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atinybitofau · 4 years ago

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[PART 7] S A N royal series au

RECAP: san is king of eden, you’re queen of elos under one nation along side 7 other lone kings. upon being invited to San’s kingdom, he asks for your help and you find some answers to your own questions.

• series masterlist •

⇩ PART SEVEN ⇩ , click me to read part six.

“Looking like fine wine, this afternoon, princess.” King San teases your choice of color. “I didn’t know you liked to couple match.”

You scoff your exasperation away and part your lips. “My choice of wardrobe is a mere coincidence. You flatter yourself too often.”

He licks at his lips. “On par.”

“What am I doing here, San?”

“Uh uh.” His eyebrow soars up on his forehead. “That’s King San to you. Must I remind you every time?”

Glancing at the curious eyes around you, you let image overpower and you’re forced to correct yourself. “Forgive me, your grace— King San, thou most noble, most sovereign, the mightiest monarch under the lord’s blessed eyes. I concede you’d be any more of that, oh mighty imperial prince.”

San grins at you again and it’s because of plain amusement. Where his kingdoms finest men watch you gloat for their king, he knows you’re only trying to press his buttons. Annoyed at most that he’s making you do the unspeakable.

“That’s more like it.”

You refrain an eye roll. “So what is so dire that I needed to travel 4 tiresome hours for?”

He nervously plays with the cuffs of his dress shirt, his own image changed in a second. “I have nothing to wear.”

“What?”

His eyes shift between you and his men uncertain of his reasons and how they might come across.

“What is it you need, San, I don’t have all day. I have a coronation to plan, my own dress as well— if you’re just wasting my time-“

“I want your advice on what to wear at your coronation.”

You glare into his honey eyes and realize he was being genuine. For once. It was quite amusing to see him this vulnerable. He pushes back at his tussled moussed hair before turning away in such shame of his request. You can’t help but giggle, hands behind your back peering over his shoulder on tip toes. He turns his chin out, your faces now inches apart and you decide to tease him despite your racing heart.

“Does almighty San need my help? From a helpless future Queen that he oh-so despises?”

“I never said I despise you.” He retaliates inching closer making you stumble back. “I simply detest your opinions. That’s all.”

“Well you killed my father so—“

“I did not! And soon you’ll find the reason. One day you’ll regret accusing me of such.”

You jut your lips at that. “For your sake, I hope I do.”

You stare into each other eyes with different notions. Both speaking of war but for now you see much different. In fact, you see the world in his eyes; Bright and bold while he stares at you with an unmoving twitch. He blinks once. Then twice till you finally realize you’re caught in each other’s gaze for long enough.

He pulls at his vest promptly before looking away and clearing his throat. “Will you help me or not?”

“Do you really think you’ll make a fool out of yourself at my coronation choosing your own attire?” You scoff unconvinced. “San, you do realize how out of the blue this sounds, right? And you understand my hesitation.”

He pricks at his teeth in clear frustration. “The men attending your party fit the criteria of social exposure. If it’s not already obvious enough, Princess, I lack in social settings. I, at least, deserve a well put together suit.”

It’s nothing but the truth. Because no one invites the royal family of Eden to their events. It’s just not practical. With all the broken treaties, uncertainties his ancestors gathered in the past, San was far from the luxury of being invited. It’s not that they weren’t interested. They were too afraid of what Choi San could do.

An image for an image.

Weird how you want to change that of all people. Even if circumstances prove to be different, you want San to feel welcome. You want San... particularly in close proximity to you..

“They bother you that much?” You dare to ask even if it seems like it’s a sensitive thing to him. His ego not as real as people like to think. “The things people say about you. How they look at you?”

He looks at you again and there’s fire in them you’ve never seen before. Dim and barely causing a singe. “I don’t want my kingdom to suffer the way I do. And if I have to make an image of myself granted the opportunity given, I will.”

Your lip nudges to the side, soft blush forming on your cheeks for no reason at all. “Asking me of my opinion on a suit and tie wont help that, I promise.”

He pouts almost. “Better than what I can concoct. I can’t even tell the difference between velour and velvet.”

“Yet you can tell the difference between a pretty face and an ugly one.” You roll your eyes, arms crossed over you chest.

“I can tell you we’ve both got pretty one’s. If that’s any consolation.”

“Both are not. Don’t kid yourself, San.” You joke bravely taking his arm to escort you forward— a gesture in tradition.

Your relationship with Eden’s King was not strong. It was not positive and it was not given a sturdy foundation. But the way you see him versus the way you feel are two different things set on two different platforms. Issues aside, you would’ve fell face first for San’s odd charms. His perpetual personality besides his dashing good looks— you’d only think of falling for a man like that. And if it’s a King you need, it’d most likely be San you do pursue. That’s no argument. However, that’s not how things were handed to you.

No, when San entered your life, he was nothing but a nuisance. The killer of your terminally ill father. The man who held the key to saving your dying kingdom’s future? Choi San was in full responsibility and he threw that right back at your face. You should hate him. You should loathe him and with every time you see him, you should be livid. You should be off the walls ready to hang him for what it’s worth.

With what time has given you, it’s in fact far from the case. The times you feel like you should throw San in a ditch, you think of hugging him instead. You wish for a smile to form on his face that you shouldn’t want. No, you actually like hearing him taunt you with that forbidden smile of his. You think it’s fun having him tease you. The bothersome choices in words the King of Eden has in effect keens you. King San reels you in like a river fish; aware of it’s death but chooses hunger first. You dove straight for the bait.

Playing coy, like a damsel in distress wanting nothing but his undivided attention.

Fuck you were falling in love with him, you fool.

You two enter a grand room. Grander than your own dressing room, ironically studded in velvet. No extravagant rocks to show and determine wealth but only fabrics of modesty. For someone who couldn’t tell the difference between velour and velvet, he wore the latter very often.

“Good evening, Princess y/n.” His maiden’s greet you kindly as you enter the room in arms link to their King.

You hold a scoff because even his seamstresses were beautiful. He really can tell the difference between an ugly face and a pretty one.

You curtly bow before shooing San away short distance. “Please tell me. How is your King to you? Unwell, rude, obscenely obnoxious?”

Eager to hear a response from that, you jitter. The women seeming taken aback at most but slightly disapproving too.

“Far from it, your grace.” They defend with urgency. “King San is anything but! He’s too kind to us. We forget sometimes we even serve the kingdom.”

Impressed by their sincerity for their King, you glance to San who seemed restless gazing at random materials. He was obviously too dumb to think otherwise. He was still thinking about what he was going to wear to your coronation. Which was, if you think about it, kind of genuine of him.

“We hope to serve you well too, your grace.” They share a quick glance before innocently batting their eyes at you. “What color was your dress, your majesty?”

“M-my dress?” Your quick to receive.

“King San has been refusing any suggestions to a color. He’s insisted we wait for you.” They whisper as if attempting to keep shame for their king.

You whip around to look at an empty-minded San who was roaming around the room, gawking at random textiles like he’s never even seen them before. Obviously still disregarding you.

“He has?”

“It’s beyond our judgement but we’re forced to believe he quite fancies you, your royal highness.”

You nearly choke on air before San’s attention span finally gets recharged. “Oh that’s right, Princess. I was meaning to ask you about the color of your dress.”

Oh my god they were being serious.

You chuckle awkwardly, the girls snickering at the sudden question. “Why is that important right now?”

His lips curl, red and moist from frowning this whole time. “Because I want to know. Is that forbidden?”

“O-of course not.” You stutter back. “I’m just taken aback, that’s all.”

He sulks in his chair, leg bouncing on the floor anxiously. He‘s throwing a temper tantrum right now. He can’t be serious.

You laugh sardonically again bewildered at his action. “San. What on earth are you doing?”

“I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“For an honest answer.”

Oh my god, he was being fucking serious.

His maidens giggle under their breaths and San was too oblivious to notice the hidden truth to their reaction. At this point you were. And your face was as red as the tomato’s that’s grew in Mingi’s gardens.

Maybe you two were getting too comfortable..

“San, I can’t tell you what color my—“

“I don’t like any of the colors then. They’re not pretty to me.”

You puff in disbelief. “Choi San, you’re not a child. Just because—“

“A child? Who’s acting like a child? I don’t see anyone acting like that here.” His eyes hood when he glares at you. “But the woman in front of me whining and throwing a fit like one may prove otherwise.”

“You have gotta be kidding— oh for fucksake, the color of my dress is gold.”

Almost immediately, San’s eyes scan the table in front of you and instead chooses a fabric hiding in the breasts of his vest. He was faster than the eye can blink and you don’t even get to see the color before he hides it in the hands of his seamstresses. You gasp showing betrayal at his actions.

“I THOUGHT I WAS BEING SUMMONED HERE FOR MY CHOOSING?!”

“Now I want it to be a surprise.”

Perpetual indeed.

“I hate you.” It was your turn to sulk. “I can’t believe you not only disrespect the honors of a woman but her time.”

San scoffs. “So dramatic, princess.”

The maidens gasp in the pause you two make. “Would you look at the time your highness’. We must ready for supper.”

The women now showing shy smiles, giggle on their way out. Finally being free from the public eye, you slap at his thigh obviously annoyed by him acting up all day.

“You are refutable, Choi San, absolutely refutable.” You resist the temptation to punch him till he bleeds. “For someone who claims to detest me, you really take making my life miserable to unspeakable lengths.

“Something I’d want to do often, now that I think about it.”

“How can you think this would be a good time to be cheeky?!”

“Because you always have impeccable reactions, Princess. How could I refuse?” He smirks, his smile definitely going to be the death of you.

p.s rough edit lol

@atinybitofau

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

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The hand that feeds

Warnings: noncon sex (fingering, oral, intercourse).

This is dark!Loki and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader has served the royal family for years, but her newest master may be too demanding.

Note: Hey yo! If you wanna leave some feedback, a like, or even reblog, that would be chill. I just decided on a little Loki love today so I hope y'all enjoy!

No one thought the kingdom would stay the same in the wake of Odin’s death. No longer shrouded by the old king’s obstinacy or iron grip. But none had expected an absentee heir. The former prince had not been seen since his coronation. His golden hair topped with a crown even brighter.

It was rumoured he had gone to Midgard to win over the woman he loved. Others suggested he was off getting into his usual trouble. Many expected more of him now that he had inherited the throne, though not so many were truly surprised. Asgard’s ruling family had never been known for their integrity.

The only who seemed to benefit from his absence was the one who often suffered in his presence. Loki was left at the head of the council to sort out the daily duties and attend to whatever trouble rose in the realm. While his brother was away, he could play out his dreams of being king. Though, should Thor be away long enough, he might just stop playing at it.

Even now, Loki sat in front of the throne, forbidden by right to perch upon it. He was a placeholder, nothing more. You watched from your vigil at his shoulder. You had not stood there since the old king ruled. Several months since then. It felt like a lifetime.

Odin’s death marked the end of your tenure. First, you’d attended his wife but upon her demise, he kept you on. A reminder of his beloved. A loyal servant who nearly died in her defence gifted with preference for years of service. And it had all so easily dissolved upon the new king’s ascent.

Until that day.

As you prepared to tend to your new duties in the kitchen, Helga stopped you and took the kettle from your hands. Her square jaw was a sharp as ever as she gave her orders. She handed off the brass vessel to another and stared you down.

“Seems you have been called back to your former bearing,” She said. “The prince has need of a cup bearer this morning as he hears the people’s grievances. And judging by the crowd, he will be in sore need of wine.”

You set the large goblet and pitcher on a tray and set off for your duty. You did not miss it. Standing endlessly as you listened to the complaints of farmers and lords alike. The king’s, or in this case, the prince’s diplomatic, at times terse, response.

Loki signalled you with two fingers when he was in need of a sip, more often a gulp. He didn’t look at you as you offered the cup or as he placed it back on your tray. Several times you had to angle yourself to catch the goblet. As the morning turned to afternoon, your feet ached. You’d quickly forgotten the toll of the task. Your hips, your knees, your arms from balancing the tray. You hid it all behind a servant’s mask.

At last, the day’s session came to an end. Loki stood and the servants and audience bowed as he did. Even as you dipped your head, you didn’t miss the glimmer of satisfaction in his emerald eyes. And he didn’t miss your glance. He squinted as he caught your errant gaze. You lowered your lashes and righted yourself.

He neared, his cape brushed along the toes of your slippers as he passed. “With me,” He said under his breath, “I should like some fresh wine.”

“Your highness,” You followed him through the door behind the throne.

“I’ll be in my solar.” He said curtly. “Bring enough for Lord Bjarke, as well.”

“Yes, your highness.” You replied.

He turned down the hall and left you to scurry away. His cloak flapped noisily around his long strides and seemed to echo around you as you turned the corner. You quickly rinsed his goblet and grabbed another. You went to the cellar and found a bottle of the Northern red. It was his favourite, you recalled from the nights he attended supper with Odin.

You were quick to arrive at his solar. You knocked and he called from within. You entered with the customary bow and he gestured to his desk. Lord Bjarke scratched his thick black beard as you set down the tray and poured their drinks. He seized his almost at once as Loki barely noticed your presence. You backed away courteously and neared the door.

“Stay,” He didn’t look at you, merely pointed to the corner to the right of him. “We may need more wine.”

“Oh we may,” Lord Bjarke guffawed as droplets glistened in his grey-streaked beard. “Maybe some ale.”

“Well, let’s attend to important matters before you get too deep in your cups,” Loki warned as he spread out a parchment and leaned over it. “Despite your rank, my lord, you cannot so openly infringe upon the royal forest.”

“Infringe, my prince, I was granted land for my service to your father.” Bjarke argued.

“You were but I have that grant right here,” Loki took another paper, “It does not include my family’s hunting grounds.”

He slid the deed across to Bjarke and reached for his goblet. He sniffed before he sipped. A slight curve of his lips as he set the cup aside. For a moment, his eyes strayed in your direction but he quickly corrected himself.

“No animals venture along that border. They are too meek for that.” Bjarke scoffed. “I see little issue in me expanding my crops.”

“I do. I’m sure my brother would too. And despite my father’s favour for you, if he were still alive, he’d very much have an issue with this.” Loki hissed. “And I suspect you know that, hence why you’ve waited until his death to trespass.”

“Trespass? No...I--” Bjarke stuttered.

“Yes,” Loki insisted. “So, I will give you two options, and let me warn you, my lord, I am not in the habit of lenience but I should allow you this one oversight. So, you can cease your trespass on royal land and we can drop the matter altogether or you can carry on and pay the crown eighty percent of your harvest for use of our land.” Loki smirked. “Oh, and of course a fine for the crime itself.”

“I--I think you forget yourself, my prince, you might be head of council but it does not make you king. As I recall, your brother wears the crown.” Bjarke snarled.

“And he has left his duty to me. I am his voice now and my will is his. So, you make your choice. Be gracious for the wealth you’ve already acquired, or insist on your greed and lose it. If it were a rainy day, I should make the choice for you.”

Bjarke grumbled and drained his cup. “I shall relent, my prince.” He stood and slammed down the goblet.

“Let’s not forget ourselves, my lord, I could have made this same offer in front of the people. Could’ve declared your crimes to the kingdom itself. Though, it wouldn’t have been much of an offer then.” Loki warned.

“Yes, your highness,” Bjarke swallowed his anger and bowed. You watched the man, named for the bear he resembled, stomp out of the chamber. His heavy boots could be heard as they faded on the other side of the door.

You stared at the carved wood. Parchment rustled along the desk as Loki resumed his work. His ring softly clinked against the goblet and you looked over as he leaned back in his chair. He stretched his legs out beneath the desk and hooked one over the other as he reclined lazily.

“You’re a clever one.” He mused as he glanced over at you.

“Your highness?” You wondered.

“The wine. Northern. You remember.” He grinned. “My own father never recalled, but you do.”

“With respect, your highness, your mother always made certain to have it stocked for you.” You replied.

He nodded and took another drink. “My mother…” He repeated. “I heard a tale about you.”

“A tale?” You raised a brow.

“This kingdom is full of rumours, it is hard to know which to believe.” He finished the cup and set it down. He motioned for you to refill it. As you stepped forward, he watched you. “It is said you tried to save my mother.”

“I failed, your highness.” You set down the pitcher. “She was much braver than me.”

“My father liked you, too,” He carried on. “I recall that. Very fond of you, indeed.”

You tilted your head but said nothing.

“But my brother sent you back to the kitchens.” He shook his head. “Very unfortunate.”

“I am a servant. I go where I am bid.” You replied evenly.

“Loyal to a fault,” He remarked. “You are better than the kitchens.” He took another sip and swirled the wine in the cup, watching the small tidal he created within. “I am in need of a chambermaid.”

He held your eyes as he drank. You stood in patient silence. A servant’s duty.

“So, you go where you are bid. I bid you in my chamber.” His eyes flared and he chuckled. “Pardon my poor wording.”

“Your highness.” You bowed and he focused on you. Trying to see past your facade.

“Well then, best be off to your new duties.” He said. “You will attend my supper as well. Tonight is a feast and I expect more of this.” He doffed his cup.

With your dismissal, you left and hurried down the corridors. Helga would be unhappy with your re-assignment but you wouldn’t have to deal with her much.

You fell into your duties easily. They were familiar; second-nature. The only difference was Loki. He wasn’t much in his chambers; mostly his solar or the great hall. Yet, you were almost always in his presence. He kept you close, to refill his goblet or fetch him some other fancy.

You tidied his chambers, attended his plate, and saw to the order of his solar. Thor remained gone and Loki remained as he was. Overworked and overjoyed. He basked in his temporary power, at times, you thought, a bit too much. At other times, you saw his mother in him. He was pensive, often quiet, but his menace set him apart.

You could see it in his eyes. He read other people; measured them and how he could use them. You could tell he was still trying to do so with you. You caught him staring at you at times. Others, he’d speak to you as he had that first day. Never happy with your answers, always pushing for more. It was harmless; it was Loki. You’d seen him do the same to his own blood. His little games.

The day had been tense. Loki met with Odin’s old master of war, Lord Eadric. The grizzled veteran was unhappy with the new king’s absence. Unhappy with the prince’s work. He shared Odin’s distrust for the dark-haired son. Their meeting turned to raised voices and spilled wine.

You stood in the corner as Eadric stormed from the room. The door shook in its frame. The old man was stronger than he looked. Loki gripped the edge of his desk as he sat. Wine dripped down the wood and his angry breaths filled the silence.

You righted the pitcher that had been overturned and took the cloth from your apron pocket. You wiped the desk and bent to clean the floor. You mopped up the mess and sensed his gaze on you. You looked up as Loki watched you. His features had softened and he no longer looked so angry. You turned back to your work and stood as you finished up.

“Thank you,” He said quietly as he rubbed his forehead. “I think I will take my supper alone. In my chamber.”

“Your highness.” It was an order. Most of his words were.

You bowed and left him, the wet cloth in hand. The door closed behind you and was followed by the sound of metal on stone. He had thrown the goblet. You retreated quickly away from his solar and sought out the kitchens. You were not eager to return to the agitated prince.

You tossed the cloth in the hamper meant for dish towels and grabbed a tray from the stack. You loaded up a platter and placed a lid over it. You stopped by the cellars for a bottle of Northern red and carried on to the prince’s chambers. He often ate in his solar or at the feast table with the court. It was best he keep to himself after such a display.

You set down the tray as you entered and lit the lanterns one at a time. His receiving chamber was large but cozy. A black bear skin before the hearth, a velvet chaise atop it. You carried the tray to the round table and set the wine beside it. You knelt to stoke the fireplace before you tended to the chamber.

It was already tidy. Your work was truly minimal. Loki didn’t leave much of a mess. You knew, however, if you left, he would be unhappy. You had done so one night on the presumption that your duties were finished and he had reprimanded you for it the next day. And the day after. He made sure you learned your lessons well.

You waited by the wall. You stood patiently as they time passed slowly and cursed your fortune. Among servants, your position was an envied one but it was just as tedious as any other.

When the door opened, you were ready to close your eyes and attempt to doze upright. Loki swept in and you greeted him with a bow.

“Wine,” He demanded as he pulled his chair out and sat heavily.

You neared the table and poured the wine steadily. You corked the bottle and set it back down. He took it swiftly and drank deeply. It was half-empty when he drew it away from his lips. You remained close, ready for his next order.

He licked his lips and looked up at you. His green as twinkled as if he only just recalled your presence. He considered you as his brows twitched.

“Sit,” He waved to the chair in front of you. You looked down at it but didn’t move. He waited and repeated himself tersely. You pulled the chair out and sat lightly. His mother had let you sit with her but never Odin, or any other. He put the cup down and slid it over to you. “Have a drink.”

“Your highness,” You protested. “It is against palace rules for servants to indulge.”

“I said drink,” He commanded. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your marm.”

You blinked and grabbed the goblet by the stem. You looked into the dark depths of the wine. You sipped from the golden rim daintily and placed it back on the table. He scoffed and shook his head.

“Finish it,” He said.

You resisted a frown and took the cup once more. You brought it to your lips and he pushed the bottom of it up as you drank. You drained it and coughed as he finally let you pull it away. He took the goblet as you wiped your mouth with your sleeve and he chuckled.

“Are you hungry?” He asked as he removed the lid from the platter.

“No.” You answered, your throat still seared from the alcohol. “Thank you.”

“Very well,” He accepted and speared a carrot with his fork. “Heimdall says Thor should return shortly. Who knows how long he’ll remain though.”

You nodded and kept quiet. He looked up from his plate and watched you as he chewed. He swallowed and smirked.

“Don’t you ever get bored of it? Watching others eat and drink and whine? Cleaning up after them?” He asked.

“That’s my duty, your highness.” You replied flatly. “As you have yours.”

He nodded and took another bite. He ate as you saw the thoughts bounce across his face. His jaw tensed and the vein stuck out on his forehead. He finished and replaced the lid on the platter. He refilled his own cup and drank from it deeply.

“You may clean this up,” He motioned to the dishes. “And fetch another bottle and a cup for yourself.”

You rose without argument. He wasn’t of the mood for it, not that he ever was. You gathered the platter and cutlery on the tray and swept from the room. You grabbed a second bottle of red and another goblet and headed back. You dreaded your return.

When you entered, Loki was stood by the hearth. His hand was on the mantle as he stared into the flames. You set down your wares and waited for him to speak. He barely seemed to notice your presence. His fingers tapped on the stone ledge and he turned suddenly.

“Remove my cloak for me.” He commanded.

You neared and he stood still for you. You unclasped the green cape from each shoulder as he watched your hands. You draped it over your arm and left him to hang it on its hook along the wall. You heard the chair scrape on the floor as he sat again and you turned back.

“Another drink,” He insisted.

You went to the table and poured him a cup. He pushed the other up for you to fill. He took his goblet and pointed to the other chair. You sat and he handed you the second cup. He clinked his against yours and took a gulp. You mimicked him, the wine bitter on your tongue.

“I’d think servants would be more in need of a drink than nobles,” He commented. “I don’t know how you bear us.”

“Barely,” You returned without thinking. You clasped your lips shut and set down your cup.

He chuckled and drank some more. “You are...amusing, dear.” He emptied his goblet and placed it on the table. “I see why my mother liked you.”

He stood and stretched his arms as he stepped away. He yawned and paced the perimeter of the room. You made to rise and he stopped you with a raised hand.

“Ah. Finish your wine.” He ordered. “Then you may assist me in retiring for the night.”

You looked over at him as he continued to stride along the room. He watched you and smirked. He nodded for you drink and you lifted the cup. You took large gulps, each swallow easier than the last. You held in a belch and set aside the goblet. Your cheeks were warm and your head felt fuzzy.

Loki came up just behind you and leaned over you to check your cup. He touched your shoulder and backed away. “Very well, then. I should like a bath drawn.”

“Your highness,” You stood a bit too quick and grabbed the table.

You righted yourself and turned to pass him as he stood by the door to the bedroom. You swept into the bath chamber and worked the pump until it began to spew hot water. You stepped back and turned as Loki entered behind you. His eyes followed your movement and he began to undo the clasps along the chest of his jacket.

“Towel,” He said. “You shall attend to my bath this evening.”

You bowed your head, the words caught in your throat. You went to the bedchamber and grabbed a towel from the closet. You returned to the bath chamber and blanched. You almost stumbled as Loki’s pale ass greeted you. He stood in the large round tub, naked, and lowered himself with a groan against the side of the basin.

You hung the towel on the rod and kept your eyes on the floor as you turned. You folded your hands in front of you and listened to the water splash down. You could hear him moving around and you bit down on your tongue. A female servant attending a male noble in his bath was unseemly. Helga would say it was forbidden.

“You may turn the water off.” Loki declared.

You refused to look at him as you neared the large tub; big enough for six of him. You bent and twisted the faucet and straightened up. The steam dampened the front of your apron and you smoothed it out as you resumed your stance. You blinked as you tried to clear the fog from your head.

You could feel his eyes on you. The way he always watched you. You could not tell if it was spite or intrigue. Likely the former. You raised your eyes to his and he stared back. His arms were stretched over the rim of the basin as the steam rose up around him.

“I hear the servants bathe in the river. Is that true?” He asked.

“We do,” You assured him.

“Hmmm, I always thought to sneak down and see for myself…” He grinned. “Perhaps you’d be there?”

The heat spread from your cheeks and down your neck. Your chest filled with fire as you held his gaze; speechless. He chuckled to himself and it hung in the air. His eyes fell from yours.

“Join me.” He said.

“Your highness?” You glanced at the door.

“Get that grimy apron off and join me,” He repeated.

Your mouth fell open. You clutched your hands together and gaped at him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“I won’t tell you a third time.” He warned.

It took a moment to find your strength. You pondered the door again. If you ran, would he come after you? Even if he didn’t, you were certain he’d have you not only out of his service, but out of the palace. You swallowed and reached back to untie your apron. Your fingers were clumsy as they tugged on the knots.

You lifted the apron over your head and sling it over the counter. You knelt to remove your sandals and kept your eyes on the tile. You unbuckled your belt and your plain gown fell loose. You placed the braided leather on your apron and slowly lifted the fabric along your legs.

The more skin you bared, the more you trembled. When you bathed in the river, there were dozens around. But there had never been any princes. As you freed yourself from the gown, you looked up to find Loki’s eyes set on you. Your thigh-length shift did little to conceal your curves. You folded the dress up with the rest of your clothes.

“Go on,” He breathed.

You tensed and grabbed the hem of your shift. His gaze didn’t waver as you pulled it up and you braced yourself as you bared yourself to him entirely. You tossed the shift a top your dress and neared the tub.

You lifted your leg over the large circular basin and stepped inside. You tried not to look at Loki as you lowered yourself against the stone. You hugged your knees to your chest and hugged them shyly. The water shifted as he moved and you tried not to flinch.

He came up beside you, his arm behind you as his hand settled on your wrist. He gripped it firmly but did not pull. He leaned into you and his hot breath added to the steam.

“Now, now, I know you’re not daft.” He purred and slowly moved your hand. Your legs fell and left you prone.

You bit your lip as he guided your hand further down. He pressed your palm to his cock and you winced. He pushed your fingers closed around him and you turned your face away from him.

“Don’t let go.” He demanded. He removed his hand and grabbed your chin. He made you look at him as you clung to his cock. “Move your hand, dear. Up….” You slowly glided your hand along his length and he exhaled deeply, “Down...again. Oh yes.”

You kept the motion as he hugged you closer. His hand slipped from your chin and crawled along your throat. He cupped you breast and then the other. He played with them, fondled them, and tweaked your nipples before he bent to take one in his mouth.

You pushed yourself against the marble desperately and let go of him. He growled against your flesh and grabbed your hand. He replaced it on his cock and nipped you. You whimpered and stroked him again.

His hand went to your thighs and kneaded the flesh. His fingers dipped between them and you wriggled against him. He raised his head with a sneer. He leaned close and spoke in your ear. “Be a good servant and tend to your prince.” It was a threat. Serve your prince or serve no other.

“Your highness,” Your voice was thin; scared.

He dragged his fingers along your folds and around your clit. He his lips to your temple as he breathed into your hair. He caressed you as your hand continued to play with him. His touch grew firmer, quicker, and stoked a new heat. You shuddered and closed your eyes. A dark laugh escaped his lips as he felt your body surrender.

His fingers slipped down and he pressed his palm to your clit. His fingers circled your entrance and slowly dipped inside. You gasp as he pushed deeper, curving to find your special place. You quivered as he moved his hand slowly. The friction along your bud added to the sensation.

You could barely keep your own hand moving as he played with you. He pulled back and his other hand stretched along your neck. He worked his fingers harder, faster, and the water rippled around you. Your breath hitched and you struggled to catch it as your core began to bloom.

It swelled and swelled until you came suddenly, a pathetic mewl escaped your lips. In your rapture, your hand had still but gripped Loki tightly. He rocked his hips and pulled his fingers out. He brushed your hand away from his cock and stood.

He moved in front of you and grabbed the back of your head. He forced you onto your knees and dragged you closer. You brought your hands up to push against his thighs but he was much too strong. Your arms shook as you struggled with him. Half-drunk and still awash in the afterglow. You were weak, senseless.

“Open up, dear,” He grabbed your chin with his other hand. “Don’t you know the punishment for a disobedient servant?”

Your eyes rounded. The thought of the leather strap flashed through your mind. You opened your mouth and he pushed inside. Your hands slipped down as he sank to the back of your throat. He went deeper until you gagged, and only allowed you a moment to steady yourself.

He pulled you back and thrust back in just as quickly. He held you in place as he fucked your face and you splashed helplessly in the water. His grunts mixed with your gags and the stir of the water around you. He plunged down your throat and stopped. He shuddered and removed himself in a single motion.

He let go and you fell back, barely keeping your head from hitting the marble. You gasped and choked as you reached around you blindly and turned to crawl out of the tub. He caught your hips as you were halfway out. He pushed you against the marble so that you were bent over the edge and slapped your ass. You yelped and he did it again.

“Not so fast,” He taunted as his nails dug into your hip and his other pinched your ass. “My ever loyal servant, you know better than to leave before you are dismissed.”

His cock poked your ass and he guided it down. You squirmed and he held you against the tub as he rubbed along your entrance. You reached out for the floor, so far away. There was nothing else to latch onto. He pushed himself along your folds and spread your juices along the tip of his cock.

He aligned himself and delved into you. You swung out behind you and tried to push him away. He ignored your fingertips as they poked his hip. He bottomed out and you exclaimed. He was too much. Too big. It hurt and yet as he pulled back, your walls quaked. Delighted by the feel of him inside you.

He grabbed your arms as you struggled and pulled you back by your elbows. With your hips still against the basin, he thrust into you. Your back arched painfully as he restrained you and his wet flesh clapped against yours. You whined and whimpered with each plunge. The pain mingled with pleasure as your head spun in shock and confusion.

“Please,” You begged. “Please…”

“It is forbidden for a servant to lay with a noble.” He snarled as he fucked you harder and harder. His fingers grew tighter around your arms. “But, should anyone…find out…” He spoke between grunts, “Who do you think will suffer?” He growled and let go of your arms.

You held yourself up against the tub and he rutted into you. His hand snaked around to play with your tit as his other hand squeezed your ass.

“Not me. Fuck.” He panted as sped up. You hung your head and tried to fight the rapture as it rose within you. “Gods, you’re tight.”

You shook as you came. You bit down on your lip to keep from crying out. But he knew. He could see the ripple along your spine and the tremble in your thighs. He slammed into you harder and moved his hands to your hips. He clung to you as his thrusts turned spasmodic and his voice rose in a snarl.

He pulled out of you and spilled his seed down your thigh. He rubbed his cock along your skin to spread his cum and smacked your ass again. He backed away and your arms collapsed. You slid down into the water; breathless against the marble as you looked up at him in a haze.

“It won’t be so bad, my pet,” He bent and caressed your cheek, “A favoured servant earns certain favours.”

#loki #dark!loki #fic #loki x reader #dark!loki x reader #dark loki #dark loki x reader #dark!fic #dark fic #thor #mcu #marvel #au #darkverse #dark!verse

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chaninfused · 5 years ago

Text

[they’ll never know /ii] From the world of ‘The Songless Bird’.

“So, you’re the one who stole our prince’s heart?” The queen smiled at you warmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, dear.”

You felt out of place as you curtseyed. “The pleasure is mine.”

The instant you fixed your posture, Minho’s hand wrapped around yours comfortingly. You faced him with a small smile. The prince looked impossibly breathtaking that night and you felt as if your soul was being snatched away by the mere sight of him. His eyes were sparkling with a different kind of gleam — a mixture of pride and endearment. You knew he was ecstatic to introduce you to his parents although you doubted you deserved the attention. What was a criminal doing in such a beautiful dress?

You spotted Hyunjin, Jisung, and the founder, all posing as the noble Han family. You were a member of that family, or at least that’s what the king and queen were told to believe. To them, you were the Hans’ daughter who studied abroad.

Minho didn’t let go of your hand, even when you sat at the long table for dinner. Just as he promised. The prince has attended more formal events than he could count, but this experience was new to you. He wanted to ensure your comfort.

The truth is, you were not there to meet nobility and gossip, you were there for the prince’s safety. Such gatherings were on every criminal leader’s list to infiltrate.

When the feast was set, you were on high alarm. A poisoned drink can be passed to the prince any second, so you kept a watchful eye on him.

It wasn’t until a server specifically handed him a drink did you squeeze his hand tightly in warning. He gave you a curious look and when you shook your head, he understood your message and put the glass down.

The same server came back a while later, offering more drinks that Minho politely declined. He then stood at his side, pretending to remove used plates and you noticed, from the corner of your eye as you absentmindedly swirled a spoon in your soup, a small, shiny object. You didn’t have to take a good look at it to know what it was; a dagger pointed at the prince’s back.

The dagger in the pouch skillfully hidden between the folds of your dress felt heavy, urging you to use it. You wanted to use it.

A look exchanged between you, Hyunjin, and Jisung from across the table was enough for you to reach down and pull out your beloved weapon. You waited calmly, not for the server to make a move but for your heart to tell you when to make yours. You’ve done this so many times it became second nature.

You felt it, and your muscles moved on their own. The loud screech of your chair against the flooring was enough to hush everyone, and when they looked in your direction, you were burying a dagger deep down the server’s neck.

He fell once you retracted the weapon, and the drinks he was hoping to serve fell with him. Blood mixed with shards of glass and whatever was inside those glasses, and you towered above it all with a blank face. The dagger escaped his grasp as he sputtered for air, dying mere moments later.

When you looked around, they all stared, faces stricken as if they witnessed the most horrific crime. You were familiar with this.

You let tears fill your eyes as you clutched your dress with bloodied hands — a distractive act.

The prince stood and immediately pulled you into his embrace, right before the chaos began. Guards rushed to the lifeless body and guests shouted in confusion as you were led out of the hall hurriedly.

You kept the show of being a fragile maiden and sobbed quietly until you reached the prince’s wing, where you slipped out of his arms, finally breathing.

“Are you mad?”

“No,” he answered you softly, eyes trailing over your features in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you sniffled, wiping your forced tears away.

He seemed to believe you because a wide grin soon overrode his face as he gently brushed a strand of hair away from your eyes. He glowed. “You look beautiful.”

You raised your bloodied hands, which now felt sticky and disgusting, and gave him a teasing smile. “Sure.”

He laughed, and you realized you could never get tired of hearing that sound. “You should wash up.”

And you did. You couldn’t wait to step out of the heavy dress and into your regular, comfortable attire. Stars, how did royals handle looking pretty all the time?

When you left the washroom, you found the prince sitting on the edge of his bed. He removed the fancy jacket he was wearing to stay in a plain shirt with rolled-up sleeves. His classic look, which somehow made him look even better.

“How did you know?” He asked once you sat next to him and you shrugged, “You do realize that I came here for other reasons besides being pretty at your side.”

He shook his head. “You say this as if you aren’t always being pretty.”

“I’ve yet to believe you.”

“I’ll make you believe it one day.”

Your gaze landed on an exquisite coat hung in the corner of the room for fitting. It felt as if your heart was caving in on itself as you commented, “The coronation is in a week.”

“It is,” Minho muttered before leaning sideways to rest his head on your shoulder. He looked up at you with a loving smile, “You know what else is in a week?”

Your face felt hot at the mention of the ceremony, but it made your heart twirl in ecstasy. How could you not know? Your occupied ring finger was a generous reminder.

“Don’t you think it’s... crazy?” Minho murmured as he intertwined your fingers. The action, despite being very small, brought a smile to your face. A genuine smile.

“I’m in love with a prince. You tell me.”

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janefaery · 4 years ago

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Jane’s canon verses, inspired by @zzozo

01 - PRE CANON . I have to tell you a secret that will see you through all the trials that life can offer. Have courage and be kind.

Prior to Prince Ben’s first proclamation, Jane is a shy and eager to please girl that’s known for being a teacher's pet - mostly due to her mother’s status as Headmistress, but also from her constant attempts to please. Meek and insecure in a way that stems from her mother’s version coddling, Jane is a shadow desperate to gain the approval of her peers and destined to fail at it from the very start.

“You did all your homework, Jane, no one is going to come to take you to the isle!” Her mother would tell her. “You made your bed, you don’t need to worry about being sent to the Isle.” With an aunt imprisoned on the Isle and her mother’s ‘kind�� reassurances of what a good girl she is, the need to be perfect is something Jane’s always felt, but that’s a goal no one could achieve.

Not a royal like the rest, Jane is often looked down on by the rest of her age group not only for her lack of royal blood, but her lack of human blood. Being part fae means that she is ‘other’ to them, she’s a sidekick instead of a hero, subhuman instead of human. Even the others born to magic are against Jane, her mother’s role in restricting the use of magic leading to others of her kind viewing her as a traitor, something that it’s far easier to hold against Jane than to fight over with one of the most powerful magical beings of Auradon.

The difference is something learned at a young age, from the moment she asks to be the princess in a game of pretend at daycare, eager to live out her happy ending. The other children jeer at her, bullying her for thinking she could have a happy ending. She’s not a princess, she’s fae, and everyone knows fae are incapable of love, so why would anyone choose her? Excluded from the game and in tears when her mother collects her, Jane changes daycares, but never forgets what she learned.

Folding herself smaller and smaller like a piece of origami paper in an attempt to become something beautiful is an artform Jane masters, but it doesn’t stop her from being shunned at lunch tables when she starts school. Jane’s isolation fills her with the need to find a place where she fits in, her own community, and each rejection she faces reaffirms her belief that she’s unpopular because of some personal failing on her own part.

She offers to help with every event and brings little gifts to everyone she tries to thank, any opportunity to make friends or be useful is something that Jane jumps on in an attempt to endear and ingratiate herself with people, but the more she swallows her own needs, the more disconnected she feels, drowning without a clue how to truly reach anyone.

02 - DURING CANON . I know it isn’t easy, but at least we should try to get along together.

Terrified at first of the villain kids that arrive in Auradon despite debating for their right to live there, it seems unlikely that Jane would find her place among those labelled as misfits and troublemakers, but it doesn’t take long before Jane is swept up in their folds and left feeling more like she belongs in their presence than in anyone else’s.

With the VKs in the school and the sense that she might have found a crowd to belong to, Jane begins to morph from someone insecure and anxious into someone shallow and snobbish. The friends that she so eagerly latched onto are abandoned for a chance to sit with the princesses she always adored without second thought. Morality and righteous equated with prestige and place of birth, Jane’s position at the cool kid’s table didn’t last long as the chair was snatched from beneath her the moment she no longer met their standards.

Grabbing the wand and bringing down the barrier might have given Mal and her friends the chance to prove they wanted to be good and turn against their own parents, but Jane learned more about who she was inside than she did the villain kids.

She was disloyal, willing to abandon the people that first befriended her and stood up for her all for someone with popularity. She was untrustworthy, willing to steal the wand and use magic to improve her own looks and as a result, she’d nearly brought every evil back to Auradon by collapsing the barrier. She’d wanted to be the cool girl with the fancy hair, the hot girl with the ripped skirt that everyone wanted, but where did that get her? What did it prove except that maybe she did belong on the Isle just like that quiz said?

Quick to learn her lesson, Jane resolves to be more open and less judgemental, to stand by the side of her friends instead of abandoning them for popularity. If Jane avoids anyone after the mess of the coronation, it was Audrey, who Jane views as a symbol of her own weakness and how easily she can be corrupted.

———

Jane’s revelations aren’t shared by everyone, her faith in Mal and her gang soon shown to be an unpopular choice when Jane realizes her own mother plans to have them expelled without hearing their case. Royalty isn’t always right and neither is the law, the time Jane spends around the VKs makes it clear that blind justice never cares for those caught up in its wake and that sometimes the rules need to be broken. Making up her own mind to go behind her mother’s back for help isn’t something Jane regrets, but the realization that her mother isn’t always right shocks Jane down to her core.

Rattled and beginning to question what she’d grown up hearing her entire life, it encouraged Jane to reach out to her new friends for support and greater understanding for the world outside of the careful playpen that her mother made for Jane’s life.

In them Jane found the courage and inspiration to begin reaching out for things she wanted, transforming from a mascot to a cheerleader and finally feeling seen by someone. As confidence building as that is, getting her first boyfriend perhaps gives Jane a greater boost of esteem and for the first time, Jane’s entirely life felt perfectly on schedule, attacks by sea witches aside.

———

Her life planned from the beginning, Jane is expected to be the Fairy Godmother one day and headmistress of the school, it’s not a secret she’s meant to replace her mother and be everything she is, but without magic. Content to follow in her mother’s footsteps, it’s easy to agree to her mothers plans on her career when Jane’s focus is elsewhere.

Still the same little girl wanting to play princess at heart, Jane is a romantic that dreams of her future with a loved one, confident that at last her happy ending is playing like it’s meant to. She knows the stories, that you grow up and go through a noteworthy event, you meet your true love and eventually you’re married.

The Coronation was her noteworthy event and Jane never questioned that Carlos was the one when he asked her to Cotillion, officially becoming her first boyfriend. Their relationship lets Jane feel like everything is falling into place and granting her everything she ever wished for. By being with Carlos, she has inclusion into his friends group and having a boyfriend means she isn’t alone. Having proof that she’s desirable to one person boosts her self esteem and gives her faith that everything will work out in the end because it has to, it’s her happy ending.

That certainty remained with Jane all through Auradon Prep, her time spent making sure Carlos never doubted her adoration and striving to have her fairytale play out perfectly until the story twisted. Graduation brings with it new opportunities for everyone, but it also brings about a fork in the road where both Jane and Carlos have to admit it’s better if they split ways.

People in fairytales don’t break up and Jane knows it’s for the best, but she’s left with a sense of loss and the certainty that she’s missed her chance at a happy ending because things didn’t work out. Firmly reminded of her status as a sidekick instead of a princess, Jane tries to let go of her romantic aspirations to focus on her career, dedicating herself to growing into the person her mother always planned for her to be.

03 - POST CANON . When there is kindness, there is goodness. When there is goodness, there is magic.

At fourteen, Jane dreamed of living anywhere but in the same kingdom as her mother, of going off to college and spending her summer on a beach while mermaids swam in the bay, or waking up in the spring to throw open a window gazing at Sherwood forest to see flowers blooming. She had the grades, there wasn’t any reason why Jane couldn’t go anywhere she planned and graduating Auradon Prep felt like a finish line to cross to begin living life on her own terms, but it didn’t work out that way.

Single and with her mother praising her newfound dedication to establishing her career, Jane surrenders her dreams of going away somewhere to school and instead enrolls in online classes at MIT. Slowly Jane’s vision of herself fades away, her mother’s hands molding Jane’s future into a duplicate of herself.

Working hard to earn a place at Auradon Prep like her mother, Jane soon finds herself with a job that no one thinks she deserves, whispers of nepotism following wherever she goes. Despite the time it takes up, Jane refuses to surrender her role with helping to organize social events for the castle, the one job that Jane enjoys more than anything else she’d found. Perhaps she could never be a princess, but at least she could make other girls feel like they were.

It’s easy for life to feel empty when you’re always helping someone else live out your dreams. Classes were taken without making new friends, balls were arranged without expectations of being able to dance, and new couples were celebrated while Jane doubted she would ever be anyone’s girlfriend ever again.

You dated once and married in fairytales, Jane dated once and went through a break-up, she helped other people achieve their happy endings without having her own. Yet no matter how often she tells herself that, it doesn’t make it any easier, the stress and anxiety building as Jane struggles to live up to her mother’s ideals.

Each day feels the same, waking up, throwing herself into every little project she can find, trying to make her mother proud, and working until she’s ready to pass out. The longer Jane exists in that pattern, the more established it becomes until it seems she’ll never break free of it.

Until she moves out.

Nineteen and with her own place, Jane answers to her own rules for the first time, no longer hearing her mother’s comments about her bed or when she wakes up or what she’s wearing. No fear of the woman wanting to go through her phone or searching her room, it’s a breath of freedom that sparks the first change in Jane.

Years after the first arrival of the Isle born, scandals and political fights help tentative friendships forge connections of unbreakable steel, people call Jane ‘bestie’ and encourage her to be her own person instead of a copy of her mother. It’s the acceptance that was always so rare in Auradon, that feeling of belonging, and it’s enough for Jane to give up her job at Auradon prep and begin to figure out who she is when she takes charge of her own future.

04 - PRESENT . And Ella continued to see the world not as it is, but as it could be.

The shift in her life isn't one that can be attributed to any single moment in time, but Jane has slowly been changing throughout the years and as she finds people that welcome her close, she gravitates to them more than her mother. With her efforts no longer devoted to living out fairy godmother's life plan, jane's priority turns to the isle and doing what she can to take care of her friends.

Using up her vacation time and sick days to travel away from work for a tournament isn't a move her mother approves of, but there's nothing she can do to stop Jane. Time is available and Jane is young, a flight of fancy can be forgiven in a teenager even if it is disappointing, something fairy godmother made sure that Jane knew.

One trip could be forgiven, but a second mere weeks later could not. No matter the reason for the trip, jane and her mother saw it from radically different perspectives, what jane saw as an important political meeting to defend the rights of the isle and possibly forge diplomatic connections was a waste of time to Fairy Godmother, who accusing Jane of shirking her duties and proving she wasn't responsible or serious when it came to obligations to Auradon Prep.

Anger getting the better of her, Jane finally breaks the dream her mother has long held and tells the truth - she won't be future headmistress of AP and that she's quitting at the end of the year.

Jane not only attends the town hall, but streaks her hair red, the vibrant color a testament to her support of the isle as well as a declaration of her feelings towards a certain pirate. It's a move that draws scrutiny and disapproval from the media as well as her mother, but for once that isn't enough to stop Jane from doing what she wants to with her life, finally searching out the path that will lead her to happiness.

It's on this path to self discovery that Jane begins to shed her fears of her magic, experimenting in the hopes that her fae blood might be something that could lead to doing something for the place, the people she'd come to care so much about.

During a celebration on the Isle for Ulf Night, everything goes wrong.

She creates a bioluminescent tree to help shine light on the isle, its glow fueled by the feelings sparked in her by the night, but her happiness comes at a cost. Fairy Godmother has enemies on the isle and they don't enjoy the sight of her daughter roaming freely on the Isle, a tourist in what's been their prison, and the sight of her so freely using magic when such a thing in Auradon would earn some a prison sentence is too much for the patience.

Jane is soft and unguarded, she's easy prey for a group of attackers no matter how many months she's spent learning self defense from the Lost Revenge crew, and a blow to the head finally brings her down.

When she wakes again, she's locked up in a cell, held prisoner on the Isle without any expectation of rescue. She schemes of how to break free, of biting at her captors and stealing a sword, determined to break free when she couldn't depend on anyone else to help her.

The invasion of the pirates proves Jane wrong about that and they continued to prove her wrong as she is kept aboard the Lost Revenge to heal. Recovering takes weeks into months, but Jane grows stronger and fills her hours with crafts, creating things with her hands as a way of expressing gratitude she doesn't have the words for. There in the medbay of the ship, Jane feels safe and happy, a sense of belonging that's been foreign her entire life, and when she's well enough to leave, Jane doesn't go far.

After being fired by email and receiving word from her mother that amounts to being told not to talk with her unless Jane resumes living life in accordance to Fairy Godmother's ideals, there's little to keep Jane in Auradon and she happily gives up the apartment she can no longer afford in favor of moving in to the apartment behind the Chip Shoppe on the Isle, her life again reshaping itself as she adjusts to living on the Isle and creating her own path.

#⁕ kindness is free ; love is free ⋯ [ headcanons ]

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flutteringphalanges · 4 years ago

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Mirabile Visu

Summary: Sister Agatha Van Helsing discovers she’s in over her head when a competitive game of chess ultimately results in her becoming pregnant with the child of her worst enemy, Count Dracula. Now tied by a bond deeper than blood, the two must learn to coexist and adapt in a world that could be potentially hostile towards their offspring. Parenthood has never looked so batty.

Characters: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Chapter: 14/15 (technically it’s chapter 13/14 since there was a two part chapter, but you get the idea)

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Thank you so much for your support and amazing feedback! It truly means the world! Oh my gosh, guys, we are so close to the end! Next chapter is the final one. The epilogue! I can’t believe it! I’m both excited and sad! Also to clarify, Jack refers to Sorina jokingly as “Van Helsing” because it’s the last name she’s used for nearly all her life--since she grew up with Agatha’s family. Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! I’d love to know your thoughts! I hope you enjoy! -Jen

Chapter Thirteen

Larpool Lane Cemetery

Present Time

Dental records. That's how far gone Zoe's body was when the coroner went to finally identify her. She felt horrible for thinking so, but Sorina was glad she didn't have to identify the remains. That would've been a task the halfling might've not been ready for. But they purchased a beautiful urn-purple, Zoe's favorite color-and bought a plot of land in the graveyard. A nice place that looked towards the trees. She would've liked that. And a simple, granite gravestone engraved with her name, date of birth and death, along with the words Beloved Aunt and Niece. Nothing fancy. Nothing that stood out. Simple. Like Zoe.

"I'm not leaving those stupid fabric flowers, Zoe deserves better."

Sorina stood over the tombstone, her eyes red as she clutched a bouquet of freshly cut daffodils in her right hand. Somehow, she had refrained from crying, but it was obvious that she was close to doing so. On either side of her, her parents stood. Agatha wore a black dress, something she had pulled from Zoe's closet. She felt a little guilty for wearing something that belonged to her late, great, great niece, but Sorina was fine with it. Dracula seemed rather distant as he stood close to his daughter, almost as if he was trying to listen out for something.

"Leave them, we can always replace them with more if the caretakers remove them."

Jack met Sorina's gaze, his mouth forming a small, encouraging smile. Since Zoe's death, he hadn't really left her side. While Dracula's and Agatha's home was in the remodeling process after The Foundation had damaged it, the four of them had been staying in what was now technically Sorina's home. She hadn't decided whether or not she wanted to sell it. From what any of them could gather, the halfing had yet to step foot into her aunt's room. He wasn't sure how long it would take before she had it in her to do so.

"I know this isn't exactly the ideal funeral." Agatha began, one hand absentmindedly resting on her still flat stomach. "But I'd like to say a few words, if that would be alright with you, Sorina?"

Her daughter nodded, clutching the flowers to her chest.

"I didn't know Zoe for very long. Only a few days, in fact. But I know how important she was to you and how she impacted your life as much as she did. You both had each other since her birth. She grew up around you and you, in a sense, around her. As a mother-your mother, it does my heart good knowing that someone was there to care for you, to love you, while your father and I were gone. I'll never be able to properly thank her for that. I'll still say it. Zoe, I am, and will always be, eternally grateful for everything you've ever done for my daughter. I wish I could have known you better, but I am glad we met. Even though it wasn't for very long."

Agatha took a step back, her eyes lifting from the grave to look at the others. Sorina remained silent, her own gaze still casted down at the slab of stone. It was only when Jack cleared his throat the silence was broken once more.

"I guess I'll go next." He swallowed, his voice already thick with emotion. "I wouldn't be where I am now without Zoe. When we first met, I was just a small fish in a big pond. I'd gotten into graduate school, but I honestly didn't know where to go from there. It wasn't until Dr. Van Helsing came to one of my lectures and spoke...something just clicked and I knew I had to reach out to her."

The young man smiled, shaking his head. "That's when I started working under her and then coincidentally met you." Sorina finally looked up, captured by Jack's attention. "If it hadn't been for Zoe's, I wouldn't have been lucky enough to know you. And I can't even imagine life without that. So thank you, Zoe. Thank you for everything."

A gentle breeze blew, brushing against the yellow flower petals. Sorina still had yet to say anything, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Agatha glanced at her husband, giving him a knowing look. Dracula's lips pursed, clearly not wanting to engage with a speech. Sure, Zoe had cared for his child, but he didn't see the need to make a statement on her behalf. But then again, there was Sorina. If anything, he needed to do it for her.

"Alright," he exhaled, Agatha frowning when he did so. "What to say. Well, as Agatha put it, I appreciate what you did for my Sorina. We had our differences, you and I. After all, you did try to…" His wife's dark glare made him reconsider his words. "You loved her, which is as much as I can ask of someone. Evidently, you provided protection too, seeing as what she is-what we are. And even though you apparently brought him into the picture…" His eyes narrowed at Jack. "I suppose you deserve a round of thanks. So thank you. For being there for my daughter."

Once more silence fell upon the group and Sorina could feel the other three pairs of eyes focus on her. Chewing on her bottom lip, a thumb pressing a small indent into one of the stems, she sucked in a sharp breath. Part of her wanted to turn away. To leave and pretend this wasn't happening. But her feet remained rooted to the ground as if paralyzed by some unseen force.

"I've known you since you were born." The words trembled as she spoke. "You grew up with me. We laughed, fought, and cried. I hated you, but I loved you more. When you had nightmares as a child, I let you sleep with me. I promised you I'd always be there, no matter what. And I tried, Zoe. I really, really did."

Tears began to stream down her cheeks, but no one moved to touch her. She was grateful for that.

"We both knew the end was coming. When you were diagnosed with cancer. I just didn't think…" She paused, trying to recollect herself. "None of us saw that this was going to be the end. But I'm glad I was there when it happened. That you weren't alone…" The halfing gave a wet smile, her cheeks glistening in the sunlight from her tears. "I'll never forget you, Zoe. No matter how many decades, centuries, millenniums I live through, you'll always be in my heart. I love you."

With the utmost care, Sorina bent down and placed the flowers over the gravestone. She stayed there for a moment to take it all in. It didn't register that her mother and Jack had left her side, making their way back to the car when she felt her father's hand on her shoulder. The halfling stood up, meeting her father's eyes.

"She's gone." He said quietly, his daughter caught off guard by his words. "I've been listening and she's no longer here suffering."

"What do you mean?" Sorina questioned, brow furrowed in misunderstanding. "Of course she's dead. We all saw her!"

"I mean, she's not trapped here," the vampire explained. "Sometimes the dead are restless. Stuck here forever in this plane of existence. If you pay attention, you can hear them." His stare remained locked on hers. "Focus, Sorina. Listen."

Though wary of her father's words, Sorina closed her eyes and listened closely. At first, she heard nothing, just the wind in the trees. Then, ever so softly, the moaning began. The calling. Corpses begging for their freedom. Fear struck her in the heart and she pressed against Dracula.

"What...who…" She stumbled, looking around wildly. How she hadn't experienced this before, she was unsure. She'd visited cemeteries throughout the decades. Year after year of losing loved ones. But perhaps she closed herself off to the idea of death and what lay beyond its gates. After all, she'd never experience the end herself. "I don't understand…"

"It's more apparent at night," Dracula responded. "But they can't hurt you. You needn't be afraid."

Sorina did her best not to think about which of her relatives were forced to become the undead, rotting away in their coffins under the surface. Running a hand through her long, thick hair, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

"I'm tired of losing people that I care about," she mumbled. "I want it to stop. To be done with it once and for all." Sorina glanced at her father. "Swear to me that you and Mum will never leave again. No matter what happens, we'll be a family. That if you go, you take me with you. And Jack too."

Of course, as much as he'd like to admit it, he wasn't keen on the idea of taking Jack anywhere. Getting used to the fact still that Sorina was no longer a little girl, but a grown woman was hard enough. Knowing that she was romantically involved with someone was much more difficult. But he knew she needed to hear those words, and knew that deep down he truly meant them.

"No matter what," he swore, pulling his daughter into a tight embrace. "We will always be a family." A promise he intended on keeping this time.

Dracula's and Agatha's Home

Six Months Later

"Don't I have any say in on how my child's nursery looks?"

Agatha's lips pursed as she eyed Sorina from her rocking chair, both hands resting on her swelling abdomen. Her daughter had taken to becoming the interior designer of the room, not giving her mother much freedom to add her input. It had been decided that the theme would be the night sky. Sorina, of course, had gone with the idea as the moon and the stars were the very first glimpses she saw of the outside world.

"Trust me, Mum, in the end, you're going to like it." Sorina promised, adding another brush stroke of dark, navy paint to the wall. "And put on your mask. The fumes can't be good for the baby."

Her mother frowned at her bossy tone, but did as she said. It was rather bothersome how overprotective everyone seemed to be over her. Dracula rarely letting her get up off her feet to do anything. Had he forgotten she'd been pregnant once before-and as a human at that? Nevertheless, for her own sanity, she allowed them to wait hand over foot on her. Sometimes she secretly liked it.

"Jack, if you make the slightest nick in my crib, I will make you regret the day you were born."

The screwdriver dropped from the young man's hand as he met the vampire's dark glare. Instead of ordering a pre-designed cradle, Dracula wanted to replicate the same one he'd made for Sorina well over a century ago. It was a nostalgic idea that Agatha really liked. But of course, it would've been a lot better if her husband didn't continually threaten her daughter's poor boyfriend.

"Leave him alone, Dad. He's just trying to help!" Sorina threw a look at her father over her shoulder. "This is supposed to be a bonding exercise."

"Would it be more helpful if I just brought the blankets and things into the room?" Jack suggested, desiring to be anywhere but beside the vampire. "I think there were packages delivered earlier."

"Just mind the walls," Dracula exhaled loudly. "And don't trip, I don't want to spend another several hours at the clinic because you got a concussion."

It'd only happened once, just a few weeks back. Jack had been helping move some things when he tripped over the living room rug. He hit his head pretty hard, scaring Sorina the most. But in the end, after a long visit to the hospital and having to stay awake for twenty four hours, everything had been fine. Though Dracula hadn't exactly forgotten the minor "inconvenience" it caused him.

"I'll come and help you, Jack." Sorina exclaimed, frowning at her father as she set the brush down into the pail. "There can't be that many."

As the two disappeared down the steps, Agatha turned her attention to her husband. "Why must you be so rough with him?" She inquired irritably. "The boy has done absolutely nothing to you."

"He's dating my daughter," Dracula replied with a shrug, focused on the legs of the crib. "I'm allowed to disapprove of my child's significant other. It's nothing personally, really. I just want what's best for her."

"What's best for her is being happy," his spouse commented. "And Jack makes her happy."

"And I want her to be happy," the count agreed. "Just not with Jack." He seemed to pause for a moment as if in deep thought. "Or with anyone really. There is nothing wrong with being single. I was so for centuries."

"But now you have me," Agatha added. "And I'd like to think that perhaps I was the best thing that ever happened to you?"

"Well yes, you and Sorina," he agreed. "But that's different."

"How so?"

It was a good question, he'd give her that. Smirking, he stood up and made his way over to her. Agatha eyed him curiously as he rested his hands on either arm rest of the rocking chair.

"For starters, you are positively attractive, in both appearance and wit. You had the audacity to try to kill me." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to her's. Agatha chuckled, smirking softly. "And you are quite talented in your bed." His wife snorted, swatting at him. "You know it's true."

"Let Sorina decide what's good for her and what isn't," the former nun replied. "It's her life after all." She smiled fondly and took a hold of his hand, pressing it down where the baby just kicked. "Besides, we have enough on our plate with this little one coming. Our daughter is a smart girl, she'll do the right thing."

Dracula stared at his wife, his thumb gently caressing over the spot where the infant had moved. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew it was the truth. He had to let Sorina make her own decisions-despite it being so hard to watch.

"Fine," he exhaled. "But if he breaks her heart, I won't hesitate to kill him."

"And I'll help you dispose of the body," Agatha added lightheartedly. "Now, can you move that dresser just a tad to the right? It's blocking part of the window."

XXX

Jack noticed the look of concern plastered on Sorina's face as they stared down at the many parcels sitting by the door. He knew that expression all too well-she had misplaced something. Pursing her lips, she mentally counted the boxes to make sure of it. The halfling was certain now. One of them was in fact missing.

"It's the breast pump." Sorina frowned, pinching the brim of her nose. "I specifically ordered that special for her."

"Not that it is any of my concern, but your mum's going to...nurse?" Jack ventured hesitantly. "Isn't she worried about...you know…"

"Fangs?" The halfling chuckled, an amused expression crossing her features. "Exactly why I ordered the damn thing in the first place. Apparently I did a number on her and I don't think she's going to let me forget it anytime soon." Scratching the back of her head, Sorina sighed. "I don't know where it could've gone. I'm sure I put on the correct address."

"Is it possible it's at the house?" And by the way Sorina tensed up, he knew he didn't need to specify further. "I can drive by and see if it was dropped off there. You can just stay here and…"

"No." She cut him off abrupt, waving her hand. "No...I'll go with you. It's been awhile anyway."

"Are you sure?" He asked, making sure her eyes locked onto his. "Sunny, if you are uncomfortable. I can go alone. It's probably sitting out front anyway. It'd just take a second."

She shook her head and forced a smile. "I need to get out of the house anyway. The smell of paint gave me a headache. Some fresh air would do me some good."

He wasn't about to argue with that. Digging around in his pockets, he produced his car keys. His ride was nothing special-a beat up, old yellow buggy he'd gotten used as a graduation present. But it did its job fine. Once Sorina had climbed in on the passenger's side, he started it up and pulled onto the road.

"I was thinking we could go out to that little Italian place you like for dinner." The young doctor suggested, attempting to stir up some conversation. "Maybe go see a movie afterwards?"

Sorina merely stared out the window, the wind blowing through her dark hair. "Only if you let me pay this time." She didn't need to look over to know Jack was frowning. "C'mon, we agreed that we'd share expenses. I don't need you paying for everything. I have money too."

"Why can't you just let me court you like in the good old days." He smiled, Sorina gaping at him in mock astonishment. "When life was simpler. I'd take you for a walk, we'd talk until after dusk, and I'd walk you to your doorstep before giving you a peck on the cheek. No need to rile your parents up about being out late."

Dr. Seward," Sorina gasped. "Are you calling me old?"

"I've always been fond of mature women." He explained, Sorina shoving him playfully. "Well, only when it came to you."

"I'm 123 years young, thank you very much." The halfling declared proudly, straightening up in her seat. "And I'll have you know I'm very selective. I don't just pick out any boy I like. In fact, I fancy just one."

"Should I be jealous?" He inquired, cocking an eye questioningly. "Do I know this man you speak of?"

"Oh, you should be quite envious," Sorina smirked. "He's very kind and charming. And quite handsome at that. I've been seeing him too, you know."

"Miss Van Helsing you scandalous thing." Jack chuckled, leaning over to kiss her. "What am I to do with you?"

"Anything you like." The way she said it made a shiver run down his spine. His stomach fluttering in such excitement he'd be too embarrassed to admit it. "As long as it isn't around my father." And there went the feeling completely.

Zoe Van Helsing's Residence

When they pulled up into the driveway, Sorina fell quiet again. Already from the car, Jack could clearly see the package resting on the porch. As he opened his door to get out, he was taken aback when the halfing did the same. Saying nothing, she made her way up the steps, retrieving a familiar gold key that hid under the rug.

"Sunny…" He began, but the woman had already turned the lock, pushing the door open. "Sunny, wait!"

The interior of the house was dark as the two entered inside. For the sake of not tripping over anything, Jack flipped on the light switch. Everything looked just as they left it. Sorina not bothering much in the few times she'd come over for things. Mostly she moved about between her parents' place and his. Though it was technically her's, Sorina still had yet to call it "home" once more.

"Did you forget something?" He asked, following her as she made her way down the hall. "I thought everything was packed up?"

"I just want to grab something, okay?" She responded, finally stopping in her tracks. "For the baby's room."

Jack's heart skipped a beat when he realized where they were standing. The outside of Zoe's room. A forbidden location that had almost remained untouched since the funeral. He felt as if he should say something. Anything. Maybe advise her against going in. Offer her support. Instead he remained silent, watching as she carefully turned the knob.

It was just as Zoe had left it. Bed well made, stacks of paper by her computer. Even a bottle of medication sat at her desk. But Sorina seemed to ignore all of that. She walked over to a shelf, acting as if nothing else was in the room. Gingerly, she lifted an object up and Jack realized immediately what it was. A picture frame.

Zoe. A much younger, healthier looking Zoe smiled back at him through the glass. She wore her hair down and in her hands she grasped a certificate. A diploma from her years at medical school. By her side, arm wound around her, grinned the brilliant, bright eyed Sorina. They looked so happy together. Happier than he'd ever seen his late mentor look. When Sorina finally turned around, there were tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I think this will look nice in the baby's room." She whispered with sorrowful, and yet hopeful smile.

Jack pulled her in close, kissing the top of her head as he too gazed down at the picture.

"Yeah," he agreed. "It's perfect."

#Dracula #Dracula 2020 #Dragatha #Agatha Van Helsing #Dracula x Agatha #Mirabile Visu

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msjr0119 · 5 years ago

Text

Hold On

Part 23- Al Fresco Lunch

Nobody got injured at the Homecoming ball, they all get separated into different safe houses- for safety.

Riley and Drake had confirmed that they had feelings for each other, however Drake believed Riley should be with Liam. Heartbroken, she moves back to New York. Only keeping in touch with Hana, Maxwell and Olivia.

Riley meets lawyer, Nate Cooper and begins a relationship with him. In Cordonia, Drake begins to court Kiara.

Nine months after Riley had left Cordonia- there is a reunion, but not the reunion the friends had hoped for.

*Characters belong to Pixelberry*

If you are under 18 please do not read this series. If you do you are consenting that you are over the age.

Series warnings: Suicide, domestic abuse, swearing, stabbing, smut🍋. If any of these triggers affect you do not read!

So sorry for the delay in posting this- as the series was due to end a few chapters ago, I’ve had ‘writers block’... 😫

Tags- @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @butindeed @bbrandy2002 @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415

******

Liam was finally relieved that his meetings were all complete for the day, they took a bit longer than expected but now his priority was to spend time with Riley.

‘Gliding’ up to his chambers, still feeling like he was floating on cloud nine - he noticed that Riley was asleep on the couch. Deep down he just wanted to awake her from her slumber but would feel guilty. Instead he placed a warm fluffy blanket that covered her tiny frame perfectly.

Whispering- I love you in her ear, he decided to take a shower. Now she was pregnant, she would be tired all the time. Whilst showering he kept imagining what their baby would be like. Would they have blonde hair like him, or brown hair like their beautiful mom. What kind of accent would they speak? Would it be European with a twang of American? Would they be wrapped around his little finger- of course. All these questions didn’t really matter, as Liam knew the baby was already loved so much.

Bastien had helped him postpone some meetings tomorrow- tomorrow he had planned to propose to Riley again, hoping in his heart that this was now the right time. Liam left Bastien with one job to complete- to make an important phone call to someone close to him.

Liam sat admiring Riley whilst she slept- she was like a goddess, the beauty that surrounded her made her look radiant. She began to stir, he immediately knelt down near her, caressing her cheek. Her eyes blinked - eventually opening slowly, baby blues fixated on each other.

“Hey.” Riley noticed him smiling adorably towards.

“Hello, beautiful. Did you have a good sleep?”

“Yes, I didn’t mean to fall asleep it just happened.”

Liam smiled at her as she sat up and gestured him to sit next to her. Wrapping one arm around her, his other arm protectively went around her stomach as he kissed her cheek. Riley’s heart fluttered, knowing now that this was going to be her life- she was carrying the heir to the throne and Liam made her happy beyond words.

“I can’t wait to meet him or her..I’m going to treat you to lunch tomorrow.”

“I can’t either. I’m just scared. This is going to a long pregnancy if I’m already tired.”

“I’m with you for every step, Ri. I love you both so much.”

Riley snuggled into his embrace. After everything they had been through since meeting in New York, this was their new beginning. Scared. Relieved. Happy. So many emotions were running through her mind. As long as she had Liam she knew she could get through anything.

*****

The next morning, Liam woke up before Riley and ordered some breakfast. Hoping she wouldn’t feel nauseous and could hold it down. Suggesting many options- he wasn’t sure what she was fancying, if she had any cravings yet. He was intending on researching all the facts about pregnancy.

They quietly ate breakfast together, Riley sat picking at the food. She was grateful for Liam’s sweet gesture but wasn’t feeling entirely up to to eating. Liam ran her a bath, lighting candles surrounded it like he did that time in Lythikos with the hot tub. That night her eyes lit up. After her soak in the bath, she felt more relaxed and was hoping her appetite would be better for her lunch date with Liam.

“You look beautiful as always. Are you ready to go?”

“Thank you. Yes. Where are we going?”

“Not far. Take a walk with me?”

Riley nodded, linking her arm in his. She looked confused as they ambled towards the maze.

“This brings back memories.”

Riley noted, some good and some bad. The first night at the masquerade ball- they played ‘maze tag’ after secretly meeting up and the night of the coronation they shared a loving moment- Liam wanted more but Riley hesitantly just wanted to be held in his arms not expecting what was due to happen. Wondering why Liam had brought her here, her mind was racing.

“So, I wasn’t sure if your appetite had returned. I won’t be offended, if it hasn’t. But I thought we could have a light lunch al fresco style, ending it with a scrumptious cronut.”

Riley’s eyes widened and lit up. Remembering how she convinced everyone to sneak out on a cronut run. Remembering how Liam had to be the ‘naughty prince’ jumping out of his window- risking breaking a limb. Without realising, tears formed in her eyes and gracefully fell down her cheeks- damn hormones. Liam pulled the chair away from the table, allowing her to sit down- he was a gentleman after all. After eating, Liam became fidgety, he could swear that his heart was leaping out of his chest. Why he was so nervous, he didn’t understand- this time was different to last time. In the past there were so many obstacles- the break up of his engagement to Madeleine, Riley being confused about her feelings towards both Liam and Drake. Now it was fate- they were now having a baby together. They were going to be first time parents. Taking a big gulp, he stood up- gently taking Riley towards the hedge. Holding her in his warm embrace.

“Ri, I know this last year has been incredibly hard for the both of us. Losing you absolutely broke me. Seeing you fighting for your life twice- made me realise even more that I can’t lose you again. So many obstacles have prevented us from loving each other publicly, but you’ve always been in my heart-since the first night we met. It’s different now...”

Riley noticed Liam lose his usual stoic attitude, his voice was a nervous tone, he was shaking. Holding him tightly she had an inkling on what he was doing. They had been in this situation before. The night she broke his heart- for what? To be made a mug of. Regretting the first proposal rejection from the King, she had hoped this was why he was acting this way- in case she rejected him again.

“Li, I love you.” She said, providing him with a soft smile.

“Riley, I love you too. So much. I feel unbelievably lucky that you love me back.”

Liam cupped her cheeks, and placed a soft kiss on her cherry bud lips. When they parted, he slowly went down on one knee. Riley’s eyes became like a burst dam, pouring out uncontrollably.

“I am going to dedicate to be the best King and Father I can be, I am going to protect you both with all my heart. I know I will be a better man having you by my side. Riley Brooks, I’ve asked you this question before and I know that the last time was inappropriate timing. You’ve once again made my life complete, but... Will you marry me and make my heart burst with more pride? Please, say you’ll be my Queen?”

Riley bit her lip, before pulling Liam up and falling into his embrace. He held her protectively- impatiently waiting for her response. Both of their eyes contained tears due to emotion.

“I love you, my King. Of course I’ll marry you.” She whispered into his ear.

Liam was beaming, he rested his forehead against Riley’s. Taking her hand slowly, he kissed the side of her wrist- now knowing that his mothers ring would sit on her finger permanently. Taking her arm gently, he pulled her back into his embrace- before shifting her backwards towards the hedge, kissing her tenderly. The coldness of the hedge sent a shock down her spine. “Riley” he said softly. She’s mine, he thought.

“Liam, I want you my king.” Riley seductively demanded. A now mischievous smile formed on her face.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Don’t you want to?” That was all Liam needed to know.

“Yes. Oh god yes!”

The next kiss was delicate before turning passionate and deepening. His hands roamed, her delicate frame. Both losing themselves in each other’s touches. Kissing her neck and shoulder, he slowly unzipped her dress, allowing it to drop to the floor.

“You are so beautiful. I know I keep saying it. But I will keep telling you until I take my last breath.” Riley blushed at Liam’s comment, he knew how to make her heart flutter constantly.

“Liam, you are handsome and the most caring man I’ve met.”

Riley eagerly removed his tuxedo, before placing her hands under his white shirt- feeling his abs, exploring his bare skin. Pulling his shirt over his head, She immediately felt the warmth from his body. Their baby blues both fixated on each other, taking in each other’s appearance. Liam cupped her breasts whilst kissing her neck , as she worked her hands down to his waistline- finally discarding his trousers on the floor. Running his hands down her thighs, he effortlessly picked her up- she wrapped her legs around his waist. Liam began to thrust against her holding her protectively and strongly- before their body’s rocked in perfect sync.

*****

After their moment against the hedge, he slid his mothers ring onto her delicate finger- the whole moment felt like a dream. Both still breathless from the waves of pleasure they had encountered, they both quickly got dressed- Liam held Riley in his arms, he could have stayed there all day but needed to discuss a ‘shotgun’ wedding as she was pregnant with Cordonia’s heir. Liam lifted Riley’s chin, whilst stroking her now ruffled hair idly.

“So, I don’t want to rush things. I’d do anything for you Riley. But...” Staring at Riley with sorrow in his eyes, he hoped she would agree to his plan.

“But?” Riley was now dreading what the King was about to suggest.

“Leo has just returned to Cordonia. If you want, we can have a small ceremony with friends and family - possibly just have Ana and Donnie there to keep our people in the loop. I know you’re tired and stressed with the baby- I don’t want you gaining anymore stress. Then once the baby has been born, we can have the big royal wedding including the heir- our beautiful baby.”

“Will it be acceptable to do that?”

She didn’t know much about Cordonian law- feeling like she was being naive asking such a question. Either way, for the first time in her life she felt content. After what seemed like an eternity, she was now getting the fairytale life- with a man she loved and having a baby who will be adored. This was both their second chance at happiness.

“I’m king. As long as we’re married in some way before the baby arrives it shouldn’t matter. We can get married tomorrow morning if you want?”

“That quick?” Riley needed to learn how to contain stoic expressions- she knew he would want to get wed quick, but tomorrow? Her stomach began to twist. Liam saw her eyes widen, as she stood frozen.

“Yes. If you-“ Riley interrupted, after the initial shock, she knew she had to do this. As long as she had Liam, everything would be fine. Tomorrow she was going to be Mrs Riley Rhys- Queen Of Cordonia.

“I’ll marry you whenever, Liam. I’m shocked at how soon. But I can’t wait to be your wife- your Queen.”

*******

His Majesty King Liam and Lady Riley Brooks announced their engagement earlier on today. They will have a small ceremony tomorrow between friends and family. Myself and Donnie Brine from the CBC have been invited and have been given permission to share photos with the public afterwards. We are all wondering why this ceremony is taking place so immediately. Is our future Queen possibly carrying an heir already?

The King has informed us, that at a later date they will have a blessing of their vows which they will share with the public of Cordonia.

We look forward to seeing Lady Riley as our new Queen. Congratulations to happy couple.

Ana De Luca - Trend Magazine.

#theroyalromance #choices trr #riley brooks #kingliam #liam x riley #liam x mc

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keelywolfe · 5 years ago

Text

Drabble: Turning Circles (baon)

Summary: I’m sure I’m not the only person whose brain sometimes refuses to shut up. Seems like the same problem could plague anyone, even someone who technically doesn’t have a brain.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Domestic, Arguments, Hurt/Comfort

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

He’d known it wasn’t a good day the moment Edge got home from work. To begin with, there was a basket of unfolded towels sitting on the sofa, with no sign of Stretch. A quick look found him out back with the chickens, sitting in a chair rather than down on the ground with them to offer pets.

Stretch was slouched in the patio chair, his head tipped back and his sockets closed. Almost, Edge stepped outside, but he hesitated. Stretch and the Sanses shared a unique ability to sleep whenever and wherever they could, with little regard to laws of physics, and if he were taking a quick nap, Edge didn’t want to wake him. The smudges beneath his sockets spoke of a restless night.

Instead, he went upstairs to shower and change before starting dinner. That would give Stretch a decent amount of time to nap and perhaps he’d be up for watching the new episodes of the Great British Baking Show after they ate. Something low key and soothing, that would allow him to drift off again if he needed more rest in-between bouts of both cursing and admiring the assessments of Paul Hollywood against the bakers.

His strategy was ruined before it’d barely begun. When he came back downstairs, Stretch was inside and on the sofa, working his way through the basket of towels and folding with the sort of grim determination usually reserved for marches through deserts.

“Here, let me help.” Edge started to reach for a towel.

“don’t you dare,” Stretch snapped. The stains of the exhaustion beneath his sockets were still starkly obvious. “i can do this."

Edge sighed inwardly. Where he’d gotten a bug up his pelvis about chores, Edge did not know, but lately, Stretch was doing more than normal, more than Edge ever expected from him. To have him here so obviously in need of a better nap, stubbornly trying to fold some blasted towels was bewildering. “Love, you don't need to--"

"i said i can do this!"

“Of course you can, but you don’t need to!” Edge clicked his teeth shut before anything else could escape, breathing through his annoyance. Stretch was only sitting on the sofa, an unfolded towel in his lap and his head ducked low. Edge sighed and sat down next to him. Instead of pulling Stretch into his arms, he folded them over his chest and said with well-earned calm, “Talk to me. What’s this about?”

Next to him, Stretch shifted until their femurs were pressed lightly together. “i just…you work really hard.”

“And?”

“and i don’t! i’m here all day, i can help out more here.”

“I won’t argue that with you,” Edge said, “What I’d like to know is what’s bringing this on now? Have I done something to make you think I’m dissatisfied with how many chores you do in a day?”

Stretch flopped back against the sofa, his legs stretched out in front of him a loose sprawl. He leaned harder against Edge, his skull tipping to rest on Edge’s shoulder. His voice was small as he admitted, “no.”

“Then why?”

He only shrugged. “i dunno. guess i just started thinking about it and couldn’t stop.”

That he could believe. Stretch had an incredibly clever mind and it was always moving, flitting from one thing to the next the same way Stretch often wove his lighter through his fingers. But for all its brilliance, his thoughts weren’t always useful or beneficial, especially not to Stretch.

Edge reached up and gently rested his hand on Stretch’s skull where it was tucked against his shoulder. Traced the broad lines of his coronal sutures, cupped where all those thoughts, the good and the self-doubting, were hidden away. “All right, then. This might not make a difference, but I’d like to go on record as saying you’ve always done perfectly fine at keeping the house in order. And I know you hate to hear this, but you are still recovering. Be a little kinder to yourself, if you can.”

“okay.” There was no clear intonation to that single word, no hint as to what Stretch was thinking.

It would be foolhardy to assume this was the end of it, but it seemed to be the end for this night. Stretch didn’t so much as ask before he nudged the laundry basket to the floor, nearly toppling it over, and moved to snuggle into Edge’s lap. That he was so assured of his welcome even if they’d argued was warming. He was asleep in moments, snoring faintly in the way he only did when he was drunk or truly exhausted.

Rest well, my love, Edge didn’t say the words aloud, but Stretch shifted slightly in his lap with a sigh and he fancied that perhaps if Stretch didn’t hear them in his head, he could hear them in his soul.

Then he mentally reared back with a faint snort, banishing such ridiculousness. He adored Stretch with all his being, but there were limits. Either way, if he was sleeping, then his troublesome thoughts would quiet, for at least a while.

The remote was on the side table and Edge turned on the television, keeping the volume low while Stretch got some much-needed rest.

Dinner could wait.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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quentinsquill · 5 years ago

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Fic: “Those Three Little Words” (The Magicians)

Those Three Little Words

Author: Lexalicious70

Fandom: The Magicians

Rating: R

Warnings: Brief peril

Word Count: 3,439

Summary: Eliot can no longer deny it: he’s hopelessly in love with Quentin Coldwater. But saying “I love you” for the first time needs a perfect moment, especially when you’re the High King of Fillory. Can Eliot create that perfect moment, or will the unpredictable and sometimes-dangerous creatures of that magical land end his chance—and their lives—before he can make it happen?

Author’s Notes: This is for the @whitespiresarmory’s Challenge, Week 7, “Love.” I don’t own The Magicians, this just for fun and because writing is like air for me. All errors are my own, and comments and kudos are magic. Enjoy!

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20530985

Those Three Little Words

By Lexalicious70 (all_hale_eliot)

“I’m in love with Quentin, Margo.”

Eliot’s words caused Margo to glance up from the scroll she was reading. Each end was weighted down with silver statues in the shape of two of Fillory’s questing creatures.

“And when did you come to that revelation?” She asked. Eliot, perched backwards on a nearby chair in the common room he, Margo and Quentin shared as a place to strategize and regroup, tipped his amber eyes up to her dark ones.

“I didn’t—at least not recently. I just thought saying it out loud would give me some kind of accountability.”

Margo abandoned the scroll—the goddamned thing wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know—and went over to crouch by Eliot’s knee.

“All right, so you’ve said the words out loud. But I think it’d be more helpful if Q was actually in the same room with you.”

“I know. It’s just . . . is there a right time and place to say ‘I love you’ to someone for the first time? Shouldn’t it be perfect?”

“Well,” Margo replied as she placed a hand on his knee, “I’m no expert when it comes to love, fuck knows, but I have seen a lot of movies where people in love create perfect moments.”

“You mean candlelight dinners, roses, all those trappings?” Eliot asked, and Margo tilted her head to one side.

“Maybe for other people. But this is Q. He loves magic, El, and Fillory is full of magical places. If you’re going to make any kind of declaration, make it here instead of some fancy restaurant in Manhattan.”

Eliot turned in the chair and got to his feet, tugging Margo out of her crouch at the same time and spinning her in a graceful circle, the light from the room’s torches glinting off the silver buttons on his lapis-colored Fillorian jacket.

“What would I do without you?” Eliot asked, kissing her on the forehead, and Margo smiled up at him.

“Live and rule in misery?”

“Most likely,” he nodded before turning toward the common room door and calling for Tick. The rotund little man came bustling down the hallway a moment later.

“Yes, your highness?”

“Have the stable saddle my horse, Tick. I’m going on a brief excursion.”

***

Eliot left the castle alone a short time later, despite Tick’s objections. While he usually rode with at least two guards and often with Tick, who rode a pony as stout as he was, this was a personal and private mission, and Eliot didn’t want anyone in the castle spilling the beans to Quentin. Whitespire was a hub of gossip with Tick at the top of the heap, and while that could sometimes be helpful to Eliot as High King, this felt more delicate than any spell he’d ever cast.

He rode his palomino gelding, Midas, east toward the Flying Forest yet skirting the enchanted woods themselves by traversing a high but sturdy trail on a ridge that opened up into a wide glen. The grass was lush and dotted with trees drooping with fragrant blossoms in red and yellow. Eliot urged Midas forward and crossed the glen, the smell of growing things filling his senses. At the opposite end of the glen, thick, verdant shrubs surrounded the highest crest of a waterfall, which spilled clear, silver-white water down into a pool so inviting that Eliot’s skin tingled with the desire to plummet in. He turned Midas in slow circles and nodded.

“A picnic,” he murmured. “I’ll bring Q here for a picnic. The trees, the waterfall . . . it’s perfect!”

Midas tossed his head and his hindquarters tensed, bringing Eliot out of his thoughts.

“Whoa, hey!” He reined the gelding in and frowned as the horse disobeyed long enough to spin in a circle. “Easy! What’s the matter with you?”

Midas gave a deep snort and Eliot stroked his neck. He’d bought the horse at auction where it was sold for only a few coppers because unlike his dam, the palomino didn’t speak. Eliot had appreciated his beauty and sensed his capacity for speed, but as his skin prickled in a different way, he wished the horse had been born with the ability to speak.

“You’re fine!” Eliot said, as much to himself as to his spooked mount. “It’s just the sound of the waterfall. Come on—” Eliot turned Midas to cross the glen and return to the path that would lead them back down the ridge. “—quit being a scaredy-colt!”

Midas gave one last snort of protest and jogged across the glen, the sun glinting off his golden hide.

Behind them, in the lush, wild hedges, something watched their retreat.

***

It took Margo’s help and a bit of planning for Eliot to whisk Quentin away to the glade. One king riding alone was cause enough for the castle guards to worry, but two unescorted monarchs might cause a panic, so Margo announced that the three royals would be in a closed meeting for most of the day as Eliot and Quentin slipped out a little-used side door, where Eliot had horses packed up and waiting. As they trotted away toward the ridge, Quentin bounced up alongside Eliot on a mute but friendly bay. His own talking mount, Dauntless, was ready to foal and resting back at the stables.

“Where are we going?” He asked Eliot as he slowed the bay to a brisk walk. Eliot glanced over.

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t always like surprises.”

“You might like this one.” Eliot turned off the forest path and onto the ridge. As they climbed, they could see the Rainbow Bridge, a ribbon of color off to their left and beyond that, the stark shores of Coronation Beach. “Remember the day we crowned each other?”

“Yeah,” Quentin smiled. “I made that stupid speech.”

“It wasn’t stupid, Q. I appreciated every word, and you made me want to be a good king.”

Quentin blinked as his bay picked its way around larger stones and pockets of spiny weeds.

“Seriously?”

“Yes. It hasn’t been particularly easy these past few months, but having you and Margo with me has made all the difference.” He smiled as they reach the crest of the ridge. “I’m glad you’re here, Q.”

The trail narrowed then, forcing Quentin to fall back behind Midas, but not before Eliot caught a blush staining the younger magician’s cheeks. The path opened up into the sun-drenched glade a few moments later and Eliot reined Midas to a halt as he looked over his shoulder. Quentin was staring at the meadow in disbelief.

“Holy shit!” He said as he trotted up and came to an ungainly halt—horseback riding wasn’t exactly one of his talents, despite all those summers at junior cowboy camp. “What is this place? How did you find it?”

“I happened to come across it on a ride the other day,” Eliot said as he swung down from his horse. “I thought you might like to see it. Listen . . .”

Quentin cocked his head to one side and then smiled.

“Is that a waterfall?”

“It is.” Eliot helped Quentin down off his horse and left the mounts to graze after confining them with a corralling spell. Eliot led his friend across the glade, where the thundering of the falls grew louder. The cascading ribbon of silver water finally came into view, and Quentin’s face lit up in a way that made Eliot’s heart give an excited skip.

“Look at this place!” Quentin said, pushing a lock of tawny hair behind one ear. “Do you think it has a name?”

“I don’t know. Surely others have been up here. The grass is so lush, I’m amazed no one’s farmed it out.”

Eliot paused. “But I didn’t bring you here just to show you the sights.” He raised both hands and tutted as he murmured a spell. A blanket and a wicked basket materialized at their feet a moment later and Quentin’s expression shifted to one of puzzlement.

“What? You’ve never been on a picnic before?” Eliot smiled.

“Uhm, sure, I . . . in Central Park when I was a kid and my folks were still together. Not so much since then, I guess.”

“It struck me as an ideal spot.” Eliot flapped out the blanket until it settled out flat on the grass and knelt down as he patted the spot nearest him. “Have a seat, Q.”

Quentin crouched like someone trying to settle himself into a hot bath and finally tucked his legs up under his thighs before tugging off his sweater. Eliot watched, amused and more than a bit aroused as Quentin struggled to pull the thing off and the tee shirt underneath became untucked, showing a wide strip of skin and a hint of glory trail. He finally freed himself and Eliot chuckled, resisting the urge to smooth down Quentin’s hair.

“Better?”

“Yeah.” Quentin set the sweater aside and peeked into the wicker basket. “Sandwiches, fruit, cake, lemonade—where the hell did you get lemonade, El?” He laughed, and Eliot shrugged a shoulder.

“Well, it’s easier to concoct than champagne.”

“The Lemonade King. It does have a ring to it,” Quentin grinned, and Eliot gave him a nudge as he took out a pair of simple travel cups and poured them each a glass. They sipped, and Quentin glanced around. “It really is beautiful here.”

“It is. I wanted to show you—and be alone with you, too.”

Quentin looked up at him.

“You did?”

“Yes, Q. You see, I—” Eliot paused as he turned to face his friend on the soft checkered blanket. “We’ve been here for several months now, and I know you’ve been through hell. The Beast, and—”

“And Alice,” Quentin murmured. Eliot nodded.

“I know how much losing her hurt you. And I hope that Margo and I have given you some sort of comfort, even if it’s not exactly our specialty.”

“You have.” Quentin raised his head again, his dark eyes bright with unshed tears. “If I’d had been alone, I . . . I don’t know what I would have been like.” He mustered up a smile. “I’m glad you were both here.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, Q. But I—” Eliot paused, frowning, as a minute rustling noise came from the thick hedges near the waterfall, then ceased.

Rabbit, maybe. Or a talking something-or-other, he thought to himself.

“El?” Quentin prodded, and Eliot picked up his previous train of thought.

“Sorry. I thought bringing you up here would make this easier—” That rustling sound again. Because what I wanted to tell you, Q, is—”

THWACK! A sharp noise, like the crack of a whip split the air, and Quentin was no longer sitting beside him. Eliot blinked and opened his mouth to speak when something flexible but strong, like a thick rubber cable, wrapped around his waist and pinned his arms to his sides. Behind him, Quentin cried out in panic and fear as a massive, writhing shape rose from the bushes—a shape that now had both of them in its clutches.

***

“Your highness? Your highness! Please, I must speak with you!”

Margo glanced up from her glass of wine and erotic novel (thank Christ for cheap bookstores in the Village and traveling portals,) and frowned at the urgency in Tick’s voice. She set the glass and book aside and went to unlock the common room door, opening the heavy wooden thing a crack.

“What is it, Tick? I told you we can’t be disturbed!”

“I ask forgiveness, your highness, but this concerns the safety of the High King and King Quentin!”

“I’m gonna need a bit more than that,” Margo replied as she stepped out into the hallway and closed the door.

“Her highness understands that I am not one to involve myself in rumor and gossip . . .”

“You, Tick? Of course not,” Margo glanced at her lacquered nails. “But?”

“There was talk, your grace, of the kings riding south toward the Piebald Ridge, for reasons unknown. I do not know if these rumors are true, but if there is any credence to them, then the lives of our kings may be in danger.”

“Talk faster!” Margo snapped. “What kind of danger?”

“The Glittering Glen and its waterfall offer some of the most breathtaking views of Fillory, but they are also home to some of its carnivorous plants. You may recall that there are some species right here in Whitespire’s garden—”

“Yeah, and they fucking ate the gardener!”

“Indeed. And the species that grow wild in that glen are even more aggressive, I’m afraid.”

“Form a party of armed guards and saddle my horse! We need to get up to that glen before El and Quentin star in the Fillorian version of Little Shop of Horrors!”

“Your grace?” Tick frowned.

“Jesus, I’ll explain the reference later! Move!”

***

“Q, can you reach my hand?”

“My arms are pinned to my sides! What is this thing, El?”

“I don’t know! But it’s either pissed or hungry—” Eliot squirmed as one of the vines forced his hands down to his side and pinned them there so he couldn’t cast. The bushes rustled wildly and a plant emerged on a greenish-brown stalk the width of a sedan. The mouth itself resembled an undulating, open banana peel and Quentin’s eyes widened as it revealed itself.

“Oh, shit! Shit, shit!” He gasped. Eliot focused inwardly for a moment, trying to tap into his telekinesis, but inward-facing thorns on the vines that had him and Quentin trapped pierced his skin. They were coated with venom and his mind fogged over as his muscles went slack and useless. Quentin’s dark eyes were equally glassy, and as they were pulled toward the mouth of the carnivorous plant, Eliot realized his efforts at creating the perfect moment had brought on their last ones, instead.

Oh, Q. I’m so sorry . . .

“El . . .” Quentin murmured as they were dragged along side by side, and Eliot turned his head to stare into Quentin’s dark eyes.

“I didn’t mean to get us into this,” Eliot slurred, the brain fog becoming thicker. “I only wanted to . . .” He struggled to find one last moment of focus. “I love you, Quentin.”

Quentin blinked at him and an odd noise, like the distant call of horns, filled Eliot’s ears.

Is this what it sounds like to die?

The noise grew louder then, and voices mixed with what Eliot eventually recognized as his royal guards’ call to arms. The vines that held him went slack a moment a later, and Margo’s face swam into view, distorted and blurry. He tried to speak, to warn her, but darkness dropped a veil over his mind.

***

Fever held sway over Eliot’s consciousness for nearly three days. When the effects of the plant’s venom finally began to fade thanks to treatments by Whitespire’s physicians, Eliot found himself in his royal bedchambers, dressed in his favorite robe, with Margo sitting beside him. Relief warred with annoyance in her dark eyes as she watched him come around.

“Well. It’s about fucking time,” she said, but her touch was gentle as she smoothed back his curls. He managed a smile.

“Hey, Bambi.”

“That’s all you have to say after I had to form a goddamned posse to keep you and Q from being eaten by a giant Fillorian plantain?”

“Q!” Eliot sat up, ignoring the jolt of pain it caused. “Where is he? Did that thing . . . did it . . . “

“No, thank fuck. Our guards killed that overgrown Audrey 2 before it could swallow either of you. He woke up this morning and he’s in his room, resting.”

“I have to go see him.” Eliot threw the duvet aside and Margo sighed.

“Since I know there’s no stopping you, at least let me help you. The castle doctor said that plant’s venom packs a fucking wallop. Thank Christ there’s a cure for it.”

Eliot got to his feet and found his balance. He felt weak and slightly dizzy, as if he’d suffered a serious case of heatstroke. Margo took his arm.

“C’mon,” she gave him a wry smile as they left his room and headed down the hall. “You aren’t going to believe this, but castle gossip saved your ass. Some of the wall guards saw you and Q riding up the ridge and it got back to Tick and his people. If he hadn’t come and told me, you and Q would be staring out the back end of that plant by now.”

Eliot frowned as his stomach turned.

“Margo, Jesus!”

“Maybe that’s just my way of saying be more careful the next time you get any romantic notions in your head.” She paused by Quentin’s door and rose up on her tiptoes to kiss Eliot’s cheek.

“I’m glad you’re all right. Tell Q I’ll come see him in a little while.”

“Will do. Thanks for bringing the Calvary, Bambi.”

“Remember it the next time I piss you off!” Margo laughed as she vanished around the corner. Eliot knocked on Quentin’s door before opening it a crack.

“Q? Are you awake? It’s me.”

“Eliot!” Quentin sat up. Hey!”

“No no . . . don’t get up.” Eliot opened the door wider and stepped inside. Quentin shifted over so he could sit.

“When did you wake up?” Quentin asked, and Eliot sighed.

“About fifteen minutes ago.”

“Then you should be in bed!”

“Fair enough. Budge up.” Eliot nudged Quentin over until there was enough room for him to lie down. Quentin blinked but didn’t protest. “So. How are you feeling?”

“Kind of weak, and my joints ache, but the doctors say that’ll fade over the next couple of days with the antivenom treatments. I guess we were lucky—those plants are aggressive and they’ll eat almost any living thing they can get ahold of, from what Tick told me.”

“I’m so sorry, Q. I almost got us killed.”

“You didn’t know . . . neither did I. It wasn’t your fault. It was nice—I mean, until that thing showed up.”

Eliot propped himself up on one elbow to face his friend.

“I took you up there because I wanted to create this perfect moment for us.”

“For us? What do you mean, El?”

“I wanted it to be something you’d remember, no matter how things worked out.”

“You told me you loved me,” Quentin said suddenly. “Just before I passed out.”

“You remember that?”

“It was real, wasn’t it? When I woke up, I thought maybe I’d dreamed it or—or that I made it up.”

“No, Q. It was real. It just wasn’t what I’d planned when I took you up to that glen. In fact, it’s just about as far from that perfect moment as could be possible.”

“Maybe there aren’t any perfect moments, El.” Quentin laid a hand over Eliot’s. “Only perfect chances.”

Eliot paused for the space of a heartbeat as one of Quentin’s fingers traced over the back of his hand.

“Like this one?”

“Exactly like this one.”

“Then let me take it.” Eliot caught Quentin’s gaze, held it. “I’m in love with you, Quentin.”

The younger magician’s gaze filled with warmth and hope as he slid his fingers in between Eliot’s.

“Me too—I mean, I feel the same way. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Eliot sat up and tugged Quentin up with him before touching his face.

“You’re serious?”

“Yes, El! Jesus, why would I lie about something like that? I think I’ve been in love with you since Brakebills but I was scared that someone like you could never love anyone like me.”

“Don’t put me on a pedestal, Q. I’m not as untouchable as you think.”

“I hope not. Because I do love you, El.” He leaned forward, his long lashes sweeping down as his eyes closed halfway and Eliot accepted the offer, pressing his lips to Quentin’s, drinking him in like a dying man in a desert who’d finally reached an oasis. As he slid his arms around the man he planned to spend the rest of his life with, whether it was here in Fillory, on earth, or some other place they had yet to discover, Eliot knew that home was here, in Quentin’s embrace.

Maybe there is such a thing as a perfect moment after all, Eliot thought to himself. Because this certainly feels like one.

Fin

#my fic #Queliot #whitespiresarmory #week 7

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namelesspharaoh · 5 years ago

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⟨ I’m Seeing Double. ❘ ➥ @pvzzledd ⟩

Here goes nothing. Yuugi Mutou, famous mangaka and game loving dork, adds something new to his current manga he is working on. His first ever manga that got him on the map was about this character, the protagonist, being a able to jump into another characters world. He’s put his character into super hero comics, into other manga’s and so much more. Other mangaka’s and artists were so excited to collaborate and have his character come into their world too. It was fun. Tonight though, while working on a new page, he decides to change it up. Instead of jumping to another fictional world, he decides to have his character jump to the real world. Basically, he was going to make an entire side story of his character meeting him. He pauses, glances at the clock and winces, five am already? He really had to go grocery shopping and run some errands tomorrow so he sighs and comes to a stop for tonight. He’d finish it tomorrow then, or rather, later today. He’d stopped with the portal opening in his hometowns portal.

Little did he know….A portal actually opened in said park and out comes a person…His character. He’s too busy sleeping to notice and he only finds out when he wakes up. Errands are tossed out the window as he instead goes to the park because his curiosity is piqued. It was a huge coincidence! It had to be. There was no way fiction became a reality. But, lo and behold, there stands his character, near the portal. Their eyes meet and he sucks in a breath.

“No way.”

Differing dimensions never stood much an obstacle to Atem, as it should any other mortal man. As history would have it, for many lifetimes, it was the birthright of the royal bloodline to inherit dominion over a sacred relic of mysterious origin come their ascension to the throne (an heirloom much more exciting than some fancy chair, that’s for sure).

The item’s existence would only be revealed to its successor come coronation day, who’d swear an oath to oversee and protect it. For this was no ordinary object of old; this was a portal that could by cross dimensions kept under lock and key guarded away beyond the walls of a secret, sacred temple buried beneath the palace. It was the duty of the king and his high court to tend to it, and whenever the portal began to act up or emit otherworldly things (especially in the case they wreak havoc), it is his duty to step through the portal and close the one in the opposite universe. To preserve peace and balance; an honored duty.

This time, he finds himself in what appears to be public grounds of some kind. Awkward, long, slate-like seats are tucked against plank-lined barriers. He squints at the unexpected stream of sunlight that beams down on him from overhead, hand flying instinctively to guard his eyes. As awed as he is by the world, the world is awed by him. People dressed in funny attire and foreign fabrics shoot him looks. He doesn’t pay them any mind. His focus was to unearth the source of the disturbance, the root of what had caused this portal to emerge in the first place.

As Atem’s gaze drifts to survey his surroundings, it clips to a figure some feet away from him. At a glance, Atem might think he was looking in a mirror. Atem squinted harder, though, and determined it no reflection, but a man that bore several striking similarities to him. Different, still: his skin, paler; his eyes, a soft lavender; and his stature, the slightest shorter. He was slim, and certainly not combat-ready like Atem. The Pharaoh had bore witness to many mysterious abnormalities throughout these voyages, but somehow, this was so bizarre a thing, it outdid all those before it. He stood and stared, lips parted in silent surprise. When he did speak, he directed his words towards the stranger that looked shocked as he.

❝ You... what is your title? I know not who you are, or by what which or way you resemble me, but I intend to find out. Nothing like this has ever happened before... therefore, you must play a crucial role in the disturbance of this dimension. It’s the only logical conclusion.

Do not be afraid. I come to bring peace, and will no harm upon you. ❞

#▼ i moved the post for my sanity and yours 😰#▼ thx rain this is all im going to talk about for weeks #pvzzled #{ Replies }#✧

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katiekat1321 · 6 years ago

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The Master and The God (part 9)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

A/N: In the Last Chapter... You met with a cosmic entity named Infinity who has asked you to help prevent a Universe changing event that is coming.

You walked up to Loki’s door, still wondering if your choice was right. Was it fair to Loki? Not really, I’m essentially a parasite feeding off his seidr now. But Infinity said this would make things better and I think it’s fair to assume a cosmic entity knows what she is talking about. You thought to yourself, then again, she could have just said that to manipulate me into agreeing. Infinity’s goal is to make sure the universe is safe; she probably would have said anything to get me to agree. Y/n, what have you gotten yourself into?

You heard one of the guards clear his throat and you realized you had been lost in thought in front Loki’s door for at least a few minutes. You smiled awkwardly and went to knock on the door but heard a something crash into the wall by the door. You jumped back a bit and looked at the guard, expecting him to rush in and see if everything was okay.

He just shrugged and said, “He’s been in a mood since you left. Yelling and breaking things.”

You nodded and knocked on the door. You could hear the soft thud of something being dropped to the floor and a cold “Enter,” from Loki.

Loki saw you peek around the door, a little scared of being hit by a projectile. He took a deep breath before greeting you, “Y/n?”

“I’m back,” you said as you walked in and set your cane down next to what was a dresser when you left, but now all the drawers were missing and broken, and the clothes were everywhere. “What happened in here? It looks like a tornado rip this place apart!”

Loki gave you a once over like he could tell something was different about you already. “It’s fine, just,” Loki paused for a minute. He tried look like he was searching for the right words, but you could feel the lie on the tip of his tongue before he said it, “a little, how do you say it on Midgard? Cabin fever?”

You nodded, that was probably not a lie. It was more of a half-truth. Loki was tired of being under house arrest and stuck in here, but that was not why he destroyed his room. You waved a hand around the room and everything repaired itself. “How about a little prison break then? Maybe a change of location will make continuing our earlier conversation a bit easier?” You offered.

Loki raised an eye brow but agreed nonetheless. He sat down in a chair and gestured for you to sit in the one facing him. You sat down in front of him and immediately allowed your astral form to be released from your physical form. You looked to Loki but knew he couldn’t see you. You put a hand on his cheek and watched him jump slightly in surprise before you moved your hand to his forehead and pushed his astral form out.

“Fancy meeting you here stranger,” you said before waving a hand over his body and floating towards the door and Loki followed. “Where shall we go? And just so you don’t think to try something I put a spell on you. If you leave the palace grounds, you’ll be shocked and forced back into your body. It’s not very comfortable. The Ancient One would use that on us in training.”

“The sun recently set, I know a of a small balcony off Odin’s private library that is great for viewing the night sky,” Loki offered. As soon as you nodded Loki headed off, leading you there. You breezed past countless empty rooms, up a few stairwells, and shelves of books in the library before reaching Odin’s private collection of books. You saw Loki go out the glass doors leading to the balcony, but one section of books caught your eye. You stopped to read the spines of the books and translated the runes. They were about Midgard’s history.

You pulled the first one off the shelf, flipped it open, and saw a picture of Master Agamotto. The caption under it explained that he was a master of magic known as the mystic arts and taught many disciples. It also noted that he was entrusted with the time stone and placed it in the necklace he is often pictured wearing.

You stared at the picture of Master Agamotto and tried to work through that this all meant. Odin had kept Earth’s history of the Mystic Arts existence a secret from the people of Asgard. He himself knew the history and it seemed Frigga did as well but destroyed all other books on the subject. That was some extreme censorship. Is it to make Asgardians feel stronger? You wondered, I want to believe Odin is a good person, was it to protect us from something? But from what?

You were lost in thought, trying to figure out what Odin’s intentions were when you heard Loki right behind you. “Y/n, what are you looking at?”

You slammed the book shut and put it back on the shelf, hoping that didn’t make enough noise to raise suspicion that someone had snuck into the library. Before you could make up a response Loki continued speaking, “It’s not actually a blank book you know. It only appears that way to people less powerful than Odin. Mother once told me only she and Odin could read any of these books.”

“Oh, um,” You weren’t sure how to reply to that, but if you wanted Loki to be truthful to you about everything leading up to the Battle of New York you should be truthful to him too. “They’re supposed to be blank? I was looking at a picture of the Agamotto, the founder of the Masters of the Mystic Arts.”

“You can actually read it?” Loki asked incredulously.

You nodded, worried you had messed up again today and this would only upset him more. His eyes lit up a little as he pulled another thin book off the shelf at random, opened it to page, and held it out to you, “What does this say?”

You leaned in a little closer and translated the first paragraph. “Something about Dark Elves and the Ether returning one day.”

Loki closed the book and looked confused as he read the spine again. “This book is supposed to be about the final battle of Bor and the Dark Elves. We were taught that Bor killed every last one of the Dark Elves and destroyed the Ether on Svartalfheim.”

You took the book from Loki and put it back on the shelf from where he had grabbed it. “It seems that Odin has censored your history and kept the real records hidden away in this private collection.”

“Why?” Loki asked quietly. You knew the question wasn’t directed to you, you expected Loki didn’t realize he even said it out loud. It was more of an internal pondering.

“I think I know why actually, but I need to talk to Frigga more about it before I say anything more.” You replied and turned towards the door to the balcony, “Let’s just go outside and talk. The fresh air will do you good.” Loki agreed without protest and followed you outside.

Loki sat on the stone railing, legs dangling over the edge. You followed suit, sitting with a small gap between the two of you. “I still don’t know where to start.” Loki said softly.

“You can start wherever you want to. I wasn’t here when any of this happened so tell me your side of the story. I’m not sitting here with a negative image of you already.” You told him.

Loki scoffed, “How can you not have a negative image of me? I helped an army of aliens attack your planet in exchange for the promise of being named its king!”

You placed and hand on his. Loki’s eyes widened and he glanced at you in his peripheral. “I am not holding that against you. I never did. I’ve spent all my time at Kamar-Taj studying Asgard. I know your past and I know what Midgardian Norse Mythology says of you. I also know Frigga speaks of you with so much love and that she still has faith that you will do great things. Your mistakes don’t have to define you. I want to help you Loki.”

“Okay, I’ll being where I think everything started to fall apart, the day that Thor was supposed to be crowned king,” Loki said, turning toward you slightly, “I felt that Thor was not suited for the throne. He was too foolhardy and just wanted to fight and win glory. He didn’t really care about the people’s well-being. I didn’t feel it was fair for Odin to dismiss my claims to the throne so blatantly so I allowed a diversion to prevent the coronation from proceeding. I snuck a message out to Jotunheim and told them to send a couple warriors to reclaim the Casket of Ancient Winters. I hated the Jotuns, and I still do, but they were the easiest of Asgard’s enemies to trick. They were desperate and never fully recovered after they were cut off from the rest of the realms so I knew they would be willing to accept an anonyms message offering to help them; I knew they wouldn’t succeed and the Destroyer would kill them. I planned this all as a harmless trick to stop the coronation, to ensure that the date would get pushed back and I would have more time to talk to Odin and convince him Thor wasn’t worthy of the throne. Then Thor decided to go to Jotunheim to fight them. I admit I might have supported the idea, but I didn’t think Thor would be so quick to agree. I told a guard where we were going and to send Father after us after we left so that Thor would be punished and we would end up dead.”

You made a small sound of surprise, but Loki noticed and paused his story. He looked to you and asked what happened. “It’s nothing, you just finally called Odin your father.”

Loki looked away and you were worried he was going to stop talking and close up again but to your surprise he started speaking again, “Anyway, I was touched by one of the Jotuns and turned blue rather than getting frost burn so I knew something was wrong, after Thor was banished I spoke to Odin about it and that’s when he told me that I was not his son, but would have been the crown prince of the creatures I grew up being taught to hate.”

“That would be enough to fuck anyone up,” you commented.

Loki seemed amused by your response, “Your Midgardian simplicity refreshing as always Lady Y/n.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you questioned.

“Nothing negative, darling,” Loki defended himself, “The brashness of your replies is quite amusing. It’s so unapologetically honest. It’s very different from most people here and rather endearing,” you blushed in response so Loki changed the subject, “anyway after that Odin fell into an Odinsleep and being the only heir left on Asgard, I became the acting King. I wanted to finish the Jotuns off like they should have been hundreds of years ago, but now, looking back on my emotions, I realize that I was also wanting to erase my true past. I wanted to cut any and all ties I could have to them so I formulated a plan to sabotage them and elevate myself to the strong hero status Thor held. For my plan to work I knew I would need to keep Thor away on Midgard so I lied to him, telling him father died and though I was king, he would have to remain banished. Then I went to Laufey, claiming I wanted to betray Asgard, but as you know it was just a ploy to kill him, which was obviously successful,” Loki’s words trailed off.

“And then Thor returned,” you offered.

This seemed to refocus Loki’s mind, “Yes, Thor returned and stopped me from fully destroying Jotunheim by destroying the Bifrost and I fell from the bridge. Odin could have saved me, but he didn’t, and I fell to my doom.”

You could hear his throat tightening as he neared the end of his sentence so you tried to urge him to continue, “And then what happened?”

“It’s getting rather late isn’t it?” Loki said, ignoring your question entirely, “I think we should turn in for the night and continue this conversation another day.”

You knew what Loki was trying to do, he was trying to get out of continuing this conversation. He only shared what you already knew, but you appreciated the fact that he was willing to open up, even this much. “That’s okay, we can continue tomorrow. Thank you, Loki,” you said and held a hand up to his face, making him disappear and rejoin his physical form back in his room. Before you returned to your body as well you took one last glance at the shelves in Odin’s private library. How much else has he hidden? Everything about the Masters, everything about Hela, and apparently the truth about whatever happened between King Bor and the Dark Elves.

You were torn between confronting Odin directly about all this or just privately sneaking back in at some point and reading through more of the books. There was nothing you could do at the moment anyway so you returned to your body in Loki’s room.

“I’ll be back early tomorrow Loki,” you told him as you stood up, stretched, and cracked your neck. “I know this is difficult for you. It must not be easy to relive whatever happened to you, I can see the pain in your eyes.”

Loki refused to meet your eyes. “What happened to you out there, Lady Y/n?” He asked.

“What do you mean?” You asked in response.

“What did Heimdall summon you for?” Loki clarified. He watched your smile falter and knew he needed to press the topic further, “You’re stronger. I can feel your Seidr burning and the energy in you,” Loki placed a hand over the center of your chest, “I can feel it coursing through your veins.”

“It seems I’ll have some explaining to do tomorrow as well,” you agreed and removed his hand from your chest, but instead of releasing it, you held it for a moment in both of your hands. “But you’re going first.”

Loki’s eyes crinkled into a smile as he agreed. “Goodnight darling,” he said simply and walked away from you towards his bed.

“Goodnight my Prince,” you quipped back as you walked to the door, holding out a hand and your cane soaring into it. You could feel the mirth radiating from Loki at that comment as you left his room and headed to your own.

As you made the short walk back to your room you thought about what your next step should be. I obviously need to hear the rest of Loki’s story first, you thought. Then it’s a toss up between returning to Earth to begin the tasks of making sure these twins are properly enhanced and everything is on the path it should be or stay on Asgard a bit longer before that and figure out why Odin has been lying to his people.

It was moments like this that you wish you had the Eye of Agamotto to see what different futures held. Though even without the ability to see the future you knew fate would pull you down whichever path is more pressing.

You were so distracted by your own thoughts you didn’t even notice Thor until you actually ran into him.

“Lady Y/n?” He said as he steadied you, “What are you doing wandering the castle at this hour?”

“I’ll admit I have no idea what time it is, but I’m sure it isn’t that late Thor,” you said with a kind smile, “sorry, I should have been paying more attention to where I was going.”

“What is on your mind?” Thor asked. He really was like a human, or rather Asgardian, golden retriever; all blonde, friendly, and kind.

“I had an interesting meeting with… a friend of your mothers earlier this evening and I’ve only just finished speaking with your brother. I’ve learned a lot tonight and I’m not sure what to do next honestly. I’m not even sure if I should be telling you this much,” you confessed. Just saying that much to another person was relieving some of the metaphorical pressure you felt on your shoulders.

“I didn’t know mother had a friend visiting her,” Thor replied.

“It was just a quick visit. I’m guessing she was in the area so she thought she’d just pop in,” you lied.

“Well if it’s about Loki then I can talk to him,” Thor offered, “I’m well aware you can handle yourself Lady Y/n, but I’m happy to help you however I can.”

You reached up on your tiptoes to ruffle his hair a bit, “You’re very sweet Thor. But Loki has been nothing but a gentleman to me. Honestly! You must know your brother well enough to recognize that he is not a bad person. Misguided maybe, but not evil.”

Thor flattened his hair and sighed. “I’m not sure what to think of him anymore. He’s changed so much from when we were kids.”

“Well of course, everyone changes as they grow and learn life lessons. I believe one dashing blond god-man recently learned that fighting isn’t always the best answer, especially for a king.”

“You are very wise for a Midgardian,” Thor murmured. You raised an eyebrow at his comment and he quickly realized what he said came out wrong. “I meant that you have the wisdom of someone who has lived hundreds of years, Lady Y/n”

“Of course, you did,” you joked. “Well, I should be getting to bed. Loki still has a lot more to explain tomorrow and I have a feeling I will need a lot of energy to get it all out of him.” You were about to walk away when you thought of something. “Actually, maybe you talking to Loki would help. But not quite yet, he still needs more time. Goodnight Thor”

Thor bid you goodnight as you continued down the hall to your door. As soon as you reached your bed you collapsed onto it, the day’s mental strain finally catching up with you.

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Part 10 -->

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sheikah · 7 years ago

Text

Distraction

My entry for the @jonerysnetwork @jonerysfics Fic Contest [Smut] [AO3]

On their second day in the Red Keep, Jon makes an interesting discovery.

In his new rooms, the sun coming through the vista windows warms his back and the smell of cooking food beckons him outside. It is all very distracting, being in a new place, and he finds it difficult to focus on menial tasks like unpacking his things. Every few minutes he glances out at the Blackwater to confirm that this is real—they finally sacked King’s Landing. He doubts he will ever get used to it.

His new quarters aren’t a good fit, more sumptuous than he needs or wants. They are royal quarters, possibly the former rooms of princes or princesses, and truthfully they don’t suit Jon’s taste. But the large windows give him a wide vantage point from which to observe the city below, and he can see far out over the bay. It is breathtaking, a different kind of beautiful than the snowy haven of Winterfell.

The chamber’s interior is equally impressive. The ceilings are high with ornate moldings all around, the walls a rich crimson. The large bed is fitted with luxurious linens, hung on all sides with cloth-of-gold curtains. Jon supposes he should be grateful that the queen insisted he take up residence in such a place, but it feels altogether wrong, nothing like the cozy simplicity of his room back at The Wall. But he keeps his doubts to himself. This is his home for now, where he most needs to be. A defensible position from which to plan the assault on the Army of the Dead. And besides, he would follow Dany anywhere.

Just now Jon is supposed to follow her to the small council chambers and meet with the gathered lords to discuss their next move. But first he means to change out of the armor he wore about the city into something a little lighter. Even in Winter, King’s Landing is still far warmer than what Jon is used to, and the muggy coastal air has his clothes sticking to his skin. Strolling over to the trunk in the corner, he unfastens the latch and flips the top open with a creak of the hinges.

A moment’s look is enough to tell him that something is wrong. Instead of dark surcoats and sturdy wools, the trunk is filled with brightly colored silks and carefully wrapped pieces of jewelry. It doesn’t take long for Jon to recognize it as Dany’s trunk, not his. He has never seen her in these clothes himself, but many of them have clasps and embellishments ornately carved into dragons and “DT” is embroidered in the plush satin lining of the trunk’s lid.

His first instinct is to close the trunk and leave it be. They aren’t his things to disturb. But there is still so much Jon doesn’t know about Dany even though he has been with her for the better part of a year. So curiosity gets the better of him and he begins rifling through the vibrant contents of the chest.

He is clueless when it comes to fashion and truthfully, he doesn’t much care about it. But the thought of his pretty queen in bright, summer silks, colors that would complement her lilac eyes and smooth, silver hair is more than a little intriguing, so very different from dark, regal winter garb she has worn for as long as Jon has known her. He loves the thought of her strolling through gardens half a world away, her arms bare and dappled in sunlight.

Rummaging through the trunk, he removes long, flowy gowns of ocean blue, striking and intricately designed tunics of purest white, and even an odd, painted leather vest. At the bottom of the trunk, one dress stands out from all the others.

The fabric is strange, silky like those that were stored on top of it, but richer, thinner, and more delicate. The color is pale lavender, almost white, and it is impossibly smooth beneath his fingertips. Jon lifts it out of the chest carefully to find that there are no sleeves—something unthinkable to his Northern sensibilities—just slender trips of fabric that hold it together at the shoulders, clasped with silver pins carved into the three-headed dragon of the Targaryen sigil.

When the dress is clear of the trunk, the afternoon sun hits it—doesn’t just hit it, but shines straight through it, the glare hitting Jon in the eyes. He is confused. What kind of silly, pointless garment is this? It is almost entirely translucent in the light, so it certainly can’t be a dress, must be part of some bigger ensemble. But the more Jon looks at it the more he realizes that it has to be a dress. It seems too small and form-fitting to be a cover or cloak of some kind, and it is far too decorated to serve as an undergarment.

But if it is a dress all its own, it is entirely impractical. Even more, it is daring, indecent. If Dany wore this, well . . . her smalls would be on full display for anyone interested enough to look. And who could resist such a sight?

Jon feels an unexpected stab of jealousy at the thought. They may not be married, may not be sharing their secrets with their many and varied companions and allies, but Dany is his, just as he is hers. So why is he so disturbed at the thought of her parading around in this obscene dress?

He doesn’t fancy himself an envious man, even when he can see how other men look at his lady, their eyes lingering a moment too long. Even though he notices the way a room quiets when she enters it, how everyone seems to gravitate toward her like the sun. No, Jon has never been jealous. Because what he has with Dany is not a clandestine attraction. She spent weeks patiently assuring Jon that to her, he is more than some nameless bastard, not just a King in the North to support her bid for the throne—and Jon finally accepted that her love for him burned as brightly as his for her.

Yet for all his faith and surety, seeing this peculiar, brazen dress still makes his blood run hot, sends a jolt of possessive longing through him that makes him almost lightheaded. He imagines Dany walking about in a dress that might as well be made of air—tantalizing everyone she passes by. It is almost unbearable; but it is also . . . strangely exciting.

Shaking his head to clear it Jon decides to go and see Dany, to get an explanation for the singular dress and more importantly, see her in it for himself.

He just has to get through a small council meeting first.

Inside the council chambers Jon sits opposite Dany, Tyrion and Davos on his left, Lord Varys and Tormund at his right. It is stifling in the close, dimly lit room, and Jon struggles to ignore his restlessness and boredom, to focus on the conversation.

“We need to make official appointments to essential positions,” Tyrion announces, turning to Dany. “We aren’t planning a coronation with a war on, but while we’re here we need stability. And just like a queen in peace time you’ll need capable people at your side.”

“Who do you recommend?” Dany asks, perusing a list of names.

Jon looks up at the sound of her voice. She is all business today, hair braided tight, the long rope of it draped over her left shoulder. Her elegant black dress is high-collared, and she sits up straight and serene, her hands folded on the table before her. She looks every bit the queen, even without a crown on her lovely head.

“For Master of Ships,” Varys begins, “Perhaps a Greyjoy?”

“The obvious choice,” Davos chimes in, his thick accent drawing Dany’s attention. “But I also have experience in this area, Your Grace.”

Jon watches Dany’s face as she considers the suggestion, serious as ever, her expression unreadable to the untrained eye. But he knows her well, can see that she is tired, in no mood to make these decisions just now. Jon can’t say he blames her. He can think of about a thousand things he would rather be doing at the moment, most of them involving her.

That train of thought takes his mind to places it really shouldn’t go in mixed company, takes him back to the last time they slept together. Suddenly Jon is swept up in memories of Dany rising over him, naked as her name day, rolling her hips into him roughly, the blissful friction, the squeeze of her body. He sits up to give her perfect breasts the attention they deserve, and then—

Beside him Tormund clears his throat and elbows Jon hard in the ribs, looking pointedly from Jon to Dany across the table.

“Do you agree?” she asks him, and Jon can tell from the edge in her voice that it isn’t the first time she has addressed him. He has no idea how much of the conversation he missed, no context for Dany’s question.

Jon sits up a little straighter in his chair. “Um. Yes, I agree,” he offers cautiously.

“So it’s settled then,” Tyrion proclaims. “We will have a Master of War, but only as a temporary position, since Her Grace believes it might send the message that we expect war. And Jon, you will name one of your own men to fill the position.”

Jon sighs. Another responsibility. He should be paying better attention to the discussion.

“There are some potential men you might appoint on this list.” Dany indicates the parchment before her. “Come have a look,” she says, waving Jon over.

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, suddenly painfully aware of the physical consequences of his daydreaming, a very conspicuous and very poorly-timed tightening in his pants. Damnit.

“Pass it over.” Jon holds his hand out, trying to act casual, trying to ignore the straining between his legs, and the puzzled look on Dany’s face at his refusal to move beside her. Wordlessly she hands the list to Tormund who gives it to Jon with a curious glance into his lap.

"Now then,” Tyrion continues. “We need to talk about some of the fighting we’ve already done. It is important that we answer for the damage we've caused," he argues, looking at each of them in turn. "Right now we can get the people on our side with only a small acts of goodwill. After my dear sister’s stunt at the sept I can assure you they followed her out of fear, not love. That is no way to rule."

"I agree," Dany nods. "So what must we do?"

"Send aid," Tyrion replies. "Gold, supplies, possibly a few men if we can spare them. To help rebuild."

"And you will gain more than just favor for assisting Highgarden, Your Grace," Varys adds smoothly. "They are the largest producer of food in all the seven kingdoms. We need them as much as they need us."

“Aye, that’s all very well,” Davos interjects gruffly. “But what of the North? The Others are going to hit them first. If anyone’s getting more of our men it ought to be the Northerners.”

Jon senses the oncoming argument and finds himself tuning them out once again, preoccupied. It is important, of course. Highgarden was absolutely decimated in the battle with the Lannister army, a battle they caused. The destruction would not have been nearly so pronounced if Dany’s dragons hadn’t been in play, and Jon supports the idea of taking responsibility and helping the people. He also worries for Winterfell and for his friends at The Wall.

But he knows that the deliberations are all but pointless, that there will never be a unanimous agreement on the best course of action. There never is. And try as he might, Jon can’t gather his thoughts into a coherent argument of his own, can’t pry his mind away from Dany.

His mind wanders again, picturing her in that gown he found, carefree and heedless of how the men all stare. Jon can almost see her strolling through the bright, dusty streets of Meereen, shining with perspiration and smiling at something Missandei said, happy and younger, blissfully unaware of what horrors await her across the sea.

Jon wants her like that. Joyful and gorgeous and real. Not the queen but the woman. And he is flustered and fidgeting at the thought of her in that dress because he knows all too well what waits for him beneath the silk. He knows the weight of her breasts in his hands, the taste of her flesh on his tongue, the sound of her sighs at his ear. And he knows, too, just how to make her sigh like that, knows the heat between her thighs, the—

“Jon?”

He jerks in his seat, his cheeks burning at the realization that they are all watching him, Dany most of all, her eyes hard, lips pressed into a thin line of irritation.

“Jon,” she repeats. “I asked for your input.”

Jon swallows, his fist clenching irritably on the table before him. His eyes dart from face to face, looking for a lifeline, stopping at Tyrion. “I agree with Lord Tyrion,” he ventures.

For a moment everyone is silent, the quiet broken when Tyrion clears his throat to speak. “Well, I thank you,” he says, bowing his head at Jon with a smirk. “Smart choice, as I am always right. But I haven’t actually said anything just now.”

Davos shakes his head and Tormund can’t suppress a snort of amusement. Dany’s sigh is loud and exasperated. “I apologize for Jon,” she says, her eyes flashing. “Clearly, he’s thinking of something more important than the war.”

“Maybe I am,” Jon fires back, frustrated. He has given all of himself to duty for so long. Even gave his life for it once. Are even his thoughts forfeit to this war? Looking at Dany he is overwhelmed with the urge to whisk her away, just for an afternoon. To kiss the worry from her brow and leave his own stress behind in this horrible little room. They have so little precious time together and Jon is tired of watching it slip away in arduous meetings.

Taken aback at Jon’s uncharacteristically forceful reply, Dany’s expression is somewhere between outrage and confusion as she fumbles for words. Sensing the tension in the room, Tyrion mercifully steps in. “Your Grace, I think we are all a little tired from this move. Let’s adjourn for today, shall we? I’ll concede to His Grace’s wise companions,” he says, waving a hand at Davos. “We’ll send aid to the North first. With your approval of course?”

Dany ponders for a moment and then nods in agreement.

“Excellent. My lords.” Tyrion nods at them all in dismissal. There is a noisy scraping of chairs on the stone floor as everyone rises to leave, but Dany remains, gathering of pile of letters into a neat stack and glaring coldly at Jon over the table.

On his way out Tyrion pauses to say something to her but Jon has had about enough of listening to others talk for one afternoon. He has better things in mind for his queen, things that can only be done within the privacy of his chambers.

When Jon moves to Dany’s side he is drawn in by the spice of her bath oils on the air, the dulcet tones of her voice as she speaks with Tyrion. Jon knows only he can break through her mask of regality to the passion that hides underneath, yearns to have her to himself. She won’t sound so calm and bored when he is through with her. . .

But when Dany looks up at his approach, her eyes are narrowed angrily, her arms crossed over her chest. Jon hates it when she is cross with him but he has more than a few ideas of how to cheer her up this afternoon.

“Your Grace,” he greets her, nodding curtly, his hand moving to her waist to draw her in. “I need to speak with you.”

“Your Grace,” Tyrion addresses Jon, his eyes falling on Jon’s hand at Dany’s side. “I was just telling the queen that—”

Jon ignores him, moving his other hand to Dany’s arm and leaning in close where only she can hear. “Now,” he adds, trying to control the urgency in his voice.

Predictably she hardens at his commands, stepping back as far as his arm around her will allow. “Jon, as you can clearly see I’m having a discussion with Tyrion and—”

Jon stares Dany hard in the eyes, lowering his hand until it rests on her butt, a faint smirk playing across his lips to convey his intentions. Understanding slowly dawns on her and for a fraction of a second Jon can see her fight back an answering grin. But then she wrenches herself away and stands up a little straighter, clearing her throat and turning to Tyrion with an apology in her eyes.

“I have some private business to see to with Jon but we will continue this over dinner.”

Tyrion nods slowly before bowing and taking his leave. Jon is sure the Hand of the Queen knows exactly what their “business” is. He doesn’t care.

The moment they’re alone Dany wheels on him, her hands flying to her hips. “What was that?!” she demands. “These meetings are important, Jon. They’re about our future. You don’t get to just—”

“Why don’t you come with me and I’ll make it up to you.” Jon takes her by the hand and begins backing out of the room, wheedling her along with him until Dany finally relents. She sighs, looking up at the mischievous glint in his eyes, and follows him out the door, her stack of correspondence forgotten on the table.

Lacing their fingers together Jon leads her through the keep, still unfamiliar with its winding halls and dark corridors. But he finds the shadowy alcoves particularly convenient today and every few steps he presses Dany’s back into a corner and silences her exhilarated giggles with his mouth on hers.

“What. Has gotten. Into you today?” she asks breathlessly, her question punctuated by hungry kisses from Jon and her own laughter.

He doesn’t answer, instead trekking on through the castle until they arrive at his room at last. Inside, the retreating afternoon sun casts everything in a brilliant gold. Dany most of all is stunning to his eyes, a little out of breath from their hurry, a pink blush creeping up her neck and cheeks.

She turns to face him when they’re inside, moving her hands to his shoulders. “Tell me what you brought me here for.”

For a moment the pull to touch her is so strong Jon forgets the dress entirely, couldn’t care less what it looks like or why she has it.

But then Dany’s eyes leave his, settling on something behind him. “That’s mine,” she says suddenly, startling him to attention, pointing to her open chest on the floor. “Jon, why . . . do you have this?”

“Our trunks got mixed up,” he explains dismissively, moving over to the enormous leather chair near the window and gesturing to the dress draped over the back. “What is this?”

Dany comes over to examine it for herself, smiling faintly when she recognizes it. “Viserys gave it to me in Pentos. It’s one of my favorites.”

“It’s why I brought you here. Put it on,” Jon instructs, his voice husky. “For me.”

Dany lifts the gauzy dress from the chair back and shakes her head. “This is not what I expected. You . . . want me to try on a gown for you?” she asks, raising a brow at Jon incredulously.

“Aye. I’ve been picturing you in it all day. What you’ll look like in it. What I’ll see through it.”

He steps in closer, speaking at her ear. “What I won’t be able to see until I take it off you. What you’ll sound like . . . ” He lays a hand on her waist, dragging it across her ribs and around to her chest, his knuckles grazing the underside of her breasts. “When I put my hands on you.” On a whim he dips his head and nibbles lightly on her ear. “And my mouth.”

Dany’s shoulders quiver at the contact. “Alright,” she assents, barely finding her voice, looking at Jon with wonder. “Turn around.”

He complies, turning his back to her while she changes. In front of him the window shows the city bustling with activity below but none of it can hold his attention, not while Dany’s intricate royal garb falls to the floor behind him with the clink of buckles and the swish of fabric.

“I’m ready,” she announces after a moment, and he faces her again.

Jon holds his breath when he sees her. She is a vision, everything he conjured in his fantasies and more. Her hair hangs loose now, and the sun through the window bathes her in a bright, warm light that turns it from silver to honey. The thin, silky gown hangs over her luscious curves with a tailored fit, but most alluring of all—the dress is the only thing she is wearing. No smalls, no silly corset to constrict her lovely figure. The gown apparently is meant to be worn this way, and Jon is struck dumb at the sight. Through it he can see the creamy glow of her pale skin, the pink bloom of her nipples pressing against the sheer gossamer. She spins slowly before him, removing any doubt that the view from behind is equally enticing. When she faces forward again, Jon steps closer, his eyes roving hungrily, pausing at the joining of her thighs. It is all he can do not to close the distance between them and fall to his knees before her, to push the dress up and get an unobstructed view of the delights beneath.

“I feel like a girl again,” Dany says wistfully, looking down at the dress, clearly unaware of Jon’s frantic anticipation. “I was so nervous the last time I wore this. But it did its job well. Drogo was impressed.” She glances at Jon, flashes him that scintillating smile. “Seems that you like it, too. How do I look?”

“You look like sin,” Jon growls, striding to her in two long steps. He winds one of his hands in the thick curtain of her hair and splays the other across her butt, pulling her roughly against him.

“Oh!” Dany has time to exclaim before he crushes his lips to hers. The kiss is desperate, a mess of teeth and tongues and the scrape of his stubble on her hot mouth. Usually Jon is slow and tender with her, as if his lips and hands could somehow show her the contents of his heart. But now he unleashes the whole day of pent-up, frustrated longing, claiming her, caging her in his embrace.

Dany is a willing prisoner, her surprise quickly overtaken by her own desire as she grabs at the sides of his face, kissing him back in earnest. Jon’s body is wound as taut as a bowstring, his muscles tense with expectation, but Dany is soft under his touch, so soft and inviting. She may be hard and cold in front of the rest of them at court, but he knows better, knows she isn’t cold at all. She is warm, sweet and lovely and he is melting into the kiss, her lips parting under his and his under hers with a probing flick of her tongue.

“Can’t. Get close enough,” Jon rasps against her lips, lifting her off the floor and clutching her to him.

Dany wraps her legs around his waist, knotting her fingers forcefully in his hair, and the dull pain coupled with the pressure of her thighs is electric, almost too much. Even through his jerkin the drag of her breasts against his chest drives him mad and Jon kisses her deeper. His mouth muffles the quiet, needful sounds from her throat but they’re enough to make him ache for her. He shifts her impatiently in his arms, his hard cock straining his leathers. Her full bottom lip slips between his own and he catches it between his teeth in a possessive bite.

Dany gives a little yelp of surprise, loosening her legs at his waist and dropping to her feet. Jon looks down at her, her breathing ragged, hair mussed, lips red and swollen. She meets his gaze with indignation and lust mingling behind her violet eyes and then shoves back into him, pushing him a step. Jon just smirks at her fervor, digging his fingers into the curve of her hips to pull her close again.

When Dany leans into another kiss, her lips parted wide to suck at his tongue, it takes all the force of his will not rip the pale silk of her gown away. Gods but he wants her, wants to reach under the blasted dress and find her wet and waiting for him, wants to lick circles around her tightening nipples. He wants to slide a hand down her chest and over the smoothness of her belly, to press his fingers inside of her and feel the hot clench of her body. He wants to bend her over his ironwood desk and fuck her until she begs him for release. He wants . . .

Jon breaks away with a quavering gasp, tangling his hand in the cascade of her silver waves. He forces her head back, exposing the elegant line of her white throat. Dany sighs, falling trustingly under his sway, giving herself over to him as if she isn’t a prize far beyond his deserving. And something in him ignites at the sight of her so willing, eyes closed, biting her lip between her small, even teeth. He drags open-mouthed kisses down her neck, pausing to suck at the sensitive spot under her ear he knows she loves.

“Jon,” she whispers, grinding her hips, her cunt against him. It tests his resolve, having to refrain from taking her right then, from bearing her down on the rushes and rutting into her like an animal.

“How do you do this to me?” he demands, his breath puffing at her throat. He moves his mouth to her naked shoulder, applying his teeth to the give of her flesh, and she trembles in his arms.

“What,” Dany gasps dazedly, “do you mean?”

Make me lose myself, Jon thinks. Completely. No control, and gods damn the consequences. With Dany he becomes someone else, a man who takes what he wants, who acts on his impulses. It is as dangerous as it is thrilling.

Jon lifts his head to look over her shoulder and then pushes her backward toward the cushioned bench at the foot of his bed. Dany follows his lead but lets her hands roam to his waist where she works at the buckles on his belt with deft fingers. Knowing she wants him as much as he wants her gives Jon a rush of masculine pride, but he has other plans for her this evening. He has had all day to think about it thanks to the bloody meetings and his untimely discovery of that damnable dress, and he has thought of nothing else except what he plans to do to her now.

His hands find hers and he moves them down by her sides as they take the last few steps to the bench, the back of Dany’s knees grazing the edge. Jon takes her by the shoulders and shoves her onto her back on the velvet cushions.

For a moment he can see the familiar flash of defiance in her eyes. Dany likes being in control and ordinarily, she is. But Jon is having none of that this evening, and he can see her curiosity winning out over her anger as she settles back with her elbows on the bed behind her, stretching lithely out before him. From this angle he can see every line of her body, the swell of her breasts against the too-thin fabric, the dip where it pools between her legs, and Jon wants nothing so much as to kiss her, stroke her, suck her there; but not yet.

He locks his eyes on hers, and unfastens his sword belt, letting it fall to the floor with a clunk before kneeling in front of her. The porcelain skin of her thighs is close enough to kiss and his eyes rake over her, lingering at the hem of her gown that has ridden up to her knees. Dany is coy under Jon’s scrutiny, as she gathers the skirt of her dress in her hands, beginning to pull it up with agonizing slowness. Inch by inch her pale, flawless skin is revealed to him, and Jon leans in, watching enraptured as the silky smooth fabric rises away slowly, so bloody slowly, whispering along her legs as it goes.

Dany’s grin is equal parts devilish and demure, and Jon swallows, fighting to keep still and wait. But he wants her so much, craves her like a starving man craves a meal, and he is achingly hard for her in is too-tight leathers. He needs to touch her.

Able to resist no longer, he grasps her roughly by the hips, yanking her toward him so she is balanced on the edge of the bench, her legs hanging off. Jon’s palms brush up the smooth expanse of her flesh, stopping at the hem of the dress where it rests just below the meeting of her thighs. It is insolent and cruel, her teasing him like this, but it is perfect, delicious torture. She trembles under his hands and Jon longs to press his advantage, to part the burning core of her with his fingers so he can lick his way inside.

As if sensing his thoughts, Dany pulls the hem to her hips. Without any smallclothes she is revealed to him fully, and Jon blows out a breath. He can see Dany squirm with anticipation at the sound, her knees parting to invite him in.

He dips his head, fenced on either side by her soft thighs. Her head falls back, the long waves of her hair trailing on the bed, her back arching; and fuck, it is so tempting. Jon spreads her legs, almost dizzy at the sight of her glistening with arousal. “Fiendish woman,” he scolds, his voice rough and low. “For making me wait. I can see how much you want me, too.”

Dany doesn’t respond, just lifts her hips up to meet him, giving Jon room to slide his hands under her, to let her rest her weight in the strength of his arms. But still he takes his time, forcing himself to make it a tease of its own, watching as her breath hitches, her skin flushing all over. It would be so easy to tear away his own irksome clothing and barrel into her welcoming tightness. Instead he drops his head to trace his tongue along the delicate skin of her inner thigh.

Dany whimpers at the touch of Jon’s mouth. The rough stubble of his cheek scrapes against her sensitive flesh as he turns to kiss her other leg and she wriggles in the firmness of his grasp.

“Tell me what you want,” he orders, watching her, eyes pinched shut, nails digging into the cushions.

“You,” she pants. “You.”

She is so wet he can smell the heady scent of her on the air, can almost taste it, needs to taste her. So finally, finally he puts his mouth on her and Dany jerks at the first press of his tongue, sucking in a breath.

The carnal, familiar taste of her is its own reward and Jon sighs against her flesh. “You have,” he purrs, lifting her closer as she crosses her legs around his neck, “the sweetest cunt.”

“You’re filthy,” she says breathlessly, tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling it loose from its tie at the nape of his neck. Jon hardly notices, fixated only on her pleasure, dragging his tongue up through the slick folds of her. He rides out the sharp buck of her hips, holding her fast and stroking his tongue up to swirl across the sweetest spot, teasing it with the very tip before laving down on her again, again.

Jon frees a hand, the roughness of his scarred fingers sliding along her thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. He slips his hand between her thighs, his fingertips grazing her teasingly before he dips two finger inside. Dany lets out a breath at the fullness, clenching around him, warm and snug.

“Jon,” she moans, long and low, and the sound of his name on her lips shatters the last of his restraint to draw it out any longer. He pumps his fingers roughly into her, greedy for the desperate little sounds she makes when she is near the height of her pleasure. His lips close over her in a sucking kiss, and Dany rocks shamelessly against him, begging unintelligibly.

He glances up to see her shining hair plastered to her face with sweat, droplets of it glistening on her skin, the dress clinging to her with a lover’s caress. She is never more lovely than in these raw moments.

“I want you so much,” Jon murmurs, crooking his fingers inside as he speaks and eliciting a plaintive cry from Dany. “Always wanted you, from the beginning. So beautiful.” His lips seal the words against her flesh and she arches and shudders, coming with his name in her throat. And it is everything to him, knowing he is the one to make her feel this way, to make her thrash and cry out and beg, him to leave her pleased and sated and breathless.

“Jon,” she manages after a moment, catching her breath. She reaches to rest a hand against his cheek. Her eyes are tender with affection when they find his, and her smile is soft and lazy. “Thank you.”

Jon chuckles. “You don’t need to thank me. I like it,” he explains, urging her back down. He pushes his boots off with his feet and climbs over her until his face hangs above hers. “Because you enjoy it,” he goes on, and she giggles.

“Yes. I certainly do.”

“Because I enjoy it. Feeling you, tasting you, seeing you like this.” Even now, his chin damp with her, her legs still splayed wide, Dany glances bashfully away at his words. “And because you’re mine. Because I’m yours.” He takes her hand from his cheek, placing a soft kiss to her wrist. “Because I love you.”

And he does, desperately. Dany is everything he never knew he needed: a partner, a confidant, a friend, an equal, and of course, a lover. When he met Daenerys Targaryen it suddenly made perfect sense why he had to die, to leave the Watch, why he was brought back. To find this woman, his pillar of strength, this person who needs him as much as he needs her. The Mother of Dragons, the greatest queen the realm would ever know. A savior.

But not today. Today she is all human, sighing contentedly as he takes her by the hips and scoots her up the bed, depositing her over the pillows before lying down beside her.

“This was unexpected,” Dany remarks, rising up on an elbow. She looks down at her dress, now almost entirely translucent, sweat adhering it to her skin. “I suppose I should wear it more often. Maybe you’ll pay better attention at council meetings.”

Jon laughs, squeezing her hand. “No! Absolutely not. I’d ever get anything done. And your lords! They wouldn’t be able to take their eyes off you.”

“Jon! Do I detect a hint of jealousy?”

“No,” he answers, a bit indignant. “Of course not.”

“Good. There’s no need. There will never be anyone else.”

Jon grins. “Is that so?”

“Because you’re the only one who can keep up.” Dany winks, grabbing him by the front of his jerkin and pulling him in for a kiss. “And I believe it’s your turn now.”

Sorry this is so long . . . and so explicit lol. Trying a more assertive Jon POV for fun :P Thanks for reading!

#jonerys #jonerysfics #jonerysnetwork #jonerys fics fest #jonerysonline #smut #jon x dany #fanfiction #my writing #myjd

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alchemistc · 7 years ago

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by daybreak we’ll be gone - post series gendry fic

an: @nowforruin made me do it. She literally held me at knifepoint and threatened my life.

Not really but she encouraged this and she helped shape it and at the end of the day who is at fault more, the enabler or the writer?

He glances up at the sound of footfalls - the gentle scrape of the King’s heal against the gravel at their feet, the quiet brush of his cloak as it settledsin around him.

The look he shares with Jon Snow encompasses so much more than Gendry wants it to.

This world isn’t for them any more. They’ve fought their fight, and lived to tell the tale. It’s all there is for them, any more. A world to rebuild, a country to run, a generation of children to raise on stories of great battles and victories, of heavy losses, of those who died to save a realm neither of them is sure deserved saving. Of a winter that seemed never to end, that swallowed the warmth of the world whole and spit out remnants of men, bits of pieces of flesh and bone and life stolen in it’s jaws never to be returned.

He moves to bend the knee, his head dipping low, and Jon makes a noise, low in his throat, a disapproving noise that reminds him so much of Arya it steals his breath.

The crypts are silent, save for their breathing. They’re far enough below not to hear the sound of the work being done above, a castle reforged from the ground up, new stone and new halls and new memories to be made by people who are not them.

“It’s good she’s here,” Gendry finally manages, his voice firm, even where it should shake, where his hands should tremble and the world should open up and swallow him whole.

The crypts were the only part of Winterfell that survived the Battle for the Dawn, and Gendry thinks it fitting. Memories of that old world should stay below the ground, far below, where they could not haunt this new world they’ve been left behind to make.

“It’s where she belongs.”

There’d been no bones to gather, no body to bury. She’d been alive, brilliant and bold and beautiful, dancing through her enemies, and then she’d been gone.

Jon’s hand shakes as it reaches out, gloved hand sliding over the thin sword held between delicately carved fingers. Too delicate, everything about the stone statue is too delicate for the fearsome beast of a woman it was meant to capture, but Gendry supposed that was the way of things. Memories could be wiped clean, people lost could be built up or torn down to please whatever audience would listen. She is, at least, not demure - standing proud and sure with a weapon in each hand, at least in that they got her right.

“She’d fuckin’ hate this damn thing,” Jon says, and it startles a laugh out of Gendry.

“Nose is all wrong,” Gendry agrees, and Jon stutters out a laugh of his own.

They stand there for a while, low, quiet guffaws escaping them every once in a while as they find some new flaw in it, each new observation causing Gendry’s throat to tighten, until they eventually drift into silence, the candlelight flickering around them.

“She wanted me to be her family,” Gendry admits into the silence, swallowing back the lump in his throat. He is unsurprised when Jon’s hand grasps at his shoulder, the force of it light but the meaning behind it nearly enough to buckle his knees. “I just wanted to be worthy of it.”

Outside in the cool air they breathe deep, the King in his heavy furs, Gendry in the boiled leather armor he’s taken to like a second skin. He hasn’t taken it off - though there are no more battles to be fought, though he hopes to never pick up another weapon he is not forging, the battle sits in him still, and so he keeps his northern armor and he continues to pick up the accent of the north without really meaning to.

“Sansa tells me you’ve been working on a new sword.”

It’s the only weapon he’s worked on since the sun rose over the horizon all those months ago. There’s been so many other things to do. He’s spent his time turning steel weapons into tools for building, into crowns and sigils and armor for the new Kingsguard, into nails to mend bridges and build homes. If he never saw another sword he’d be happy for it, save this one.

“Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth asked me to forge it,” he tells Jon, and Jon swallows heavily. They’d lost Jaime and Brienne both, but their stories were favored by those who remained to listen. Jon must know what he means by it though. They’d all known how Widow’s Wail and Oathkeeper had been created.

He’d never be able to remake Ice. That hadn’t been the intent, not really. He’d witnessed the destruction of the Starks, watched them picked off, one by one, watched their legacy destroyed, and now all that was left was the crumbling stones of a broken castle and the steel back of Lady Sansa.

He couldn’t make the Starks whole again, but at least he could give Jon and his cousin something to remember them.

“Never worked Valyrian steel before, but it ain’t that different, in the end.”

It’s all the same, at the end of the day. Weapons or tools or fancy jewelry fit for royalty, it all comes together the same way.

“Gendry, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think you’ve sold yourself short. You’re the best smith in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Aye.” He’s pleased when the King doesn’t seem to notice the very near mimicry of his own voice. “Made you enough fucking weapons in the last few years to arm the entire kingdom.”

Jon is quiet for a moment, as they stare out across the yard. On the far side of it is one of the only completed buildings, and just outside the forge stands Sansa, watching them both carefully as a silver-haired babe clutches at the furs around her neck.

“It might very well be your last,” Jon tells him, and though Gendry wants to protest, he knows it’s true. There is a realm to rebuild, and the child in Lady Sansa’s arms is only the first of many that will be born in this new world.

She’s beautiful, Lady Sansa is, just like Arya had said - and it hurts to think that he should cast aside the memory of the fierce little wolf who’d captured his attention all those years ago.

But Sansa had made an excellent point, when she’d brought forth the idea of a marriage between the old houses.

They shuffle into the forge without a word, and it’s not at all what Gendry wanted - he’d wanted to present the sword at the coronation, bend the knee to the King, his brother, his friend, no matter the enmity that had existed in the past.

It’s better this way. Just the three of them, standing in the forge as Gendry unrolls the sword from the moth eaten canvas he’s covered it in.

He’d never seen Ice, never known the heft of it or the shape of the pommel, never felt the hilt of it beneath his palm, but Jon draws in a sharp breath as it is unveiled, and Lady Stark swallows as the babe held to her heart murmurs in her sleep.

“It’s beautiful,” she manages, a gloved hand reaching toward it, leather sliding over the etchings along the middle of it.

“It’s heavy,” is all Gendry can think of in reply, and a corner of her mouth tics up in amusement.

It’s all that’s left. Here in this room - Lady Stark of Winterfell, King Jon, and this sword, thats all there is anymore. Winterfell is gone, and almost all who remembered it gone too. It’s just memories now - the ones Sansa and Jon whisper in the firelight, the ones Gendry shares after enough cups of ale, the memories he’d poured back into the steel as he reforged the last living legacy of the Starks.

“Doubt it’ll be comfortable to wear on that fine throne of yours,” Gendry tells Jon, thinking of the way the Iron Throne had looked as they’d melted it down, piece by piece, until it was nothing more than molten steel ready to be made into farming tools and nails, thinking of the simple wooden chair that had gone up in it’s place. Jon glances up him before turning his gaze to Sansa. She gives a terse nod, as though answering a question in her cousins eyes.

“I’ve already got a sword. This one - it’s meant to stay in Winterfell. In the North.”

Confusion must settle in his gaze, for Jon catches his eye. “It’s why I came. I’m naming you Warden of the North.”

“Your Grace, I can’t accept -.”

“You can, and you will.”

“It should be Sansa.”

None of them remark on the fact that he’s forgotten to use her title. It’s new, this strange friendship that has grown between Lady Stark and himself, and it makes a strategic kind of sense. He’s caught himself more than once wanting to call her milady, just to see if her ire might rise at it - and it does, but perhaps not for the same reason it had her sister.

“I have quite enough to do at the moment, Ser. You’ll accept your King’s gifts and be happy for it.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

There’s plenty more to protest - the King seems to have implied that the sword stays with the Warden, and he feels every bit the idiot boy Arya had always told him he was as Sansa rolls her eyes.

“And you’ll have to stop calling me that.”

“Aye, m’lady.” He says it with a cheeky grin, and she huffs, turning up her nose like a proper lady should, but there’s mirth in her eyes, and he feels a pang in his chest, aches for a fist at his arm, a fiery blaze of anger. All he gets is a curl of rosy lip and an annoyed tilt of chin, in a face too narrow, in eyes the wrong shade.

“You’ll need a name for it,” Jon tells him, reaching towards Sansa as the baby starts to fuss. Gendry’s never seen a man so intent on carting around a child as Jon Snow seems to be, but he can’t really blame him. He’d lost the same thing Jon had lost on the battlefield, but all Gendry has left to hold on to is dusty memories and a woman he’ll never feel as much for as he had her sister.

Gendry runs his finger along the blade, glances between his Lady and his King. “Don’t suppose Needle really fits.”

The baby takes that moment to let out a wail, and even muffled against Jon’s furs it’s loud enough to startle them all.

“Not Needle then.” He tells the crying bundle softly, and the heir to the Seven Kingdoms curls her hand into a fist and yanks hard on her father’s beard, seemingly satisfied by the grunt of pain it elicits.

“I think M’lady might do quite well,” Sansa tells him, her hand hovering close to his but never quite reaching out, and despite himself, despite the hundreds of reasons he has to brood and frown and curse the world, he finds himself bursting into laughter, grinning ear to ear while the usually cool and collected Lady Stark smiles back at him.

There aren’t many reasons any of them can find to smile these days. The King has made him a Baratheon now that the name means next to nothing, and they’ve all lost more than they can ever reclaim in the time left to them. But new walls they have left to build, new steel to forge, new life to bring into this world, new mistakes to be made. Those that are gone are not lost to them, and in time the pain of their memory might fade.

He can’t forget. Won’t forget. He doesn’t have it in him. This world isn’t for him, but he can make something of it for those who will come after him. And when it’s done and he’s gone, when all of them are nothing more than bone and memory, in the stories they tell, he hopes he’s worthy of being a part of it.

#gendrya fic #gendry ff #only not because ouch pain #listen #heather made me do t

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thembohux · 4 years ago

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Here are some more Hux-centric headcanons for the AU. Assorted parts of the timeline, relationships with both rulers. Together or separate

NSFW, 18+, you know the drill

-Hux will let (and encourage) the empress to wear his fancy jacket over lingerie just so he can have sex with her in it

-Kylo once sat on the throne and had Hux give him oral. Then he returned the favor. Lita sat on the arm of the throne and praised Hux in both situations.

-after Brendol’s funeral, when everyone was sharing condolences and whatnot, Hux sneaked away two separate times to hook up with Kylo and Lita in a different room.

-when Armitage was promoted to general, he promptly cleaned out the office and then fucked Lita on the desk and sofa

-there’s an unspoken rule on the bridge that if the General disappears with either of the rulers, you cannot just walk into his office. It’s better that you just don’t go near it

-going off that, they’ve all been caught at some point. A new officer once entered Hux’s office while the empress was riding him in his desk chair. He’s also been caught- ahem- kneeling before the emperor, if you catch my drift

-(credit to my girlfriend on this one) he has worn a buttplug during a shift before. One of the jeweled ones. It was a gift from the empress (this happens often actually)

-often receives naughty pictures from his lovers on the messaging feature of their datapads. Copies of these go in a little box in the drawer with the letters he received from them

-during the coronation of the emperor and empress, he managed to get the empress alone for a quickie. Someone got evidence and it was all over the HoloNet within a day or so. That person was never heard from again. Lita and Hux kept copies of the pictures because they both looked Very Good

-Hux likes getting lap dances. Don’t ask me why. I just think he would. Especially in this case since the empress has so much pretty lingerie he bought for her.

Ok so I have a plan for my next Empress AU oneshot and here are accompanying headcanons of how Lita and Hux ended up being friends and, later, lovers. Somewhat NSFW in spots so it’ll be under a cut

Also a warning for death (it’s small but still in there)

-remember how I said she was Armitage Hux’s aide originally? Yeah that doesn’t actually fit the timeline of this fic. She was Brendol Hux’s aide.

-Kylo had requested she not end up in an intensive job. He didn’t want to risk Lita getting hurt. Ellaria, who was advisor to Snoke at the time, suggested the position of General’s aide. Brendol needed one and he wouldn’t dare mistreat her. Or so everyone thought.

-her first day on the job was hell. Brendol made her cry three times, yelled at her on the bridge and made gross comments to/about her. Everyone knew Brendol had certain tastes (as shown by his affairs that resulted in children, along with the ones that didn’t) but figured he wouldn’t have the audacity to hit on the wife of Snoke’s apprentice.

-older Imperials who worked with Brendol made “suggestions” that she help him “relax” (sleep with him)

-enter Armitage

-he knew that his father would eventually try something like this again. He just didn’t expect him to be so blatant about it.

-when Lita hunted him down during his break, he had her join him. After all, he couldn’t work on his break, so they couldn’t discuss what Brendol had sent her about. This small reprieve from the former general let Lita breathe. Then she started crying again.

-Hux was alarmed by this. Had he done this? No. It was the stress of her job. “I’m so sorry, I must seem ridiculous,” she explained, wiping her eyes. “Not at all.”

-he already had a soft spot. For a married person. He pushed the feelings away when they spent breaks together and their time not working.

-one evening, Lita had invited Armitage to do some reports with her in her quarters. Kylo was there. He had always struck Armitage as the jealous type who would kill someone for simply looking at his partner.

-that’s why it was a surprise what Kylo said when Lita went to the refresher. That Hux was “welcome to join them.” Lita had expressed some of her feelings to Kylo.

-When Lita came back, Hux’s hand accidentally brushed hers three times. He thought about what Kylo had said when Lita brushed against him to look at a report. They made eye contact before Lita leaned in slightly to brush her lips against his, testing the waters. “Is that ok?”

-it was more than ok. Far more. The only issue was that, in the nearly 30 years of his life, Hux had never kissed someone. But that was ok with Lita when he admitted to it. She didn’t mind.

-he wasn’t very comfortable with intimacy at first. To him, touch meant pain. But not with Lita and Kylo. Lita was gentle with him. She didn’t push boundaries, only did what made him comfortable. Kylo followed her example.

-when Lita and Hux accompanied Brendol on a planetside trip, they didn’t expect to nearly be killed by a rebel impersonating a First Order officer. They never expected that. Lita, who had skills as a sharpshooter from bounty hunting, grabbed Brendol’s blaster directly from the holster and shot the attacker.

-the adrenaline of the attack and boredom from the mandatory lockdown had Lita and Hux desperate for one another. Their first time having sex was that night. In an isolated room where they were safe.

-Kylo nearly had a heart attack when he heard what happened. But they were alive and unharmed, so that’s all that mattered to him

#lita strikes back #minors dni #my writing #empress au #armitage hux #lita cetrye #star wars #ok2rblg

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thorne93 · 8 years ago

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Days of Future’s Past

Prompt: so can i request a charles x reader one shot that i got an idea for? ok so first of all y/n and charles were super close as teens but y/n died at around 19(got mixed up in smth), charles was devastated and hes still not 100% over it as an adult so when the xmen find a mutant who can control time he ends up asking them to go back and try to save y/n? and they do try and they have to convince her to stay safe bcs 'theres someone who needs her' or some cute shit like that..?but if u do this thx!

Word Count: 2600

Warning: Language maybe, death, drug abuse, angst....

Note: This is based on an ask/request. I’ve never done an ask/request so I REALLY hope I did this justice. I loved the idea and I hope it made it everything you wanted! Flashbacks are in italics.

Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @amarvelouswritings

Tags: @munlis

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I awoke with a start, a tear already falling down my aging face. Today marked the 20th anniversary of you being gone. 20 years didn’t make the fact of losing you any easier. 20 years without your laugh, without your jokes, without the way you made a room light up just by walking in, without having your voice to fill my head…Not when I had 8 long, amazing years with you as my best friend. Thicker than thieves we were...

It almost seemed like it was yesterday that we were walking to class together, joking about a professor that we both had that was just terrible. I couldn’t believe today was twenty years later...20 years after I lost you…

Getting out of bed, I pulled myself into my chair and began to get ready, all the while my reflection not hiding the pain that was so evidently etched in my face. Missing you was harder today. I missed you every day, of course, but today being April 18th....God it made everything worse. I let myself cry a little as I got dressed, a tear falling here and there, and I allowed them. I didn’t fight the urge...not today.

My first class started at 8:00 am, I was early and tried to compose myself for the kids. Some of the older students who had been here a while knew April 18th was a hard day for me, the newer ones weren’t as keenly aware of the situation.

We began our studies as usual, I got through three classes miraculously, but when lunch came and I was alone again, I found myself in the conservatory, your favorite room in the house, thinking back to the day before I lost you….the day before I killed you…

“Charles, come on, that assignment is totally bogus,” you said to me as you skipped along, me happily at your side.

“I’ll admit that it’s not fun, but it’s necessary.”

“You’re such a teacher’s pet,” you teased, sticking your tongue out. I watched your figure as you danced around me on our way to class. You were losing weight, your eyes began to sink in, I knew you had started to dabble into drugs but I wasn’t your keeper so I didn’t chastise you. I tried talking to you about it a few times and every time, you fought me tooth and nail saying it was just a little bit here and there, just a hobby, but your bodily signs told differently. Other than occasional twitching, your demeanor had hardly changed and I think that’s why I ignored it...like a fool….

“Well, I do aim to be a teacher,” I reminded you. “Speaking of,” I started, grabbing your hand gently as I pulled you over to a short brick wall to sit on. “I have some good news!” I stated.

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’ve been accepted into Oxford!” I told you happily, awaiting your reaction. Expecting a hug, or a shriek, or even a friendly kiss or high five, I was speechless when the next exchange happened.

“What?” you asked in an even tone, your gaze leveling at mine. “You’re going to Europe for grad school? Charles, we agreed we’d stay state side and stay together. Remember our plan?”

“Y/N, I know but Oxford would be a wonderful opportunity for me. You can come live with me and continue college there.”

“I can’t afford that!”

“I could pay--”

You stood up, shouting, “No! Forget it! You’ve made up your mind! Just go to Europe with your fancy friends, fancy college, and all your mind reading powers and go!”

I stood, running a nervous hand through my hair. You knew of my powers, of course you did, we had fun with my powers a lot, but you weren’t a mutant.

“Y/N, it’s not like that. Please. Can’t we talk about this?”

“No, you’ve already made up your mind.” You grabbed your bag off the wall, flipped me off, and left. At this point, I knew it was a side effect of the drugs. Sober you might’ve been upset at first but after exploring our options, we would’ve made it work. You would’ve known I would never leave you behind. I sighed as I turned and went onto class.

Later that night, I went by your dorm to see if we could talk about things, to see if you had calmed down yet. I reached your dorm room, and knocked. There was no answer. I knocked again and no answer, I imagined it was you giving me the silent treatment as you always did when we had a disagreement, which was rare. You lived alone here so when I tried the door, it was locked. Breaking my promise to you, I tried to read your mind, just to see if you were okay, but….I got nothing. There was no mind on the other side of the door...So why and how was it locked if no one was in there?

Worried, I called campus security and they came by with a master key and opened the dorm. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of you on the floor, needle in your arm, your lips purple as your eyes stared straight ahead, lifeless.

“Y/N?! Y/N?! Wake up!” I shouted as I ran forward and dropped my things on the way, books and folders crashing to the floor as I dropped to my knees. I began shaking you, in a fit of shock, thinking it would make you wake up. Security saw the sight and called the police and an ambulance. You were only 19...How could this be happening? No. no. no. no….I was going to tell you I was in love with you tonight, that’s why I wanted you with me in England, but you reacted so quickly, I couldn’t. And now...now I’d never get to tell you just how much you meant to me.

The coroner said you accidentally overdosed on heroin….The realization that you were so upset, you weren’t paying attention to what you were doing, you accidentally killed yourself because you thought you were losing me...It was was all my fault...I lost my best friend and love of my life because I was too stupid to help you.

A student cleared their throat and said my name, waking me from my memory.

“Professor?” the meek Rosalie said as she stood in the doorway.

“Yes?” I said as I turned around to face her, clearing my own throat and taking a deep breath.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes...Just...thinking.”

“I see.”

In that moment, an absolutely ludicrous idea hit me. “Rosalie...You can travel in time, right?”

“I can control it, yes,” she answered, stepping farther into the conservatory.

“Could you go back, twenty years?”

“It might take a toll on me, but I’m sure I could do it...why?”

I pursed my lips, weighing the consequences...Was I really going to intervene with your fate? Bring you back for entirely selfish reasons? The moment I knew Rosalie’s mutation was time control, I wanted to ask her to save you, but I couldn’t do that. In good conscious, I couldn’t abuse her powers that way….But the pain and guilt has been eating away at me for so many years, this could be the only way to save me. How wrong could it be to bring you back? In this moment, on today of all days, my conscience took a backseat.

“Could you go back in time, and stop a friend of mine from making a terrible mistake?”

“Um, I could try? There’s no guarantees.”

“Excellent, what do you need?”

“A quiet place and uninterrupted time.”

“Come with me.”

I lead her downstairs to the hallway where we kept Cerebro but I directed her to another room, a quiet room that I use for the more shy students to do some of their training.

“Alright, do you need anything else?” I asked as we settled in the dark room with a few pieces of sitting furniture and a couple of tables.

“Would you like to come back with me?”

“You can bring me?” I questioned.

“Yes.”

“If I’m there, in the past, can it complicate anything?”

“Not unless you tell yourself you’re you...Otherwise, you can just say you’re a distant relative.”

“Then I say we go for it, shall we?”

“Alright, give me your hands and tell me the time, date, and place.”

I gave her my hands, my heart thrumming a million miles per hour. I was really about to see you again - alive. Even if this didn’t work in saving you, I’d get to at least see you one more time. I gave her the information she needed.

“Okay, just relax and take ten deep breaths.”

I followed her orders and suddenly, it was all black around me, much darker than when I first closed my eyes. Then, as if waking up, the surroundings were white and blurry, until I saw...me, I saw myself and you on that brick wall right before the fight broke out.

You looked even more beautiful than I remembered, even with being sick on the drugs, you still had this light, bubbly air about you. Seeing you again, in real life, where I could touch you again, where I could hear your voice again, even if you were shouting at me, was like a blessing all in itself. I remembered how we used to debate movie endings, dancing like fools in my house to records, how you used to make giant sundaes for us when we didn’t do too well on a test, how we used to race each other to the lake on my property to swim in the ungodly heat. All the wonderful memories had been tarnished all because I was a fool who didn’t go after you.

Now, you were getting up to leave and I made haste getting over to myself, I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

“You, you there!” I said as I saw 21 year old me spin to face myself.

“What do you want?” younger me asked.

“Stop her.”

“What?”

“If you don’t go after her right now, you’ll regret it...believe me.”

I eyed myself wearily but I believed me, so younger me walked up to you but you pushed him off and he started to give up so I raced up in my chair, Rosalie following.

“Y/N, Y/N,” I called and you turned on your heel to face me.

“What?”

“I know you’re upset now. I know you think he’s abandoned you. I know you’re hurt. But believe me, Charles didn’t want to hurt you….I know right now, you think the only thing will help are the drugs to numb this pain but it’s not.” How badly I wanted to smack younger me and scream at me to tell you that I loved you, and how badly I wanted to shake you and beg you to never touch the heroin again….But I couldn’t, and that killed me. I think knowing what was about to happen hurt even more than finding your body...

Rosalie spoke up and said, “You need to stay safe and take care of yourself, someone needs you…”

“Who are you?” you questioned as you looked at us, more curious than angry now.

“We’re...friends of Charles’ here. We’re concerned friends.” They both stared at us a moment before I continued, “Well, we’ll leave you to it…”

We walked away and Rosalie took my hands again. Teleporting back to the future, we found ourselves still in that room downstairs, nothing out of place there.

“Did it work?” I asked as I let her hands go.

“I’m not sure. Sometimes--”

The memories hit me so hard I let out a slight shout. After Rosalie and I left, I didn’t let you go. Younger me confessed that I was in love with you. Instead of going back to your apartment to overdose, you followed me to a pizza place to talk about our relationship and Oxford. You said you loved me too and would go with me. And you did. We lived in England for five years before coming back home, both of us graduates. When we got settled back home, I asked you to marry me just as the X-Men were forming and the kids helped give us a wonderful wedding. Because you had been fighting your feelings for me and you were struggling in school, you had turned to drugs, but because we became a couple, you openly shared with me more and the move to England was just the ticket to get you sober. You happily vowed to help me with the school for gifted youngsters, accepting each and every one as your own and the kids loving you like an adopted aunt. You helped with the school and became a professor yourself at a local college to help with more funds for our school. New memories of your laugh, us going to the movies, reading together in bed, taking Sunday naps, you making me sundaes when we’ve had a long day with the kids, how you met the new students and made them feel welcome and loved and gave them a tour of the grounds.

We raced upstairs and in the foyer, there you stood, talking to Jean and Scott.

“Y/N?” I gasped, unable to believe my own eyes.

You twirled, your face slightly aged but still just as radiant and beautiful. Seeing you, it made the doubt of bringing you back disappear.

“Oh, hello darling, where were you?”

“I was….I was just with Rosalie….”

“Well, come on, your final class of the day is starting, right? Then movie night with everyone?!” you asked as you turned to a lot of the kids in the foyer as everyone cheered. The kids went on to their class but I couldn’t stop staring.

“Charles, dear, what is it? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” you said, kneeling down putting your clipboard in my lap.

“I...I...You’re here, you’re really here.”

“Well of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

I didn’t answer, I just grabbed you in an embrace, my hand tangling in your hair as I kissed you so hard. You laughed against my lips.

“I don’t know what I did, but tell me so I can do it all the time,” you said with a giggle, the sound bringing life into me.

“I love you so much. I always have, remember that, okay?”

“I love you too, dear. Now, come on, let’s finish Friday’s studies so we can begin Friday night festivities. How does that sound?”

“It sounds perfect, my love,” I breathed as I took your hand while you stood up, smiling to each other.

#days of future's past #charles xavier #charles xavier fic #charles xavier x reader #professor x #professor x x reader #professor x fic #xavier x reader #xmen x reader #x-men fic

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