mind, and lit the hide on fire before throwing it into the stone bowl, half filled with blood. As it burst into white hot flames, the curling smokes and the voices reached their peak, before disappearing with the flame.
That was odd, you thought. The strange, smoke-beings seemed to wish to speak to you. Well, they’ll just have to get more coherent then. I could not understand most of what they said, you mused, then shrugged.
The second attempt proved to be just as successful as the first, as you’d overheard five days later while your father was discussing the island’s food reserves with the castellan. The egg production had tripled, which left a significant overflow of the egg supply. The news was delivered from perplexed farmers, who had observed their chickens lay an impossible amount of eggs over the last days.
“These are good news, are they not?” Baelor mused, not quite understanding why the matter had been brought to council.
“In essence, yes, your grace. However, it certainly defies the laws of nature, as Maester Harlow has found no record of such…” the castellan hesitated, searching for words. “Copious egg yield, going back centuries’ worth of documentation.”
“Perhaps it is but a transient effect, ser.” Baelor dismissed the concerns. “We will monitor the situation, I am sure it will return to its usual rates soon enough.”
It hadn’t. After weeks, the island’s chickens were still producing a more than abundant amount of eggs, and the overflow lead to all of the castle’s and smallfolks’ meals involving incredulous portions of eggs. The suspicion grew around the island, but without any credible cause or evidence, there was nobody to be persecuted, either. You held your tongue through it all, but inside, your mind was brimming with hypotheses and endless possibilities.
You dove even deeper into your rather unorthodox studies, sitting on the floor of the library with scrolls and bound parchments until sunrise, devouring every bit of information the ancient texts offered.
At the same time, the dreams were starting to get vibrant and lively enough that you finally chose to take action against it. When you drifted to sleep one night, you were faced with the pools of blood and a red sky again, but this time, you came prepared. As always, the collections of blood on the ground started to expand, as ancient voices whispered unintelligibly in your ears. Raising an eyebrow at the familiar scene, you wondered why these entities had so little imagination.
“Please, whoever you are. I cannot understand you if you all speak all at once. If you wish to relay a message to me, I bid you do it one-by-one.” You declared, frowning slightly at the chaotic noise surrounding you.
At once, the whispers came to an abrupt halt, and the pools of blood ceased growing.
“Daughter of Old Valyria, blood of the dragon, heed our words,” finally, a full sentence you could understand. The voice was deep, but you could not place whether the owner was male or female, nor if they were old or young.
“Beholder of ancient sorcery, mistress of blood and fire, you are destined for something far greater than yourself,” another voice hissed. “Restore the ancient glory. Slay the non-believers, and bring fire to flesh once again.”
You blinked. It sounded as though they wanted you to bring back the dragons and raise your house to its former glory.
“Bathe in your enemies’ lifesblood,” the same voice continued, “for only then you shall live an endless life, and stand with Azor Ahai when this world comes to an end.”
The dream landscape started to blur and spin, and you found yourself awake, sprawled upon the silk sheets of your own bed in Dragonstone. You stared at the ceiling for a few moments, processing the words the voices had whispered into your ears. The dream was overwhelmingly life-like, so much that you’d felt the formless entities’ breath brush your ears as they spoke to you.
Destined for something greater than myself, you chewed on the words. That couldn’t possibly be good. If the scrolls and books you’d been studying were to be believed, ancient prophecies and omens had a cruel way of coming true in the most twisted, sadistic ways, especially for those who threshed to fulfill it.
Then, your mind wandered to your ancestors who were known to be plagued by shadows of prophecy looming over them. Aegon the Dragon had had a prophetic dream, which drove him to unite and conquer the Seven Kingdoms. But at what cost? He’d lost his beloved sisterwife in a futile attempt to conquer Dorne, and spent nigh on ten-and-five years fighting wars and crushing rebellions. Then there was Daenys’ dream. Her dream had indeed saved her line, but left her ancestors to be the last dragonlords left in the realm, cripplingly alone in the world until the Velaryons had taken to dragonriding themselves.
You were simply not ready to carry that burden. Nay, you were unsure whether you ever wanted to carry that burden. You were simply a princess, a maiden of ten-and-five years, who had an interest in the ancient blood magic rituals and begun experimenting only recently. Bringing back dragons from their petrified eggs would surely cost more than a half-full bowl of pigs’ blood, or even a living sacrifice to the gods. Not even touching the moral part of it, the prophetic attribute of it seemed like a load of hard, tedious work.
In your dark bedchamber with only moonlight streaming from the windows, you stared down at your own hands, soft and pristine, never having known a day of labour or war, never mind carrying out grieve-sounding prophecies. Right then and there, you made a decision for yourself: you were going to procrastinate on this prophecy for as long as destiny allowed.
-
As the years went on, your rituals became a routine occurence, as well as an open secret amongst your family. It began when the entire royal family had been residing in Summerhall to celebrate little Rhae’s birth, and Daeron’s eyes caught the string of odd events which seemed to follow you. He'd said that in his dreams, you were standing knee-deep in a pool of blood, dragons big and small circling the crimson skies above you. The pieces were then put together in his head, and he'd drawn the conclusion that somehow, the odd chain of events such as Dyanna's childbed injuries mysteriously healing themselves and Egg's cat which had been supposedly thrown into a well days ago climbing out from the watery depths were linked with you.
Next, Valarr and Matarys found out in their own time. Their sister was known to divulge in her odd studies, but the even odder occurrences in and around Dragonstone eventually caught their eyes. The crown jewel which verified their suspicions was when the Celtigars — who were quite unpopular within your family due to their incessant demands to the crown and attempts to encroach themselves to the King's court — were meant to visit Dragonstone, but were hindered by a sudden storm raging between Dragonstone and Claw Isle.
Thus the era of persistent requests and wishes from your cousins and brothers had begun: you'd fulfill their petty wishes, and in turn, they'd keep your secret, and return the favor in one way or another. Nobody suspected a thing when weeks of heavy rain had hindered a tourney Daeron had been dreading, and even less when a new gold-and-ruby bracelet appeared on your wrist mere days later. Matarys' broken wrist had mysteriously healed itself overnight, and Valarr’s destrier had broken a hind leg during a hunt, only to emerge from the stables the next morrow as though nothing had been amiss.
Then there was Aerion. Your infamous cousin. He had been a glad child once, but his temperaments had begun to show in his pubescent years, to everone’s grief. His obsession with Old Valyria and dragons had been known; and it only grew with passing time. When it was his turn to discover your unusual talents, he’d decided that you were a goddess of Old Valyria reborn, destined to rule the realms by his side with fire and blood. And thus you’d become the only presence in the realm that which could quench his fires, and he started his incessant, rather bothersome pursuit of your attention.
“My love, my sun, my goddess,” Aerion padded after you in the corridors of the Red Keep. “How are you planning on spending this beautiful afternoon?”
“In peace and quiet, cousin.” You attempted to wave him off.
“May I come with you?” His brows raised in hope and expectation.
“I’d prefer not,” you tried to avoid his relentless, lovesick gaze.
“I would give you peace, my moon and stars. I’d be perfectly content with merely gazing upon your beautiful presence. You are a blessing from the gods themselves, bestowed upon by-“ his dramatics revved up again.
“I would like to continue my lectures in my chambers, alone, if you’d allow.” You interrupted his speech, before it could escalate any further into long, exaggerated poems.
“I could carry your books, or hold the scrolls up for you, light of my life,” he persisted. “I beg of you, please allow my presence in yours, do not exile me into the darkness which is your absence.”
You stopped in your tracks, and let out a deep sigh. “Alright, cousin.” At that, he visibly perked up, a smile creeping up onto his face. “But only, and strictly only, if my studies are not interrupted by you.” That did not seem to diminish his joy.
“Of course, my love. Your every wish and whim is my command, I swear, I will serve at your altar at every cost. Anything you wish for, you’ll have. Do you wish for me to fetch refreshments? In case you’d get thirsty, or peckish. I know you prefer the honeycakes, I will command the kitchens at once for them to prepare some with a pot of tea.” With that, he ran off in the direction of the kitchens with a bounce in his steps.
You sighed, and continued on your way to your chambers.
-
Your lecture and studies accompanied by Aerion were, as he swore, quiet and peaceful. For once, he sat next to you on the carpeted floors, attentively observing the old tomes and scrolls you’d laid out in front of you, and snap to attention when you’d stop to take notes. In summary, Aerion’s company was proving itself to be significantly less bothersome than you had expected, and even something akin to comfortable.
When you’d finish reading a paragraph from a scroll and wish to compare the contents with another manuscript, you merely had to point to the material you’d wish for, and he’d nearly jump up to fetch it.
After a few hours, he’d taken to sitting a few yards away, pouring over a scrap of empty parchment himself with a quill in hand. You’d ignored it, assuming he was simply taking notes of his own about the scrolls. The Red Keep’s library kept quite valuable scripts too, albeit less impressive or rare as Dragonstone, but nevertheless, there were some scrolls and tomes you’d never seen before, which took over your attention quickly.
It was almost sunset when you’d decided to finish up for the day, with the sun nearing the western horizon and painting the sky in a faint orange hue. When you slammed a particularly thick book shut, Aerion looked up from his parchment, and looked at you.
“I would be finished for the day, cousin. Thank you for your help, but now I’d better be heading down to supper.” You said, standing from your cushion on the floor.
Aerion nodded, and made to stand up after you. But when you turned towards the door, he softly called out your name, prompting you to look back at him with an eyebrow raised in question.
“I’ve written a poem for you, my love. Would you allow me to read it for you?” His eyes were gleaming in hope.
You suppressed a sigh. Although, he had indeed given you the promised peace and quiet, so perhaps this was the least you could do. You nodded in approval.
His poem was quite melodramatic and theatrical, to say the least. You almost regretted saying yes when you’d spotted that the entire parchment was filled with lines upon lines of rhymes.
O godess of Old Valyria reborn, o image of endless beauty upon this earth
Full of grace she walks, and the old fire burns bright in her hearth
Never has there been lips so beautiful,
Her tresses leaves even the Maiden herself sorrowful
When she speaks to me her voice rings like silver bells,
In her absence I may descend to the deepest hells
My heart lives a flame not even dragonfire could oppose
Which only burns for you, o my goddess of love and beauty
Not even the Narrow Sea could quench my love,
For a single gaze from her amethyst eyes would set me ablaze anew
For a moment, you were grateful that Aerion was born a prince, and not a singer or a bard, so that the remaining population of the Seven Kingdoms would be spared of his work. Nevertheless, you dragged the corners of your lips into a smile, and thanked him for the beautiful ode to your beauty. At your praise, his eyes glazed over in a dreamy bliss, and he clutched his heart as though it would explode.
Afterwards, he’d insisted upon escorting you to your father’s solar, where you’d be supping with your family. He walked dutifully beside you, an arm outstretched for you to hold on to.
“My beautiful goddess, would I have your leave to accompany you to your studies from now on?” He asked, a hopeful look laid in his eyes, which reminded you a little bit of a stray puppy.
You suppressed a sigh again, and considered your options. Even if you said no, Aerion would persist in his pursuits. If you said yes, he would be omnipresent in your studies, no matter the time or place. A compromise seemed to be due.
“Perhaps, cousin. Sometime, when I have need of assistance again.” His face split into a wide grin at that, and you both came to a halt in front of the double doors leading to Baelor’s quarters.
“You can always call upon me, my flaming heart. Always. For anything.” With that, he raised your hand to his lips to press a kiss against your knuckles, and turned on his heels to take his leave.
As he left, Matarys came from around a corner, and saw Aerion leave you.
“What was that about, sister?” He raised an eyebrow at his temperamental cousin, walking away with a grin plastered on his face.
You only had a sigh and a shake of your head to offer as an answer, and opened the doors to your father’s solar to join your parents for supper.
-
It's quite short bc I wanted to tread the waters first, and sort of flesh out the groundworks to this AU. let me know if there's anything you'd do differently, or if you have any cool ideas! This is lowkey a crack fic, so planning on keeping it lighthearted, no serious plot stuff. xoxo
SUMMARY: a marriage with aerion to you seemed like never-ending cruelty. but very soon after your vows, you realized just how far aerion was willing to go for not only your marriage, but you.
WARNINGS: consummation, smut 18+, fluff, angst, language, dornish princess reader, poc reader, reader has curly/coily hair, talk of children, violence, blood, ooc aerion, arranged marriage, partially edited
WORD COUNT: 5.2k
you'd rather kill yourself than marry aerion targaryen. and of course, you thought about it the night before the ceremony, sitting within the red keep, wondering what exactly your life would like look with aerion targaryen by your side. you'd pressed a knife to your throat and stood against the window, feeling the cool air waft in from outside.
and you were close to it, even felt the breaking of your skin as you pressed it harder and harder, ready for the blood to spill.
for majority of your life spent in sunspear, you knew you'd be married off to the richest, ugliest lord in the nine realms, but you underestimated your parents' desire for your so-called preservation. they didn't care for your happiness; they only cared to further the martell line, and even though martells and targaryen's weren't always cordial, the blood of the dragon was tempting.
so when prince maekar announced his son's enterance into the marriage market, you were one of the first canidates. you were the oldest princess of sunspear, and pretty, and those qualities put you at the front of the lines.
though rumors sprouted that aerion only became a bachelor because he angered his father, which seemed very plausible. you'd never met your future husband before the ceremony, and he was just as expected.
aerion rarely spared you a glance throughout the ceremony, and even when the two of you were forced to kiss, he pulled away immediately afterward, muttering curses beneath his breath, then he left the altar entirely.
maekar rolled his eyes at his son as he did it, then he glanced at you and nodded at aerion, as if he wanted you to follow. of course, you didn't, and maekar sneered and took your place behind aerion, yelling for the guests to move to the great hall for feasting.
even as your family greeted you during the feast, all you could think about was aerion, sitting beside you, wearing immaculately tailored red-and-black velvet, his fingers spinning marbles, face placid as he watched the guests dance.
you were still in your heavy, dornish wedding dress, sweat accumulating on your brow, your chest rising and falling with every breath as you tried to draw oxygen into your lungs.
"must you breathe like a fucking cow?" aerion spat out, turning to you abruptly as he slammed the marbles down, ignoring the way they rolled and crashed to the ground.
you gave aerion a minuscule glance, hand against your torso, heart speeding into a panicked beat. the last thing you needed in the moment was his childish temper. all eyes were on you, even when it seemed like they were not.
the people expected you to burst, act out, lose your ladyship, and that outcome was approaching faster than you wanted it to. instead, you would've liked your outburst to be in the comfort of your marriage bedchamber, beside aerion—unfortunately.
"my dress is tight, i'm beside a fucking child who is now my husband, and people keep whispering about my fucking breasts, so no, i can't." aerion recoiled at your words, his eyebrows raising, then he shrugged, "that is unfortunate." he glanced down at your breasts in the process, noticing how they were spilling from your corset.
when he was done examining you, he turned forward once more, leaving you to your devices. so, reaching behind yourself, you began pulling at the ties of your dress. by that point, air was whistling in and out of your mouth, and maekar was looking down the table, noticing your frantic movements, though your attempts were poor in there subtly.
"what the fuck is the issue?" maekar spat, tossing a piece of beef at aerion. it hit the prince on the cheek, and he glared at his father, "she can't breathe, and there's no need for you to throw shit!"
"then help her!" aerion rolled his eyes and turned to you, grabbing your arm to twist you in your chair. he began ripping at the laces of your corset, fingers wiggling.
"what a way to be subtle." you ignored his words, inhaling a deep, calming breath, then snatching the bottle of dornish wine off the table and pouring it into your cup.
"everything they say about you is true." you only said it to strike a nerve, and it worked, because aerion turned to you, lips curled into a sneer. "and what do they say about me, wife?"
"don't tell me you don't know, husband?" you matched his stare, noticing the way his hand curled into a fist, muscles working in his arm. aerion cleared his throat to draw your attention, "i care little for what the small folk think of me."
you grinned and shrugged, "it is the highborn too." aerion hummed and shook his head, though you could see his jaw in an ironclad clench. "that woman is whispering about you." he said, pointing lazily at a woman sitting at a table with a few ladies, noticeably highborn.
"women always whisper. you're lucky men immediately throw fists. that is if you can fight?" you rested your chin against your hand, watching aerion lazily, and he chuckled, as if the very thought of him not being able to fight was foolish, "of course i can fight."
"how well can you fight, prince? or are you just trying to impress me?" aerion leaned against the table, licking his lips, "i could show you."
you rolled your eyes, "men that hit their wives are weak." aerion scoffed, "that's not what i meant. i thought they said you were smart."
humming, you turned towards him, "what do you propose to show me you can fight?" aerion pointed at a man resting against the wall. he was watching the people dance, a cup of ale in his hand.
"that one." aerion began standing, but your eyes widened and you grabbed his arm, "you're going to beat that man? he's done nothing!" aerion pulled out of your grip and smirked, "i'm only meaning to prove you wrong." he continued pushing out of his seat, but you grabbed his arm once more.
aerion was strong enough to pull you with him, and before you knew it, you were wrapped around his torso, feet dragging, though he was heavily lifting you.
"this is foolish! how do you mean to prove the people wrong if you constantly show how cruel you are?" you spat it heavily, foot clamping down on his, and aerion winced, arms wrapped around your waist.
"i don't care about that." your only other thought was to wrap your arms around his neck. aerion was tugged down, hand lingering on your hip, and you pushed him further into the crowd, "just dance. it is your wedding day after all."
your lips whispered against aerion's ear, and he let out an annoyed sigh, melting in your grip and grabbing your hand, intending to dance. it was awkward at first, pressed against him so firmly, your dress dragging around you, but then, like unclenching fists, you relaxed.
cheek against aerion's chest, you were squeezing the ever living hells out of his hand. a breath exitted your lips, and your eyes closed, reveling in the steady beat of aerion's heart.
"you mean to distract me, but he's staring." aerion whispered. you glanced up at him, and he was grimacing, eyebrows furrowed as he watched behind you. when you looked, the man was watching.
"most people are watching." aerion glanced around and hummed, realizing that that was entirely true. his face relaxed, and he bit his lip, "they will think we are in love." you chuckled, "then they can speak on that instead of my breasts."
it seemed the crowd was muttering a common word by the time you broke out of your bubble with aerion. consummation.
the entire thought of consummation was something you'd thought about for years leading up to your marriage, and although you weren't necessarily nervous, you could see the gleam of annoyance in aerion's gaze.
he glanced down at you, face blank, then he pulled away entirely. back rigid with evidence of stress. maekar was standing when the two of you returned to the table, and it seemed he'd been losing his irritation throughout your dance with aerion.
"it is time to prepare for consummation." he didn't say much else, and as the crowd opened with knowing gazes, that's when the anxiousness set into your bones. aerion was lingering behind you as you walked and you could feel the heat radiating off of him and the steady burn of his eyes on the back of your head.
the inside of the marriage bedchamber was prepped perfectly for consummation: lit candles, pillows fluffed, sheets folded back, and your chambermaid, mary, waiting for you.
aerion split off to prepare for the consummation while you entered. mary immediately began removing your dress, her fingers quick and nimble. then she bathed you, tied your hair up nicely, applied lotions and oils, and helped you step into a silky shift that was entirely too scandalous.
your fingers couldn't stop shaking as you waited for aerion, and not because of the sex, but because you weren't as inexperienced as they expected you to be. all ladies were meant to lose their virginities during consummation, which then made it easy to prove the binding of the husband and wife and make sure the possibility of children was in the near future.
as you were sitting on the edge of the bed, picking at your nails, the door opened and aerion walked in. he was wearing a simple robe, face pulled into a glower. your chambermaid curtsied, but he didn't pay her any attention, immediately leering off to the decanter on the tea table and pouring a heavy bout of wine into a cup.
once mary left, aerion turned to you, and raised his glass mockingly, "cheers to you, wife." you rolled your eyes, watching him guzzle down the entire cup of wine. "are you meaning to get drunk, aerion?"
he shrugged, pouring another, then coming to sit on the bed. "no one ever said you can't be drunk during the consummation."
you eyed him silently, leaning against the pillows, "are you...a virgin?" aerion glanced at you, lips pulled into a frown, "no, i am not."
"then what is the issue?" aerion placed his cup on the nightstand then sighed, "i just don't want to do it. just like i didn't want to marry you."
"you are stubborn." you said matter-of-factly, climbing beneath the sheets. aerion nodded, "and i don't like being ordered around." aerion glanced at you—at the slopes of your hips and the softness of your belly. "you are...pretty." the flatness in his tone made you laugh, "i am not the problem is what you're saying."
he shook his head absentmindedly, "what will happen if i refuse?" you inhaled deeply, thankful for the large bed because it made it easy to avoid his touch. "your father will be angry. word will spread, people may riot, the council will denounce our marriage, we'll become pariahs, more so than before. they will no longer speak of my breasts, but aerion refusing to fuck his wife."
"that is rediculous." he went beneath the covers too and stared ahead at the fireplace, watching the rise and fall of the flames. "let's get it over with then, yes?" you glanced at him and aerion watched you for a second before he nodded, beginning to undo the ties of his robe while you slipped down the bed, knees raised.
you stared at the canopy of the bed, hearing aerion shuffle around before he entered your vision, hands near your head. he was naked, pale chest covered in dark moles and a white brush of hair leading down to his groin. your eyes stopped there, and slid back up to his face.
aerion's lips were puckered, eyebrows furrowed, and he pointed at your chest, "i need something to—" you rolled your eyes, pulling up your shift to reveal your breasts. aerion was silent for a moment, admiring you, but then he nodded stiffly and leaned back, grabbing your thighs.
"i think—" you shook your head, "don't say anything, please." he scoffed, rubbing his dick against your entrance. you were wet enough for him to slip in, but pressure and pain built, and you let out a moan of pain, eyes closing.
"aren't you supposed to bleed?" aerion's voice was clouded with pleasure as he thrust into you. your pain had subsided into mild satisfaction, but it wasn't nearly what you needed to orgasm.
"aerion—" "women bleed when you take their virginity!" he paused, glaring at you, and you sighed, tugging your shift back down and shoving him off of you, "women don't always bleed!"
"oh fucking please! you aren't a virgin are you?" he watched you, awaiting an answer, and you crossed your arms tenaciously, "no, but does it really matter?"
aerion grabbed your arm, "they need confirmation, wife! without the fucking blood, we're as good as fucking dead." you rolled your eyes at his dramatics, "i can still have babes! the blood is the least of our worries."
aerion threw the covers off of himself and stood, ignoring his stark nakedness. "we can worry about the fucking babes later. now, we need blood. is there a blade here?" aerion rummaged through the drawers and you blushed, watching the clench and squeeze of his ass.
he was harder than a rock and leaking precum, and you felt slightly guilty that you'd given him a boner and he couldn't fulfill it properly.
the prince returned a second later with the stake from the fireplace, clenching it tightly as he raised it to his wrist. "you fucking owe me after this, yeah?" you ignored his words, snatching the stake and raising it to your own wrist, "no, you owe me."
aerion glared at you and took the stake, then shoved you aside, causing you to almost fall off of the bed. then he sliced his wrist, and spilt a few drops onto the sheets. when he thought it was enough, he raised his wrist to his mouth.
your heart spiked when the blood dribbled over his lip, staining his pale skin red. and aerion watched you the entire time. "stop staring." you glanced away and motioned to his dick, "what will you do about that?"
aerion climbed back onto the bed, lips red, "it'll fix itself." you raised your eyebrow, arm brushing his as the two of you lied down, "will it?"
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the next morning, mary came to collect the sheets. you were tired from a night in the same bed as aerion. he was terrible in his sleep; moved constantly, muttered words as he dreamt, and couldn't keep his hands off of you, as if you were his personal stuffed animal.
"do you think they'll suspect?" aerion questioned after getting dressed, and you shrugged, "blood is blood, aerion." you were quite surprised at his anxiety when it came to the consummation. maybe your words of wisdom placed fear into his heart, and rightfully so.
"what will you do today?" you questioned in the hall outside the marriage bedchamber. aerion hummed, hand placed on his head. "terrorize someone. you?"
"sit with my ladies in waiting in the drawing room." aerion stayed by your side as you walked, his hands stuffed within his pockets. "and what do ladies in waiting do?" you shrugged honestly, "we talk and gossip and sew." aerion smacked his lips, "that sounds dull."
"it is very dull."
"then i shall come along and see what ladies speak about." you were surprised at his interest, but you assumed it was his lack of things to do that compelled him to sit with you.
you had three ladies in waiting, vanessa, june, and daisy, who accompanied you from sunspear to kings landing, meant to be your companions. they weren't necessarily your friends, but it gave you women to speak to consistently, and because they were in your service, they were forbidden from spreading gossip.
aerion sat in the far corner, staring out of the window, while you sat at the tea table within the drawing room. you wanted to sneak wine into your tea and perhaps brighten up the day, but instead, you were sewing.
vanessa was to your right, june to your left and daisy across from you. you could see aerion directly behind daisy and he was examining his dagger and speaking to a kingsguard near the door.
"how is married life?" vanessa asked and you shrugged honestly, "it has only been one day. there is little i can say about a man i just met." june nodded in agreement, "i'm sure he's...polite." you chuckled at her attempt to be gentle, "he isn't polite, but he also isn't as cruel as i expected."
the ladies nodded, humming, while you took a sip of your tea, eyes finding aerion. he was stadning now and throwing false punches at the guard, who was looking increasingly panicked, though aerion only seemed to be playing, but then he sat and continued staring out the window.
"and what of the consummation? we only have daisy's story, and it was quite boring." said june, who ignored daisy's scoff. you didn't answer immediately, hand pressing to your belly absentmindedly, and vanessa gasped, "are you already pregnant?"
that drew aerion's eyes, and he glared at you.
"no, no, i'm not pregnant. i was—" june spoke next, "the consummation was well then?" you wanted to snap at them for assuming and interrupting, but all you could focus on was aerion mouthing things at you.
"all hells—say yes!"
"...yes, it was well." none of the women knew you'd had sex before then, and it wasn't something you planned on telling them anyway. "then how was it? sex with the prince i mean." vanessa watched you with excited eyes and you chuckled anxiously.
"it was...nice. hurt a little at first then..." you trailed off, noticing that aerion was watching expectantly, a tiny little smirk on his lips as if he'd actually done something.
"actually, aerion was a little impotent. barely performed." your ladies gasped, each glancing back at aerion as they giggled. the prince's face burst with anger, and he shot out of his seat and approached you, "she's lying. i was fucking perfect."
"then why is there no evidence?" daisy asked, eyebrows raised innocently, and aerion stuttered, mouth agape, "what evidence?"
"love bites? bruises?" aerion glanced at you, then your clean, clear neck and he spat out a curse, snatching daisy's embroidery and pulling the ends of the thread, ruining a couple of hours' worth of work.
you sighed as aerion smirked proudly at her and daisy frowned heavily, head sagging. "that was cruel, husband."
"you know very well what i am." he leaned down to your ear, "and i don't like your fucking lying." the whisper of his breath against your ear made you shiver, and you blushed then turned away entirely. "we will speak of it later."
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a month after the marriage, the targaryen's were hosting a joust in your honor, meant to welcome you to kings landing as the newest member of their family.
you were sitting beneath the royal pavilion, valarr and daeron were to your sides, while maekar and baelor were behind you. and although you and your in laws were cordial, you had no desire to have long conversations with them and neither did they.
aerion was the bridge between the gap, and because he was participating in the joust, there was no one to clue you in on family conversations that almost always referred to incidents that took place before your arrival in king's landing.
though you didn't mind it. besides, it gave you time to watch aerion. for the past month of your marriage, the two of you had slept with miles between you, and not for any particular reason—unless you count the words shared with your ladies-in-waiting.
he was polite to you—brought you meals when you didn't want to eat with the others, requested your baths be warm after the sun set, didn't order you or even touch you unless you asked, which you hadn't.
that was another source of stress for you: the lack of sex. you didn't think it'd be so hard to ask for sex, but you didn't know how to go about it, especially after the consummation. so you didn't say anything at all, though every morning that you saw aerion shirtless, with bed head, the desire grew larger and larger.
aerion was sitting atop his pitch-black horse, speaking to a kingsguard as he awaited the joust to start. you had your veil in your lap, meant to be given to aerion as your favor, to grant him luck within the joust.
it was wrapped around your arm, the main source of your anxiety, mainly because all eyes were on you. attention was something you were used to as a princess, but the smallfolk in king's landing were different. they spoke proudly and bravely, and because of the wedding, you were the source of gossip within the city.
"he will do something stupid." valarr said, leaning towards you. you gave him a nod, grinning, "i've only known him a month, and i'm sure of it." valarr ran a hand through his hair and sighed, "he is...complicated."
humming you turned to him entirely, eyes leaving aerion, "complicated how? i think our versions of complicated are vastly different." valarr shrugged honestly, "he's always been cruel."
"and he hasn't been cruel...to me." valarr watched you for a moment, "you just made my cousin much more complicated." you rolled your eyes politely and sighed, though as soon as you did, there was a man lingering in front of the pavilion.
you glanced down at him, wondering what his purpose was, but he bowed, ignoring the kingsguard as they kept him a safe distance away. "princess targaryen, is it fair if i ask for your favor?" your inlaws paused, and every seemed to take a deep breath.
"what a stupid man." maekar muttered, shaking his head.
you squeezed the armrests of your chair, mouth opening as you shook your head, "ser, that is improper—" aerion was approaching, eyebrows raised as he led his horse behind him.
your heart spiked as your body sagged, glancing away from the entire ordeal as you saw aerion grab the mans shoulder, "why are you speaking to my wife?" he said it oddly calm, face placid, though you could see his foot tapping against the ground anxiously.
the foolish knight turned to aerion and wiped his forehead free of sweat, "i only mean to—"
"ask for my wife's favor? what makes you think i'm not entitled to it?" aerion shoved his horse's lead into a guard's hands, then he placed his hands on his hips, head tilted curiously.
"aerion, the fool meant nothing by it." baelor spat out, annoyed, standing. maekar didn't bother, throwing hard candies into his mouth, eyebrows raised, though there was a sneer on his lips.
"no, no, uncle. how would you react if a fucking man asked for your wife's favor?" aerion glanced at baelor, turning his body towards the pavilion. the knight relaxed entirely and began stepping away, but suddenly, aerion spun around and clocked him directly in the jaw.
you could hear bone colliding with bone as the spectators gasped. baelor sat, hopeless, while maekar was yelling at the kingsguards to grab aerion before he beat the man to death.
blood sprouted from the knight's nose as aerion continued hitting him, and aerion jaw was clenched firmly as he shook off the guards, hands wrapping around the knight's throat.
"not so complicated during these moments." valarr mumbled, and you nodded your head in agreement, finally pushing to your feet and calling aerions name.
"aerion, you can't dirty my veil with blood, so you might as well stop now." the prince froze long enough for the guards to finally get a hold of him, and he glanced at you, palms raised, "too late."
the valyrian steel band around his finger shone in the sunlight and you called his name once more. aerion ordered the guards off of him, then he approached the pavilion, staring up at you, "you expect me to not be fucking pissed? who does that?" aerion ran a hand through his hair, and you nodded placantingly.
"yes, but—" aerion opened his mouth to interrupt you, but you gave him a look, and he sighed, allowing you to continue, "your violence will consume you one day, lest you stop now." aerion reached up and grabbed your hand, giving it a tiny squeeze, before he turned around and grabbed his horse.
you just hoped your words didn't go in one ear and out the other.
that night, you and aerion lied silently in bed. you'd been freshly bathed and oiled, your hair tied away, thumbs twiddling as you stared up at the bed's canopy.
"and what do the people say now? i hope there's no more talk of your breasts." aerion muttered suddenly, and you turned to him, "my ladies say the people think of you just the same as they usually do. enough to forget about my breasts at least."
aerion nodded, licking his lips and sighing, "that man will be fine." you scoffed, "no he won't. you broke his jaw." aerion's eyes squinted, "he will be fine."
you ignored his words and twisted onto your side, deciding you were ready to sleep, but the bed shifted, and aerion was hovering over you, elbow resting against the pillow.
"are you cross with me?"
"you have a ton of questions, and why do you suddenly care what i think?" you matched his gaze with a childish frown on your lips, and aerion chuckled, "i thought husbands cared for their wives thoughts."
you scoffed, "you've got it all wrong aerion. husbands beat their wives and tell them to never speak and use them as sex toys." aerion hummed, "is that what you want? for me to use you each night and bruise you so strategically that no one will know? because it is surely possible."
the thought made your skin buzz with subtle fear, and after a moment, you shook your head, "no."
you still had no clue why aerion had a sense of care over you, and why he wasn't the type to treat his wife like trash, but you were thoroughly grateful, but that wasn't the issue at hand.
"there's something else." he said matter-of-factly, collapsing back onto the bed, though his arm was brushing your spine. the cold sole of your feet pressed against his ankle, and you sighed, "there is something else."
when you didn't clue him in, aerion glared at you, "and what is it?"
you turned to your back, hands resting against your belly. your arm was over the top of aerion's, and each time he picked at his pants, the hair on his arm would rub against you, making you prickly with goosebumps.
"do you have a lover?" he was silent for a moment, then he glanced at you, sneering in confusion, "no i don't have a fucking lover. what are you on about?"
"you don't kiss me, you don't fuck me, you don't even spend time with me." aerion recoiled away from you and stood entirely, "don't tell me you're hurt."
you scoffed, tugging the covers above your head, "i'm not hurt, i'm confused."
"i can not read your mind, wife. if you want kisses and dates and sex, then you must tell me!" he was entirely irritated, and you could tell there was a sense of disappointment in himself because he didn't fulfill your needs to your liking.
you peeked at aerion, and found him leaning against the post of the bed, hand against his head. "do you even want those things?" the miniscule tone of your voice made aerion soften entirely, and he sighed, "yes."
there was a red blush covering his cheeks, and you refused a smile, peeling back the covers to welcome him. aerion took up your offer and stared at the canopy, pale lashes fluttering as he blinked.
"after the consummation, i thought this was just... an arrangement." he muttered, "and each time i tried to please you, you didn't say anything." timidity was never something you thought you'd see with aerion, but it warmed your heart.
"i didn't know how to react."
he shook his head, "that is a poor excuse." you rolled your eyes, twisting onto your side, back to him, "it is the truth, aerion." a few seconds passed, but then he curled around you, legs tangling with yours.
"do you want to have sex now?" he said, and you nodded, "a little, yes." aerion tugged your shift up slowly, then pressed his clothed dick against you, which was unsurprisingly already hard.
"i have thought about you, a lot." the rumble of his voice in your ear was enough to have you gushing, eyes closed as you relaxed.
"when?" aerion pushed through your folds, nails digging into the soft skin of your hip, "in the morning mostly. when you undress in the bathing room. i could see you—fuck—every inch of you." he began pushing into you, lips locked around the skin on your neck, leaving a purple bruise that multiplied as he focused on another inch of you.
you body was buzzing with pleasure, inhaling every scent of aerion—his hair, his sweat, his musk, everything. something about him made your body want to burst like a firework.
he knew exactly what to do too, fingers pinching at your nipples, tongue working at your skin, all the while he thrusted into you, slow at first until he was fully hilted.
the pressure built, but at his first thrust, the pleasure overtook your body entirely. you reached back and fisted aerion's hair, delighting in his rough moans. his front kissed your back each time he pushed into you, and when you grabbed his hand and placed it on your clit, aerion began to flick dutifully.
"your ladies won't know what happened to you." aerion muttered, forehead on the curve of your spine. you chuckled at his words, grabbing his arm and pulling it tighter around your body.
"i'll be pregnant in a fortnight if you continue on like this." you muttered when you felt him tighten and release inside of you, warm with his cum. your thighs were trembling as your orgasm grew, piquing each time he rutted into you.
"what if i want you pregnant?" aerion sucked on your earlobe, smirking when you came, every muscle in your body releasing with a spasm. you inhaled deeply and let out a moan, "you don't want me pregnant, aerion. you want to have fun as long as possible, without the children."
he hummed, nodding, "you know me better than expected." aerion suddenly flipped you onto your belly, hands pressing into your back as he slammed into you.
your ears were ringing, cheek pressed into the pillow, but all you could think to do was moan. "i'll need moon tea." you muttered, and aerion nodded, pushing into you one last time before he came.
his mouth was agape, eyelids squeezed tightly shut, and when he fell on top of you, neither of you bothered to move. "i'll make it myself, yes?"
"the people will just assume we're having trouble producing. or you, rather." aerion grumbled, "i perform perfectly."
