#Rose Noble you are everything

[madzillus]

She chose her own name

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

I may be laying on the floor staring into the void, merely vibrating as my brain rots about Veilguard, Rook, the companions, and Solas.

...this is the perfect excuse to replay my canon route.

Apologies in advance: I'm about to make my brainrot replay a problem for everyone and everything in my vicinity.

[eraenaa]

Unexpected Affections

Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader Tag List

Synopsis: With just a smile, you had managed to bewitch and enthrall the stoic and cold prince. 

Warnings: Sunshine x Grumpy Trope, ¿Softer Aemond?, ¿Simp Aemond?, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, Fingering, P in V Sex, Oral Sex (f receiving), Overstimulation, Not Proof Read

Word Count: 7,287

A/N: Really milking softer Aemond bc I'm pretty sure I'm going to take a break from him once s2 is released.

He’s broken beyond repair. Too far gone to be saved. Aemond knew fully well that is how the others see him. The boy who had his eye taken was never the same. Darkness was his only solace, the walls too far up that no one dared to scale it and reach the true him— simply taking the dark and villainous scrap of his true self that he was willing to give. All seemed to give up on him— simply let him drown in his darkness, except you. 

Like all things good, you came unexpectedly. You were a mere visitor from Highgarden, a noble lady who came with your lord father as he tended to business in the capitol. Aemond could never understand how you looked at everything and everyone with rose-colored glasses, but he supposed he should be grateful because if that trusting naivety in you were lost, your light would never come close to his looming darkness. 

“Who is that?” Aemond asked his family’s most trusted knight, Ser Criston Cole. Your figure caught his attention; it was as if you were floating along the gardens of his home. A small smile on your face and flowers adorned in your hair. He stood near the balcony, discussing important business with the knight, when his train of thought was lost and captured by your mere presence. “Lady Tyrell, her father has business here with the crown,” the knight said absentmindedly. Aemond nodded and took one last glance at you before walking away. 

The thought of you was quickly forgotten by the prince. He saw your presence as just another to add to the list of nobles at court who cowered upon his stature. However, you lingered in the back of his mind as he often saw glimpses of you walking through the halls of his home. Aemond stood in the gardens once more, this time waiting for his sister and her children when he caught your eyes. He waited for fear and apprehension to present themself in your orbs, the same reactions he would elicit from everyone. However, the prince was taken aback as you smiled at him. A small, respectable smile before you stole your eyes and continued to your promenading.

Aemond blinked his eye rapidly, trying to discern if he saw correctly or if it was a cruel trick made by his impaired vision. Aemond pursed his lips as he felt himself walk towards where you had passed. There was this odd pull about you— more than your beauty; if it was just that, a comely face was never one to put the prince in a trance. It was an ethereal element that beguiled Aemond quickly. He had not even spoken to you, yet you had already managed to put such an effect on him. 

He watched from a distance as you bent down and assessed a flower, your fingers caressing the velvety petal and bringing it to your nose to discern the fragrance of it. Aemond felt that pull once more, his feet carrying him closer to you. When you stood straight, your brows raised in surprise as you had noticed you were no longer alone. “My prince,” You greeted with a curtsy, his silvery locks the warning sign that you spoke to royalty. Aemond was rendered silent, his mind already spinning at the sound of your voice. What was this? He could not explain what had overcome him. You bit your lip as no greeting left the prince’s lips, him only staring at you with an unreadable expression on his angular face. “Are… are you well, my prince?” You asked, daring to step closer and take hold of his arm to examine if he was truly well. 

You watched as his lips parted and closed, no sound leaving it. “Perhaps you should find some shade; the heat may be too unbearable,” You say quietly and never take your hold off his arm, guiding him towards the shade of a willow tree in concern. Aemond was screaming at himself on the inside, hating that he was making a fool of himself, that he couldn’t even speak, simply letting you guide him towards the shade and making him sit on a bench. Your concern for his well-being consumes your face and his being. “Do you wish for refreshment, perhaps w—“ Aemond shook his head as he finally regained his senses. 

You chewed on your cheek as the prince stood. “I am fine; I apologize for the— the intrusion, Lady Tyrell,” He said stoically, and you shook your head and smiled at him. “No need for apologies, my prince; no intrusion was made. But are you certain that you are well… you look a bit pale, my prince.” You say and quickly regret it as your mind reminds you that maybe that was just his true complexion. You swallowed thickly as you saw him pursed his lips, fearing that you had offended the prince. Aemond did not know how to take this concern— this kindness that he was never the receiver of. “I am quite well; good day, my lady.” He walked away in haste as he feared that if he stayed longer in your presence, he would make a further fool of himself. You stood there in confusion; your lips parted as the prince almost ran from you. 

The thought of you haunted Aemond until the night, his arm still tingling from where you had placed your touch. He replayed the scene in his mind over and over again, trying to convince himself that your concern was fictitious— that it was a ploy to be in the good graces of the prince. But as he recalled the way your eyes bore into his, nothing but sincerity was evident in your orbs. How are you this kind? To a stranger, no less. Aemond was restless as he lay in his bed; his mind kept conjuring your interaction in the gardens, refusing him any other thought than you. 

When morning came, Aemond had made great lengths to avoid you, silently embraced as he had made a fool of himself in the gardens. As his training ended, Aemond tried to find reprieve from the loud keep in the library. Aemond believed he was successful in his avoidance of you, but as he stood by the threshold of the silent room, he saw, as you were seated in one of the chairs, a book in your hand as you silently read. His presence was still not noticed. He could easily slip away and be successful in his avoidance of you, yet, just like the other days, his body could not help but be pulled towards you. 

When you noticed a presence standing before where you sat, you flickered your gaze upward and locked eyes with the prince once more. “Prince Aemond,” You acknowledge and move to stand to greet him, but he silently raises his hand and hinders your actions. You copied his silence as he took the seat across from you. You traveled your gaze through the library, uncertain what to say or do. “I hope you are feeling better,” You say quietly. Aemond licked his lips as he was subjected to your dazzling presence once more; even though he had willed himself to avoid it, it seemed you were inevitable. 

“I am; I was simply tired,” He said, making certain to place coldness in his tone, hoping it would deter you and no longer present him with your kindness he stubbornly took as deception. Aemond felt his breath catch as you gave him another smile. A relieved smile for his well-being that was so genuine that he could not stubbornly convince himself that it was not. 

You stayed silent as you felt that that was what the prince preferred. You tried to return to your reading, but his velvety voice sounded through the room. “What business did you have here?” He asked. Aemond was testing you, presenting you with his cold and calloused self to see if it would have any effect on you just like it did the other. He watched calculatingly as your lips parted, and he found trouble to remove his gaze from your plush lips. “If I am being honest, I am not quite certain, my prince.” You said truthfully. You watched him raise his brow at you to explain further. “My father has business he needed to tend to here, but he had not disclosed to me the reason for it or why I needed to join.” Aemond nodded and watched as your eyes were never removed from his gaze, surprised that you could hold onto his intensified stare. 

“So you have no purpose here?” He asked harshly. He expected a frown or a look of offense on your face, but he watched as you smiled as if you were amused and shrugged, “I suppose not.” Aemond stayed silent and continued to asses you as you returned to your reading. 

“Do you like philosophy, Prince Aemond?” You asked after a stretch of silence, unable to bear the eerie and suffocating quiet. Aemond took a moment before he answered your query that no one had been interested in asking him before. “I do,” Another small smile appeared on your lips as you nodded. “Then have you perhaps read this? I have been mulling over the proposition of the archmaester for days now, but I cannot seem to comprehend it fully,” You say and turn the book you read towards him. Your fingers brushed as the prince took the book from your hands, and you could not hinder the chill that ran down your spine as you felt his cold, calloused fingers against yours. 

You listened earnestly as the prince began to speak and explain the proposition you had trouble comprehending, going to great lengths to explain his thoughts on it, assisting and receiving any questions you had. Aemond paused in his explanation, feeling as if his mouth had gone dry by his prolonged speaking. He turned to the window and saw as the once high sun began to set; he returned his gaze to you, your chin resting on your palm as you had listened to his every word, clinging onto every syllable he had uttered. Aemond gulped as he realized his mistake. He had revealed too much of him; too much of his thinking was poured out in his explanation of philosophy. “I must take my leave,” he suddenly said, disregarding that he was in the middle of explaining another philosophical theory that was different from the first you had inquired about. 

“Oh,” You said and straightened in your seat. Aemond wanted to frown as he detected disappointment in your tone and eyes. That cannot be, can it? Why would anyone be disappointed in his departure? “Good day, my prince,” You curtsied as you stood, not wanting to take more of his time. Aemond began to walk away, cursing himself for his actions, but he halted by the door as you spoke. “Thank you for your explanations… they were quite enlightening,” You said, and Aemond turned to you; the smile returned to your lips as you looked at him gratefully. Were you truly thankful? Thankful for him? Was that even a possibility? Aemond gave a curt nod and willed himself to walk away from you. 

You were in the gardens once again. You were terribly homesick, and the gardens of the Red Keep were the only resemblance of your home that you could cling to. You were walking distractedly, a buzzing bee following you around as the flowers in your hair attracted the insect. You tried to squat it away, afraid to get stung when you accidentally missed a step, losing your balance, and were met with the cobbled floor of the gardens. Your jaw slacked in pain, and you tried to stand, your cheeks burning in embarrassment that someone may have seen your ungraceful fall. There was a stone by your side, and you tried to hoist yourself upon it, hissing as you accidentally placed pressure on your swollen ankle, but you were determined to stand and walk back to the keep to ask for assistance.   

Unbeknownst to you, Prince Aemond had been observing you from above the gardens, and the moment he saw the sight of you falling, he made hastened steps to reach you. “My lady,” He called, trying to hide his panting, and approached you as if he had only stumbled upon your presence. You sat before a rock, and he noticed you hiding your injured limb from his view, “My prince,” Aemond watched in slight awe as you still tried to stand and curtsied before him, still holding onto formalities even though you were clearly hurt. 

“Are you well?” This time, it was now Aemond to ask the question. You placed a tight smile on your lips, pretending that your injury was not at all bothering you. “I am fine, and you, my prince?” You asked, trying to speak of pleasantries. You shifted your weight on your uninjured leg and, for once, hoped that the prince would leave. “Are… are you certain?” Aemond inquired, wondering why you would pretend. “Y-yes,” You stuttered, and Aemond narrowed his eye. 

You sighed and placed your head on the ground. “I… I tripped, and I think my ankle is injured— but I do not wish to bother you, my prince. I can wait for the swelling to subside.” Aemond frowned at your words. How were you so concerned about his well-being but not your own? Aemond shook his head and stepped closer to you, silently scooping you in his arms. “Wh— My prince!” You said in shock as you were stiffly settled into the hold of Prince Aemond. Your arms circled around his neck to stabilize yourself. “You don’t— I could have just waited for a squire or maid to assist me,” You said in a slight panic and could not even bear to look at the prince in embarrassment. “You are clearly in pain,” Was all he said as he carried you back inside the castle walls, the both of you earning strange glances from the members of the court. 

Aemond returned you to your assigned chambers, trying to ignore the erratic beating of his still heart and the tingles on his skin from where he felt your touch. He placed you gently onto a settee, inhaling a whiff of your scent, and he felt intoxicated. He placed a respectable distance between you as the both of you waited for the maester he ordered a squire to fetch. Your gaze was still planted on the floor, and Aemond noticed the flush on your cheeks and the harsh bit you had on your lip, embarrassment clearly evident in you. 

“I did not wish to bother you, my prince.” You say quietly, your tone heavy with guilt. Aemond could only hum a response, clueless as to why you were apologizing. The maester finally arrived, and Aemond stood by the side as he oversaw the maester, tending your injury. You tried to keep your pained reactions to a minimum as you felt conscious of the prince’s presence, but you could not help but hiss in pain, and your face contorted in discomfort as the Maester tried to move your injury. Aemond swallowed thickly as he himself was overcome with a phantom pain by the mere observation of yours. 

“Will it heal, maester?” He asked in concern, stepping forward. “Yes, my prince, it is only a swollen ankle; it shall heal by the morrow,” The old man spoke and stood, placing a cold, damp towel upon your injury, and you reached forward to secure its place. Aemond gave a nod, and his eye followed the maester who exited your chambers, leaving the door open. Aemond returned his gaze to you, your eyes finally meeting his, and he once again felt his breath caught in his throat as you smiled at him. 

“Thank you for your assistance and kindness, my prince,” You say gratefully, and Aemond felt his knees weak. No one had ever called him kind before. As always, you were met with his silence, but you dared say you were getting used to it. After a few moments of Aemond trying to comprehend your words, he gave a curt nod. “I shall leave you to rest; good day, my lady.” He said and willed himself to walk away from your presence he did not wish to leave. 

Another day had passed, and Aemond had not seen a glimpse of your presence he had been trying to avoid just the day before. He had the urge to knock upon your door and to see how you were faring with your recovery, but he placed great restraint on himself as his mind deemed it inappropriate. So he waited another day. He stood by the gardens, his eye assessing every passerby as he waited for you. He had been stood by the balcony like a statue for the better part of the morning, but your presence had not been noted. 

Aemond decided to walk around the castle, passing along every corridor in search of you and ready to act surprised as you two would eventually encounter once more. It was nearing sundown, and he had not seen a glimpse of you. Perhaps she is still resting. His mind told him, but Aemond was not entirely sold by that reasoning. 

The prince attended his family’s supper in his mother’s chambers. He sat quietly in his seat and saw the aggravated and tired faces of his mother and grandsire as they came to the table late. “We apologize for our tardiness; the small council has been overburdened by a matter.” The queen explained as she took her seat. “What matter?” Aemond asked, always curious about the dealing made. “The crown cannot afford to pay the dues it owes to House Tyrell… it is too great a sum, and the lord has threatened to withhold back crops for the upcoming winter if we do not pay their price.” The hand spoke, and Aemond pursed his lips, knowing that the debt to your house had been since the time of the conqueror. 

“Surely they could be reasoned with— they would not want to offend the rulers of Westeros,” Aemond said quietly and heard his mother sighed deeply. “Perhaps, but no meetings and negotiations can be made at the moment, for they had already left late last night.” Aemond’s hold on his fork tightened as he heard the words. You had gone without even a goodbye.

“I just do not know what we can offer to match their hefty sum,” the lord hand said and downed his wine. Aemond traveled his gaze around the table, his sibling not at all listening to the matter. “Offer me,” Aemond spoke, and he felt all eyes shift toward him. He turned to his mother, the queen’s lips agape in shock at his words. “The crown does not have money to pay our debt— then is it not a custom to offer marriage instead?” He asked rhetorically; the practice was made for centuries, but the price was usually paid with a princess, not a prince. 

“Aemond, mere debts are not paid with a prince.” The queen said. “But it is not just a mere debt, now is it, mother? The Tyrells had as well placed a threat to the kingdom’s security over this winter— and the mere debt you speak of has been established since the age of the conqueror,” Aemond turned to his grandsire, who he knew would understand his proposition. The Hand pondered over his grandson’s words. “But you are set to marry the Baratheon girl,” Alicent countered, and Aemond scoffed. 

“We owe nothing to the Baratheons, and do you not think that this matter looms greater?” He asked, “Lord Tyrell only has a daughter, does he not? In time, the seat shall pass onto me as well, alike with the arrangements with Lord Borros. And with this, the crown will no longer be indebted to their house,” Aemond said, determined to see you once more. “That is a most favorable solution,” The hand commented, quite content by his grandson’s proposition. The queen sighed and took a moment to think of the proposal. “Very well then,” she sighed, and Aemond hindered the smirk threatening to slip his lips. 

“I shall draft the proposal tonight and send a messenger to Highgarden first thing tomorrow,” Otto said in finality. “No need, I shall offer the proposal myself in person,” Aemond said, and he saw apprehension in his mother’s eyes, disbelief by his decision, but none hindered him. 

It was afternoon the following day when he had reached High Garden, Aemond riding atop his dragon through the morning, eager to reach his destination, you. “My prince,” Lord Tyrell greeted him by the gates of their castle. “What business is so urgent that the prince of the realm had to fly his dragon all over here to the reach?” They had not even reached inside the castle walls when Lord Tyrell could no longer hinder his curiosity. 

“It is the matter of the crown’s debt,” Aemond replied, his eye scanning the halls in search of you. He heard your father reply with an ‘oh,’ clearly anticipating the conclusion of the matter. “Is the crown ready to pay us the price owed?” Aemond hummed as he passed a portrait of you hung on the wall of your home, his eye entranced by the picture. “In a way,” The prince danced upon the matter momentarily. “In lieu of a payment, the crown is prepared to offer a marriage,” Aemond stated and watched concussion flush over your father’s face. 

“With respect, my prince, but that is an insulting offer. The crown has owed my house a great sum accumulated since the age of conquest!” Lord Tyrell seethed, and Aemond gritted his jaw. “I believe you are too hasty with your outburst, my lord. The crown is offering a union between me and your daughter— an opportunity for your only child to be a princess… your grandchildren having the Targaryen name.” Lord Tyrell shook his head, “My daughter is already bound to marry another— titles are one thing, my prince, but there is still a debt to be paid.” Aemond felt the fire in his veins awaken at your father’s words. You are to be bound to another; that cannot be. You cannot be anyone else’s when you had consumed his entire being— when you had presented him with such hope and kindness that he was certain he would find in no one else. You could never be not his. 

Aemond licked his lips, certain that the words he would utter would be a gamble. “Very well then… a counteroffer, my lord. The crown cannot fully pay your price, so we offer a royal marriage and a fourth of the sum owed to you,” Aemond said, assessing the father's reaction as he mulled over the proposition. “I shall need time to reach a decision,” Lord Tyrell finally spoke after a long pause. “Of course,” Aemond agreed. “For the meantime, you are welcome to the halls of High Garden, Your Highness.” 

Aemond waited as your father disappeared from his view before he went on his search for you. He walked through the unfamiliar corridors and found himself being led outside towards the gardens where he wagered you would be. When he saw you seated by a fountain, a smirk curled on his lips. However, it was quick to fade as he had noticed you were not alone. Aemond made furious steps towards you to announce his presence. 

You were conversing with another when you felt your skin tingling and the familiarity of a cold gaze upon you. You turned to your side, and your eyes widened as you saw the prince approaching. You blinked slowly, trying to discern if your mind was playing a cruel trick. But when the prince stood an arm’s length away from you, where you could see him clearly, you knew that it was not a trick. “My prince,” You say almost breathlessly, curtsying lowly before the son of the king. 

“How… what brings you here, your highness?” You asked, disregarding the earlier presence you were with. “Business for the crown,” He replied, eyeing the man who stood beside you. You turned your eyes toward where the prince placed his gaze intensely. “Oh, my prince, this is Prince Martin Martell,” You introduced, and you felt Martin stepped forward and bowed. “Martell? Are you not a long way from Drone?” Aemond gritted as he let out his hand to shake the prince’s hand. He wanted to smirk as he saw the man’s tanned face twist into a wince before quickly masking it. “Yes, my prince, I come as a suitor for my lady,” He explained, and Aemond pursed his lips at his words. 

You licked your lips as you suddenly felt the fresh air become tense, “Would anyone like some tea?” You suddenly interrupted the intense gazes of the two princes, walking in between them as you made your way toward a nearby table that had the afternoon’s refreshments. Aemond tapped his finger on the table, his eye shifting between you and your intended whilst you poured tea into everyone’s cup. “If I may ask, what business warrants your presence here, Prince Aemond?” Prince Martin inquired, and Aemond reluctantly shifted his attention from you, who was licking sugar from your fingers. 

“A proposal for House Tyrell,” he said bluntly, swallowing thickly as your lips parted at the mention of your house. “What proposal, if I may ask,” Your turn to inquire. Aemond licked his lips and debated if he should give you the true manner of his visit. “A proposal for you, my lady, to be a princess of Westeros.” You feel dazed by his words, your body freezing in shock, and you seem to forget how to breathe. 

Aemond looked at you expectantly, trying to search for any reaction in your eyes other than the pronounced shock. You were saved from his expectation of a reply when you heard your father calling for you. “I— excuse me, my princes,” You say in a haste and hurriedly went to your father’s call. 

“What is happening— the prince just informed me of his proposal— in front of Prince Martell!” You panicked, recalling the scene to your father with wide eyes. You watched as your father paused his lips, an aggravated sigh leaving his nose. “Bold of him to inform you of such proposals when I had not even given him my reply.” You shook your head and warily turned to the gardens, where you saw two princes seated by a distance. 

“Where did this proposal come from? I… I do not understand,” You whispered, recalling your days in the Red Keep; the moments with the prince that you tried to sell to yourself were meaningless to him. However, you supposed you sold yourself with a lie because those moments were enough for him to ask for your hand. Hope was dangerously blooming in your heart, emotions, and festering feelings you tried hard not to succumb to for the past days, now inevitable. 

“The proposal comes because the crown cannot pay the debt due to us… instead, they are offering a marriage between you and the prince and a fourth of the sum owed,” The hope that was dangerously blooming and had rooted itself in your heart quickly wilted, willing yourself not to show disappointment on your face. “Oh,” Was all you could utter. “What is your decision then?” You asked quietly as your father guided you further into the walls of your home. 

“Your courtship with Prince Martell has been settled for three years since your sixteenth name day, but no formal betrothals are in place, and we are in no obligation to the Martells,” Your father stated as you two walked along the corridors. “But Sunspear is a long way from here,” Your father added, “And though Kingslanding is closer, and if I were being honest, I would prefer you to be a princess of the whole of the seven kingdoms rather than just Dorne,” You twirled with your hair as you listening into your father’s musing. “But this marriage is just a way out of their hefty debt,” You nodded along and waited for your father to decide. 

“So? Which one of them?” You asked as you needed an answer, your nerves growing unbearable. Your father took in a deep breath, “I shall leave that decision to you… it is you who shall marry one of them; the money is not truly that much of a concern— it was simply a bargaining tool for the crown to remember how indebted they were to us,” Your father explained, and your lips parted as you were given a daunting task. 

“Can I speak with Prince Aemond for a moment? I… it is— I need to speak with him,” you say, and your father gives the nod, “I shall have him meet you in the drawing room,” You waited nervously for the prince, your mind running as to what to say to him. You stood when the prince entered the room, your lips parting, ready to speak something you were uncertain of, but Prince Aemond spoke first. 

“I know this is quite abrupt,” Aemond spoke and dared to step close to you, trying not to grow distracted by your mere ethereal presence. “It is my prince,” You agreed. “Could I just ask why?” Aemond frowned at your words; it was quite a straightforward proposal. “The crown owes your house,” He said matter of factly, “I know, but we ask for coins or land but not a marriage,” Aemond licked his lips, “And I am aware that the marriage is a substitute. However, you would understand that no one would be that inclined to accept a proposal just because the one giving the proposal is in debt.” 

“Is this a rejection?” Aemond took another step, closing most of the gap between you. He was aware that he was scowling severely, scarily even, but you did not seem to be frightened, a first for anyone he had encountered. “More of a question,” Aemond’s brows raised at your words. “Well, it’s clear that this proposal is just an obligation for you, and if I am being honest… I prefer someone who would not see a mere business dealing.” 

“All marriages are business dealings,” You pursed your lips at the prince’s words. “I supposed they are… but not every marriage is just a business dealing.” Aemond licked his lips, and the both of you were enveloped in silence. “I guess what I’m saying is… I would not feel inclined to choose someone who proposes because it is their obligation,” You say slowly, surprised that you managed to come across your answer. If it were any other situation where the crown was not indebted to your house, you would accept the proposal eagerly, but your heart idealistic heart yearned for someone who wanted you truly and did not see you as a mere opportunity. 

“My lady, I think you have gotten the wrong idea here,” You furrowed your brows as all were clear to you. The proposal was just an obligation… isn’t it? “No one forced me into this proposal; the queen could not find a solution. This marriage had not even crossed her mind— I…” Aemond passed as you waited on bated breath for his explanation. “I have offered the marriage not because of duty or a way for the crown to escape their debt but because… I— I want you. I want you to be my wife.” 

You looked at him with clear apprehension, and Aemond actually believed that you would flash him your sweet smile— perhaps a blush on your cheeks as he had said words so unlike him. “You want me?” You asked incredulously, and Aemond nodded, boldly taking your hands into his. “But why? We barely know each other?” You asked. Frowning as your eyes go downwards toward your hands clasped with the prince’s cold ones. “Why?” Aemond asked in disbelief you would ask such a question? You nodded. 

“Because I just do,” Aemond licked his lips as it would appear that that was the wrong answer, watching as you stole away your hand and your lips turned into an adorable pout he was very much tempted to kiss. “I— Because you are pretty, overly pretty,” Aemond spoke and hoped that would sway your mind, but that seemed even to offend you. “And because you are knowledgeable, I have never met anyone who had the same philosophical interests as me,” Aemond quickly added, and he wanted to smile as that lessened your frown. 

“And most of all, because you are kind. You are… you are not one to judge— you came to Kingslanding without any criticism or fear of me. You actually saw me as an actual person and not…” Aemond trailed as he felt a sense of relief as he said the words he thought none could ever compel him to do so. “Not like a weapon?” You almost laughed as you often heard others allude to him as such. Aemond nodded and took your hands into his once more. 

“You want me because I was kind and took an interest in you?” You asked, making certain that was his reasoning. Aemond nodded and dared to tuck a stray hair that obstructed his view of your face. “If that is all that it took, what if then another comes along and presents you with such kindness and interest… am I simply to be set to the side?” Aemond sighed and cupped your cheek as he felt his stomach twist at your words and at the look of doubt in your enchanting eyes. “What if—“ You were ready to voice out another doubting scenario, but your lips were kissed shut. 

You feel heat bloom into your cheeks, and you are stunned as you feel the prince’s thin and cool lips upon yours. Your eyes were wide at the sudden contact, but they fluttered to a close as you savored the feel and taste of him. “I do not know what more to say to quench the doubts in you… but you must know, I have never felt such a way— I have never wanted anyone or anything as much as I want you.” Aemond whispered against your lips as you breathed heavily, your body feeling afloat and alight. 

“The situation is not the most favorable one; believe me, I understand your qualms— but it is the only opportunity I had to make you mine,” You feel liquid fill your stomach, and words cannot find you. The only thing you could do was go to the tip of your toes and kiss the prince’s lips once more, a chaste kiss than the first, but it was a kiss that gave the prince his answer. 

Three moons passed before your nuptials were settled. You stood by the door of the great hall, waiting for it to open and lead you to your soon-to-be husband. “Are you certain?” Your father asked as he clasped his arms with yours. You breathed out a laugh and nodded your head eagerly. “I am,” You said with a smile and took a deep breath as you heard the trumpets from the other side of the door. 

Aemond sighed longingly as he saw the smile on your lips again. The smile that he had never been the receiver of before. The sweet and kind smile that led to all of this. 

You beamed at your groom as he took your hand into yours, unable to remove your gaze from his unique lilac eye throughout the whole of the ceremony. “I am his, and he is mine,” You recited after the Maester, feeling Aemond lightly squeeze your hand as you said the words, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. When it was Aemond’s turn, you bit your lip as you felt your smile grow wider, your heart beating loudly in your chest, and delight taking hold of your whole body. “I am hers, and she is mine,” Aemond stated, eye filled with sincerity and promise. 

You breathed in a deep breath as your husband stepped forward to seal your marriage with a kiss, your cheeks burning as you heard the cheers of your guests. “My flower,” Aemond whispered against your lips as you parted, his finger brushing away the stubborn lock of your hair once more. You could only smile upon him, your heart in your eyes— just one act of kindness, a simple smile had been the catalyst for you to find your love. 

You chewed on your cheek in anticipation as you were being led down the halls by your husband, the bedding ceremony promptly taking place after the feast. 

Aemond spared no second before claiming your soft, sweet lips once more. Gently pushing you upon a pillar in his chambers to keep you steady and flush against his body. “Aemond,” You called as you clung to his neck, his lips trailing downwards and his fingers undoing the laces of your gown. “You’re all mine, my flower… forever bound to me, my kind little wife.” Aemond hummed as he tasted your skin, his lips kissing your bare shoulders, the sleeves of your dress draping off. “I’m yours, my prince,” You sighed, but you felt slight dread in your stomach as he clicked his tongue in disapproval and slowly shook his head. “I am your husband… you must learn to call me by my name; no more titles and formalities,” Aemond lowly said, wanting to hear his name be uttered from your lips. 

You nodded, “I’m all yours, Aemond,” You said and whimpered as your husband’s eye darkened, and he forcefully slammed your lips. You feel your dress pool to the floor as he successfully removes it; he takes hold of one of your thighs and makes you cling to him, leading you to your shared bed. Aemond gently laid you down and parted your lips to admire the view of you sprawled before him. The thin sheet of your shift reveals all to him. 

You gasped in utter shock as you felt him tear away the thin cover you had, fully exposing you to him. A strained moan left your throat as Aemond dipped down and took one of your tits into the hot cavern of his mouth, his tongue teasing the bud. You clung to his silvery locks; just that action alone made your core tighten painfully. Aemond smirked as he moved to pay attention to the neglected mound, your hips grinding upon his as you sought friction. 

“Aemond, I…” You called, uncertain of what you wanted, but all you knew was that you needed more. “Yes, wife?” He hummed and placed open-mouth kisses upon your stomach. “I… I—“ You stuttered, not knowing what to ask. Aemond sighed and moved his head to kiss your lips, “Do you want more… do you want to be pleasure, my flower?” He asked, as he could not be so cruel to leave you in such a state for much longer. You eagerly nodded your head. 

It did not take long for you to be a moaning mess, your eyes rolled back in your head, and your back arched as Aemond placed his mouth upon your cunny. Licking and teasing your folds, “Aemond! Oh, gods!” You called in utter pleasure as you felt his thin lips enclose your sensitive bud, sucking and licking it. You battled with your mind-numbing pleasure as you propped yourself on your elbows to watch his actions. He looked up at you, grinning as his fingers teased your undefiled whole. You bit your lip and breathed heavily, boldly taking hold of the leather strap of his eye patch. You saw as his eye darkened, and you hesitated, but Aemond gave a nod. 

As you removed his eye patch, Aemond pressed his finger into you, your eyes rolling back as you saw his sapphire eye. Aemond returned his lips to your cunt, sucking on the bud as his fingers pumped in and out. He felt your walls clench around the digits and your moans growing louder. Through your closed eyes, you feel him smirk against your skin and curl the digits inside your cunt— a loud moan leaving your lips as you come undone. Your hips violently move against his face, and the pearl of your cunt hitting gains his angular nose. 

“Oh gods,” You say breathlessly as you feel Aemond’s weight atop of you. You undid the laces of his vest as he removed his trousers. You looked downwards and saw the whole of your husband, his warm, pulsating length resting upon your thigh. The head of his cock weeping a clear liquid. “W… will it fit?” You say in disbelief, never having thought that something so phallic could be so… large and appealing. “Of course, you were made for me, my flower.” Aemond lowly said and kissed your lips as he aligned himself with your cunt. 

You dug your nails onto his shoulders as he slowly tore his way through you. Him hushing your cries of pain and kissing away your tears. “It hurts— Aemond, I… it’s too much,” You cried, your legs wrapping around his waist. Aemond reached downwards and drew circles upon your cunt to aid your pain. You waited for the pain to bleed into pleasure. Aemond tightly shit his eye as he felt the tip of his cock brush against a rough spot in your cunt, him fully sheathed inside you. He made cautious thrusts, watching as you would acclimatize to his length, and when he saw your eyes roll back, that was his sign to fasten his pace. 

Aemond’s found your lips once more, muffling your moans and whimpers as his cock was relentlessly hitting the spongy spot in your cunt that made your core come undone over and over again. You were on the verge of your fourth climax, each of them coming quickly after the other, and your thighs started to shiver at the pleasure that had enveloped you fully. “Aemond… It’s too much. I— husband, I cannot,” You cried as you felt a different sensation, an odd pressure in your core unalike the other times you came. Aemond clenched his jaw as his cock twitched inside your cunt, “Just… come for me one more time, my flower,” He gritted as he wanted to coax another peak from you. 

Aemond laid his thumb flat against your nubbin and rubbed circles once more, your voice already hoarse from your loud moans. “Oh… Aemond!” You cried as the quivering of your thighs grew, and you felt the pressure in your core come undone; a differing climax from the first three overcame you. Aemond groaned loudly and tilted his head back as he spilled his seed deep in your cunt. You breathed heavily as you tried to comprehend what had happened, wetness pooling between your thighs, and an embarrassed blush spread through your cheeks and neck. 

Aemond smirked and shook his head, trying to soothe the mortification in your eyes. “I knew you were capable of it,” He hummed and kissed your lips. He knew it was perhaps too much to test your limits in your first night together, but he could not help himself; he needed to have you in such a way. “My perfect wife,” he hummed against your skin, and your reply came through your tired smile. 

[justaz]

country bumpkin merlin not knowing anything about city life and accidentally courting arthur without knowing

merlin, watching gwen give lancelot her favor: why do you do that

gwen, heart eyes at lance and not paying that much attention to the conversation: so he knows i’m rooting for him

merlin, with an Idea: ah.

gwaine, lover of chaos, pisser offer of nobles and royals alike, ultimate wingman: merlin…you have such lonely lips. shall i introduce them to mine?

merlin, unaware of the game gwaine is playing: so you can steal my breath away? i think not, scoundrel

arthur, crushing his goblet in his hand:

merlin: arthur’s been in a bad mood recently :( i should cheer him up

merlin, remembering when arthur was put out when merlin brought morgana flowers and not him: i know just the thing

merlin, bringing a bouquet of carnations, roses, and tulips and setting them on arthur’s table while he’s eating breakfast: good morning, sire

arthur, trained on flower language in hopes that one day when he was to take a queen he could woo her easily, trying not to audibly choke on his sausage as he reads merlin’s declaration of love sitting in front of him:

arthur, who recently found out about merlin’s magic and was trying to find a way to bring it up, catching him in the act and watching merlin panic to explain himself:

merlin, Freaking: and i swear to you arthur, i have only ever used it for you. my magic is yours. my life is yours. i am yours. i would never do anything to harm you. i have protected you for years and will continue to do so at your side if you’ll have me

arthur, already believing them to be courting, desperately trying to figure out if that was a proposal for marriage or not but tired of being confused and deciding fuck it: here.

merlin, taking it: i…uh…huh?

arthur, watching merlin with hawk eyes and trying to figure out what he’s thinking and feeling: it’s my mothers sigil

merlin, confused as FUCK but is focusing on the fact that arthur is handing him something of his mother rather than a death sentence: my…my lord?

arthur, realizing how scared merlin’s must be about him finding out about his magic and trying to comfort him while also proposing, killing two birds with one stone: i will always keep you at my side, merlin, so long as we both shall live. if you’ll allow me.

merlin, almost collapsing with relief and tearing up, smiling at arthur as if he had parted the storm clouds to allow sun to shine down on them in that moment: of course…of course, arthur. always and forever.

merlin, watching the castle staff rush this way and that: wow. this banquet must be incredibly important

sir leon the long suffering, day one ride or die, one of the original merthur shippers: banquet? merlin, this is for your wedding

merlin, overworked and exhausted: my WHAT? to WHO??

leon, regretting everything he’s ever done in his life that led him to this moment: to…arthur?

merlin, over joyed but also absolutely befuddled: i’m getting married to ARTHUR?????

leon: you two have been courting for the past year or so, have you not?

merlin: i’ve been COURTING ARTHUR?????? FOR A YEAR?????????

[fvsm4x]

𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 - „I don‘t deserve someone like you“

—In an arranged marriage to the powerful sorcerer Gojo Satoru, you, a blind young woman from a noble family, quickly realize the harsh realities of your new life.

.contains blind fem. reader x gojo satoru, gojo is shitty, angsty, hurt no comfort, curse au, cheating, mistress, toxity, wc. 6.1k

The scent of jasmine filled the grand hall, its soft, almost cloying sweetness failing to mask the tension that lingered in the air. The wedding was beautiful, by all accounts—ornate chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting soft, golden light across the room. Tall vases overflowed with white lilies and roses, draped with vines that twined delicately around their stems. Everything was pristine, perfect, a vision of elegance and status befitting the union of two powerful families.

But beneath the surface, it all felt wrong.

The whispers of the guests were hushed, though not out of reverence or respect for the sacredness of the ceremony. They whispered because of you. They stared, eyes flickering between curiosity and pity, hidden behind false smiles and hollow words of congratulations. They pretended to celebrate, but you could hear it—the murmurs beneath their breath, the way their voices dipped just low enough that they thought you wouldn’t notice.

But you always noticed.

You stood still, hands folded in front of you, your posture impeccable as you’d been trained, listening as they spoke about the bride. The blind girl. The one without cursed techniques. The one Gojo Satoru—the Gojo Satoru—was marrying.

The ceremony had been just as silent, just as stifling, the weight of a hundred eyes pressing into you like needles. You had felt their gazes on your back as you walked down the aisle, guided by your father’s hand. Each step had felt heavier than the last, each footfall an echo in the vast room, but you held your head high, your expression calm and serene, as you had practiced countless times. The world around you was dark, as it always had been, but your senses were sharp, attuned to every shift in the atmosphere, every murmur, every movement.

No one questioned the marriage aloud, but everyone doubted it in private. The Gojo clan needed an heir, and you—born into a noble sorcerer family, though cursed with blindness and lacking any ability to fight—were chosen for the role. Not because of your power, not because of love, but because your bloodline was old and respected. Your family’s name still held weight in the jujutsu world, even if you did not. And Gojo… well, he was too important, too powerful, for anyone to refuse his family’s demands.

You could feel the tension in the room from the moment you entered. It rippled through the air like a current, crackling just beneath the surface of polite conversation. Your family had assured you this was the best course for both you and them. It was your duty, they’d said, to carry on the family’s legacy, even if you couldn’t do it the way your ancestors had. You would be a wife, a vessel for a future heir. That was your purpose now. You weren’t here to fight curses or stand beside him as an equal. You were here to bear the weight of an alliance and ensure the bloodlines remained pure and strong.

And he?

Gojo Satoru, the man you were now married to, had been as distant as the stars. Even during the brief ceremony, his presence felt like a cold wind brushing past your skin. He hadn’t said much—his voice, when he spoke the vows, had been flat and indifferent, devoid of the charm and magnetism that he was known for. His hand had touched yours only for the briefest moment, cool and detached, as though the act of taking your hand was more of an inconvenience than a gesture of unity.

There had been no tenderness, no sense of connection. It was as though he were performing an obligation, fulfilling a requirement, nothing more.

And now, as the ceremony gave way to the reception, he was nowhere to be found.

You stood alone in the grand hall, surrounded by the murmuring crowd, your fingers grazing the soft fabric of your wedding gown as you shifted your weight. The gown was heavy, draped in layers of delicate silk and lace that clung to your skin, a reminder of the weight of the expectations placed upon you. You could hear the soft rustle of the fabric as you moved, the sound barely audible over the hum of conversation and the gentle notes of the ceremonial band playing in the background.

The guests were mingling, their voices a blur of idle chatter and veiled judgment, and you were left to endure it all in silence.

"Such a shame," someone whispered, though you couldn’t tell who. Their voice was soft, yet the pity in it was sharp enough to cut. "A blind girl, no cursed energy…"

"Can she even fulfill her duties?" another voice added, the words tinged with disbelief. "Gojo must be furious."

Your heart tightened, but you kept your face composed, as you had been taught. You didn’t react. You didn’t turn toward the voices or acknowledge them in any way. You had long since learned that reacting only gave them power. So you stood still, hands clasped in front of you, listening as they judged you without hesitation.

“She must be so nervous,” a woman murmured to her companion, her tone laced with false sympathy. "I can’t imagine being so helpless."

Helpless.

You had heard that word so many times in your life. It clung to you like a second skin, a label that you could never quite shed, no matter how hard you tried. They saw your blindness and your lack of cursed energy, and they assumed that was all there was to you. A burden. An empty vessel.

It wasn’t just the guests who thought that. You could feel it in the way Gojo had treated you during the ceremony. His absence now was only confirmation of what you already knew—he didn’t care. To him, this marriage was just another arrangement, another responsibility to check off his list. You had been chosen for your lineage, not for yourself.

He wasn’t going to try, and neither were you.

It was only after what felt like an eternity of standing alone, the weight of the room pressing down on you, that you felt a shift. The atmosphere changed, a ripple of movement through the crowd, followed by the distinct sensation of someone approaching.

You knew who it was before he even spoke.

"Looking for me?"

His voice was smooth, casual, tinged with amusement that felt out of place in the solemnity of the occasion. It was the same voice he had used during the ceremony—bored, distant, with just a hint of arrogance. You had heard Gojo Satoru speak before, though never to you, and his voice was always laced with that same careless charm, as though everything and everyone around him were beneath him.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t turn toward him immediately, taking a moment to compose yourself, to control the surge of frustration that rose within you. When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, calm.

"Where have you been?"

The question was simple, but it carried more weight than the words alone. Where had he been? On this day of all days, the day that was meant to unite you, however meaningless that union might be. You hadn’t expected warmth from him, but a part of you—buried deep—had hoped for something more than indifference.

"Busy," he replied, as though the question itself were a joke. He didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t press him for details. He wouldn’t have given them, anyway. His voice was closer than expected, and you felt a subtle shift in the air as he moved closer. "This whole thing is exhausting. Don’t you agree?"

His words dripped with nonchalance, as though the day had been an inconvenience to him. Perhaps it had been. Perhaps the thought of being tied to someone like you—someone who couldn’t see, someone who couldn’t fight—was more than just a burden to him.

You remained still, though your fingers tightened slightly around the delicate fabric of your gown. "I suppose it is," you replied softly, your voice carefully neutral. "But it’s necessary."

Gojo laughed, the sound low and mocking, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, as though he were studying you, amused by your response.

"Necessary?" he echoed, his tone mocking. "I guess that’s one way to put it."

There was a pause, and you could feel the tension between you thickening, the space between you filled with unspoken words. You wanted to say something—something sharp, something that would cut through his arrogance—but you held your tongue. You had learned long ago that sharp words would do nothing here. Not with him.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice lowering as he leaned in slightly, “did you think this would be anything more than an arrangement?”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t let your expression falter. “I didn’t expect anything more than what was promised,” you answered carefully.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because that’s all it is. An arrangement. Nothing more.”

You could feel the cruel smirk tugging at his lips, even if you couldn’t see it. You didn’t need to see it. You could hear it in his voice, feel it in the way he stood too close, invading your space as if to remind you just how small, how insignificant, you were in comparison to him.

The room around you felt colder, even though the temperature had not changed.

“Don’t worry,” he said, stepping back as though to release you from his presence, “this’ll go much easier if you remember that.”

As Gojo disappeared back into the crowd, the warmth of his presence faded just as quickly as it had come, leaving behind an emptiness that settled deep in your chest. You kept your face composed, your expression serene, as you had been taught. The noise of the reception swirled around you, a cacophony of clinking glasses and laughter, but none of it reached you. It felt distant, muted—like you were standing in a world that wasn’t meant for you, a world that you could never fully inhabit.

You didn’t need to see to know what was happening around you. The guests would be watching him now, the great Gojo Satoru, as he moved effortlessly through the crowd, exchanging smiles and pleasantries with his admirers. They’d hang on his every word, laugh at his every joke, their attention glued to him like moths drawn to a flame. He was the star of this union, after all—the one everyone came to see. Not you.

You were nothing more than the shadow in his light.

A part of you wanted to slip away, to retreat into the safety of solitude where the weight of the expectations and the judgment wouldn’t suffocate you. But you knew better. Your place was here, standing still, enduring. You had learned long ago that this was your role in the world of sorcerers—a silent participant, always on the periphery, always observing but never truly part of the action.

“Are you all right, my dear?”

The voice was soft, tentative—your mother’s. You hadn’t heard her approach, but the gentle touch of her hand on your arm was familiar, grounding. She was the one who had guided you through this life of duty, the one who had taught you how to survive in a world that had never been kind to those like you.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice steady. The lie slipped easily from your lips. It was a lie you had told so many times before that it felt almost like the truth now.

Your mother’s grip tightened slightly, her thumb brushing your arm in a subtle gesture of comfort. “He… he will come around,” she murmured, though even she didn’t sound convinced.

You resisted the urge to laugh at her words. Come around? Gojo Satoru? You had known, even before the wedding, that he wasn’t the type of man who could be swayed by something as simple as a bond of marriage. He was above all of that—above you. He was the strongest sorcerer alive, the most powerful, untouchable. And you? You were nothing more than the bride chosen for him because of your family’s name. A bride he could ignore without consequence.

“There’s no need for him to come around,” you replied softly. “This marriage is what it is.”

Your mother hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “You will find your place,” she said finally, though her voice wavered with uncertainty. “It may take time, but—”

“I know my place,” you interrupted, your tone sharper than you intended. You could feel her flinch, her hand withdrawing slightly, and a pang of guilt shot through you. She didn’t deserve your frustration. She had done what she thought was best for you, even if this life felt like a cage. “I’m sorry,” you added quietly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I understand,” your mother said gently, though you could hear the strain in her voice. “I know this isn’t easy. But… you must remember your duty. This is about more than just you or Satoru. It’s about the future of our family.”

Her words, though well-meaning, did little to comfort you. You had heard them countless times before—spoken by your father, by your uncles, by the elders who had decided your fate long before you had any say in it. Your family needed this marriage. It was a strategic alliance, a way to secure your family’s position in the jujutsu world, to ensure that their legacy would continue through the next generation. You were simply the vessel through which that legacy would be carried.

But what about you? What did you want?

Not that it mattered. In this world, your wants were irrelevant.

“I know,” you whispered, though the words felt heavy on your tongue. “I understand my duty.”

Your mother didn’t reply, but you could sense her reluctance, her uncertainty. Perhaps a part of her regretted the role she had played in this arrangement. Or perhaps she simply didn’t know how to help you, how to guide you through something she had never experienced herself.

After a moment, she squeezed your arm again, then quietly slipped away, leaving you alone once more in the sea of murmuring voices and clinking glasses.

-

The journey back to the Gojo estate was quiet and uncomfortable, much like the rest of the day had been. You had ridden alone, save for the driver and a house staff member assigned to assist you, a man whose presence was unobtrusive and respectful, though it did little to ease the weight in your chest. The noise of the reception was a distant memory now, replaced by the soft hum of the car engine and the occasional rattle of the road beneath the wheels.

When the car finally came to a halt, you felt the subtle shift in the air, the familiar scent of the estate reaching you through the open window. The door beside you opened with a soft creak, and you turned your head slightly, listening as the staff member stepped out and came to your side.

"Lady Gojo," he said quietly, his voice steady, "we’ve arrived. May I assist you?"

You nodded, grateful for his presence even if the formality of it felt strange. His hand found yours with a practiced gentleness, and you allowed him to guide you from the car, your feet sinking slightly into the gravel as you stepped onto the driveway. The estate was large, its grounds sprawling and ornate, though you had never seen it with your own eyes. You had been given descriptions, of course—told about the lush gardens, the grand architecture, the beautiful traditional touches that made the Gojo residence a place of prestige. But to you, it was simply a place. Another cage, perhaps larger and more opulent than the last, but a cage nonetheless.

The man guided you carefully, his pace slow and deliberate as you walked toward the main entrance. The stone path beneath your feet was smooth, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you moved. You focused on the sounds around you—the distant chirp of crickets, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the soft shuffle of your guide’s footsteps. It was a comfort in a way, grounding you in the present, keeping you from drifting too far into the overwhelming thoughts that threatened to consume you.

As you reached the doors to the estate, another figure emerged from inside—a woman, her footsteps lighter and quicker than the man’s. You could tell by the soft rustling of fabric and the light scent of jasmine that she was one of the house staff, perhaps the one assigned to assist you personally. She approached with the same quiet respect, her presence calm and unobtrusive.

"Lady Gojo," she greeted softly, her voice smooth and measured. "I am here to assist you with getting settled. Shall I help you to your chambers?"

"Yes," you replied quietly, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Thank you."

The man who had guided you this far bowed his head slightly, murmured a polite farewell, and took his leave. The woman stepped forward then, her hand resting lightly on your arm as she gently guided you through the grand entrance of the estate. The cool air inside the building was a sharp contrast to the warmth of the evening outside, the scent of incense and wood filling your senses as you walked.

You could hear the faint echo of your footsteps in the vast, empty halls, the sound a reminder of the sheer size of this place. It felt too big, too impersonal. The kind of space where someone could get lost—physically and emotionally.

As the woman led you through the winding corridors, she remained quiet, her touch firm but never forceful. She was practiced, you could tell, in the way she moved with you, guiding without pushing, always attentive to your pace. There was a quiet understanding in her actions, as though she knew that this day had been overwhelming, that words weren’t necessary right now.

When you finally reached the doors to your chambers, she opened them quietly and stepped inside with you. The room was cold, untouched, the air still and heavy. The silence hung between you both as she guided you toward the center of the room, stopping near the bed.

"Shall I help you with your gown, Lady Gojo?" the woman asked gently, her voice soft but professional.

"Yes, please," you answered, though a part of you hesitated. It felt strange, being undressed by another, but the gown was heavy, its intricate layers difficult to manage on your own, especially after such a long day. The weight of it felt unbearable now, pressing down on your shoulders, a physical reminder of everything this day had been.

The woman moved with care, her fingers deft as she began to undo the delicate clasps and ties of your wedding dress. You stood still, letting her work, the fabric of the gown slowly loosening and falling away from your body as she removed it piece by piece. The cool air brushed against your skin as each layer was peeled back, the heaviness gradually lifting, though the emotional weight remained.

Once the gown was fully removed, she folded it with precision, setting it aside on a nearby chair. You felt lighter, freer in a way, though the emptiness of the room and the absence of the man who was supposed to share it with you left a coldness in your chest.

"Would you like me to prepare anything else for you tonight, my lady?" the woman asked, her voice still calm and measured.

"No," you replied softly, shaking your head. "That will be all. Thank you."

With a quiet bow, she left the room, the soft click of the door closing behind her the only sound that remained. And then, you were alone.

Alone.

The word echoed in your mind, filling the empty space around you. You stood there for a long moment, the coldness of the room seeping into your skin, the emptiness of the house pressing down on you. This was your life now—a life of silence, of isolation. A life in which you were nothing more than a vessel for a future heir.

You hadn’t expected Gojo to be here, but even so, his absence stung in a way you hadn’t anticipated. He hadn’t cared enough to even pretend. This marriage, this life—it meant nothing to him. And to everyone else, you were just the blind girl. The one without cursed techniques. The one chosen not for her strength or power, but for her bloodline. A tool.

With a heavy sigh, you walked slowly to the bed, the soft rustle of the sheets the only sound in the quiet room. You crawled into bed, the cold fabric wrapping around you like a suffocating embrace. You stared into the darkness, your mind racing with thoughts you couldn’t quiet. Would it always be like this? Would this be your life—empty, cold, and filled with the constant reminder of your insignificance?

The cold sheets didn’t provide any comfort, nor did the quiet. The weight of the day pressed down on you, and despite your exhaustion, sleep didn’t come easily. Instead, you lay there, your thoughts swirling around in your mind, the reality of your new life sinking in.

-

The morning light filtered through the room’s large windows, though its warmth did nothing to chase away the cold that lingered in the air. You had hardly slept, the weight of the previous night pressing heavily on your chest. The events played over and over in your mind—the whispers, the ceremony, the emptiness. And now, waking up in this unfamiliar place, it was hard to shake the sense of displacement, of being trapped in a life that was not your own.

You sat up slowly, your body stiff from the restless night. The thin fabric of your nightgown offered little comfort against the morning chill, and for a moment, you remained still, unsure of what to do next. There was no routine here, no familiar rhythm to fall into. You had always known what your life would be—quiet, measured, controlled by duty—but now it felt as though the ground had been pulled out from under you, leaving you floating in a strange, empty space.

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts, soft but insistent.

"Lady Gojo," came the familiar voice of the woman who had helped you the night before. "I’ve brought you tea. May I enter?"

"Yes," you replied, your voice quiet.

The door opened, and you heard her footsteps as she approached, the soft clinking of a tray as she set it down on the small table beside your bed.

"I’ve also brought a change of clothes," she continued, her tone respectful. "If you’d like, I can help you dress for the day."

You nodded, though the thought of dressing for the day felt strange. What was there to do? What purpose did this day hold for you? You didn’t belong in this world of sorcerers and cursed techniques, of power and prestige. You were just the blind girl, chosen to be Gojo’s wife for reasons that had nothing to do with who you were and everything to do with what your family name represented.

The woman helped you out of bed, her hands gentle as she guided you toward the wardrobe, where she had laid out a simple, elegant kimono. You could feel the delicate silk between your fingers as she draped it over your shoulders, her hands moving with practiced ease as she tied the obi around your waist.

"Do you know what your plans are for today, my lady?" she asked quietly, though there was no judgment in her voice, only politeness.

"I don’t," you admitted, the words feeling heavy. "I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do."

The woman paused for a moment, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders as she adjusted the fabric. "You may not have cursed techniques like the others, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing for you here. The Gojo estate is large, and there are many things to explore if you’d like. The gardens are beautiful, and the library is filled with books from all over the world. You don’t have to…"

Her voice trailed off as though she had realized she was speaking out of turn, but the kindness in her tone remained.

"I don’t have to what?" you asked softly, curious about what she had left unsaid.

"You don’t have to wait around," she finished, her voice gentler now. "You don’t have to wait for someone to tell you what to do. You’re Lady Gojo now, and this is your home too."

The words settled into you, though they felt foreign, like a suit of armor that didn’t quite fit. Could this place ever really be your home? Could you find your own way here, among people who saw you as nothing more than a blind girl married to a man who didn’t care about you?

When the woman finished dressing you, she stepped back, her hands folding neatly in front of her. "Is there anything else I can do for you this morning?"

"No," you replied, your voice soft. "Thank you."

She bowed slightly and left the room, leaving you standing there, dressed but feeling no more ready for the day than you had before.

The silence that filled the room after her departure was thick and suffocating. You could feel the weight of the emptiness pressing down on you, the quietness of the house a stark contrast to the chaotic noise that had filled your mind since the wedding. A part of you wanted to crawl back into bed, to hide under the covers and pretend that none of this was real. But the woman’s words lingered.

You don’t have to wait around.

You had spent your entire life waiting. Waiting for your cursed techniques to appear. Waiting for your family to tell you what your role would be. Waiting for this marriage to happen, knowing it was never really a choice. But now, as much as you felt out of place, there was a flicker of something inside you that wondered if she was right. Maybe there was more to this life than just waiting.

With slow, deliberate movements, you made your way to the door. Your hand found the handle, and you stepped out into the hallway, the quiet of the estate enveloping you. The corridors were long, and though you couldn’t see them, you could feel the vastness of the space around you—the echo of your footsteps against the smooth floors, the subtle shift in the air as you walked.

You didn’t know where you were going, but for the first time since you arrived, it didn’t matter. You just needed to move, to take a step forward, no matter how uncertain.

As you neared a door, the sounds from within grew unmistakable—soft murmurs, the rustle of fabric, and then a quiet, intimate sigh. The knot in your stomach tightened. You already knew what you would find if you dared to push the door open, and yet your feet carried you closer, your heart thundering in your chest as your hand instinctively brushed against the doorframe.

Inside, Gojo’s voice was low, playful, teasing in a way you had never heard from him before. It sent a shiver down your spine—not from the words themselves, but from the realization that this was a side of him he had reserved for someone else.

Through the small gap in the door, you heard her—a soft giggle, followed by a breathy gasp as Gojo’s voice dropped lower, too quiet for you to make out the words. The tone was unmistakable though, thick with seduction, as if he was savoring every moment of this forbidden encounter.

You stepped closer, the barely-there creak of the floor beneath you drowned out by the sounds inside the room. There was no mistaking what was happening now. Her quiet moan was unmistakable, and the soft, wet sound that followed made your breath catch in your throat. Your mind painted a picture you didn’t want to see—Gojo leaning in, his lips pressing against hers with a hunger that had never been directed toward you.

The dull thud of your heart in your ears drowned out almost everything else, but you couldn’t tear yourself away. You shouldn’t have been standing there, listening to your husband making out with another woman, but the pull of the moment kept you frozen in place.

A light gasp escaped her, followed by Gojo’s chuckle, and then you heard him kiss her again—longer this time, deeper. The sound of their lips parting, the soft exhale of pleasure from the woman, filled the room. It was like a physical blow, striking you with a force you hadn’t expected.

It was the kind of kiss you would never have. The kind of affection you would never receive from him.

You had always known it, deep down. Gojo had never promised you anything beyond the formalities of marriage, and you had accepted that, hadn’t you? But standing here, listening to him give someone else the affection you would never know, the truth of it stung in a way you hadn’t prepared for.

You pressed your palm against the cool wood of the doorframe, forcing yourself to breathe through the growing lump in your throat. The walls seemed to close in around you, the air too thick, too heavy. Your body screamed at you to turn away, to walk back to the safety of your solitude, but your feet felt anchored to the spot.

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply this hurt, how thoroughly he had already broken the fragile illusion you had tried to build around this marriage. But as you stood there, every tender sound that came from inside the room seemed to chip away at whatever resolve you had left.

Finally, with a deep, shuddering breath, you pulled yourself away from the door. Your movements were slow, deliberate, as if each step was a battle against the weight of your own heart. You wouldn’t stay to hear the rest. You wouldn’t allow yourself to witness any more of Gojo’s betrayal.

Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? A betrayal.

It didn’t matter that this marriage had never been built on love, that it had been nothing more than a transaction between two powerful families. You had still given yourself to him, even if only in the way you had been told to, and now, he was giving parts of himself—parts you would never have—to someone else.

As you made your way back down the hall, you forced yourself to hold your head high, your face impassive, though inside, the ache that had started when you overheard their conversation had turned into a deep, gnawing hurt.

You wouldn’t confront him.

But even here, in the peacefulness of the garden, you couldn’t escape the nagging thought in the back of your mind—the knowledge that no matter how far you ran, you would always be trapped in a life that wasn’t yours.

And you weren’t sure if you could ever find a way out.

As you wandered through the garden, the air heavy with the scent of flowers, you couldn’t shake the hollow ache in your chest. The calmness of the space did little to ease the knot that had formed in your stomach, the knowledge of Gojo’s casual betrayal lingering in your mind like a bitter aftertaste. You tried to ignore it, to focus on the sensation of the soft breeze against your skin, but the conversation you had overheard replayed in your head.

And then, as if summoned by your thoughts, you heard his voice.

“Ah, there you are.”

The sound of Gojo’s voice cut through the stillness of the garden, light and casual, as if he hadn’t just been somewhere else, entertaining another woman. You stiffened, your back straightening instinctively, but you didn’t turn toward him. You didn’t need to see him to know that the easy smile was probably plastered across his face, his usual carefree attitude masking whatever true thoughts lay behind those bright blue eyes.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel path, growing closer until you could feel his presence beside you. He stopped, his hands probably in his pockets, his head likely tilted with that insufferable smirk still playing on his lips. The scent of his cologne, sharp and faintly sweet, filled the air around you, overwhelming the natural smell of the flowers.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of casual curiosity. “I figured you’d still be sleeping off yesterday.”

You said nothing for a moment, your hands tightening slightly at your sides as you tried to maintain your composure. The silence stretched between you, and you could feel his gaze on you, even if you couldn’t see it. Finally, you spoke, your voice quiet but steady.

“Just walking,” you replied, your tone cool. “Isn’t that what people do in their own home?”

There was a beat of silence, and you could almost hear the grin spreading wider across his face.

“Right, right,” he said, amusement dancing in his voice. “Our home.”

The way he said the word “our” felt like a mockery, as if the very idea of this being your shared space was some kind of joke. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the wave of frustration that threatened to rise. This was your life now, tied to a man who didn’t care, bound by a duty you hadn’t asked for.

“You’re up early,” you continued, your voice steady but cold. “I thought you’d be… occupied.”

Gojo let out a soft chuckle, the sound low and almost teasing. “Ah, you heard that, huh?”

There was no apology in his tone, no trace of guilt. If anything, he sounded amused, as if the idea of you hearing him with another woman was nothing more than an inconvenience, a slight miscalculation on his part. You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you struggled to keep your composure.

“What does it matter?” he continued, his voice light and airy, as if this were all some kind of game. “You know what this is. You knew what this would be.”

His words hit you like a slap to the face, and for a moment, the air seemed to still around you. Of course, you had known. This marriage wasn’t built on love or trust; it was an arrangement, a union forged out of necessity and obligation. But hearing him say it so bluntly, with such casual disregard for your feelings, made the reality of it all the more painful.

You turned your head slightly in his direction, though your eyes remained unfocused, your gaze fixed somewhere in the distance.

“I know what this is,” you said softly, your voice carrying a quiet strength. “But that doesn’t mean it has to be so cruel.”

Gojo’s laughter rang out, sharp and biting, and you could feel the shift in his demeanor, his charm slipping just slightly to reveal the edge beneath.

“Cruel?” he echoed, the word rolling off his tongue like a taunt. “This is reality. You’re the one who agreed to this. You knew exactly what you were getting into. You can’t act surprised now.”

Your chest tightened, the frustration and hurt bubbling just beneath the surface. But you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break, of knowing just how deeply his words had cut. Instead, you drew in a steady breath, your voice calm despite the storm raging inside you.

“I didn’t have a choice,” you said quietly, the truth hanging between you like a heavy weight. “Neither of us did.”

For a moment, there was silence. You could feel his eyes on you, studying you, perhaps weighing the truth in your words. And then, with a soft exhale, Gojo’s tone shifted again, the sharpness receding as his usual nonchalant air returned.

“Yeah, well,” he said, his voice softer now but still distant, “that’s the way the world works, isn’t it?”

You didn’t respond, the quiet settling between you like a heavy fog. This was the man you had married—Gojo Satoru, the most powerful sorcerer alive, a man who wielded immense strength and influence but saw the world through a lens of detachment and indifference. He lived in a reality where emotions were weaknesses and connections were expendable. And now, you were a part of that world, tethered to him by duty and expectation.

But even as you stood there, feeling the weight of his presence beside you, a small flicker of resolve burned within you. You couldn’t change him, and you couldn’t change the circumstances that had brought you here. But maybe, just maybe, you could carve out something for yourself within this life. Something that wasn’t defined by him or by the expectations of others.

“I’ll leave you to your walk,” Gojo said suddenly, breaking the silence. “I’ve got things to do.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the distance as he left you standing alone in the garden. The emptiness he left behind was palpable, but you stood there for a long moment, the cool breeze brushing against your skin.

This was your life now—a life filled with silence and distance, with a husband who saw you as nothing more than a convenience, a vessel for an heir.

© fvsm4x 2023/4 : do not translate, plagiarise or steal my work.

[melioraskz]

Rather be your whore than a noble man’s wife.

A/N : I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately… this wasn’t based on anything in particular and is definitely not historically accurate, this is just another universe LOL!

Warning : brief mention of SA, mentions of whores, homophobia (not by any of the characters, just mentioned in a backstory!), giving head (female receiving), tiny hint of overstimulation, almost caught in the act, probably forgot something lol ! NOT PROOFREAD !!!

(Pirate) Han Jisung x (afab) Reader

Summary : After being captured by a gang of bandits you get saved by a mysterious man called Jisung, what you don’t know is that he is in fact something your parents always warned you for, a pirate.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

“Stay away from me!”

“Wow wow wow little lady, relax. I’m not going to harm you” the man in front of you said with his hands up in the air in surrender despite the small yet devilishly sharp knife still laid between his thumb and index finger.

“Do you want my help or not?” He asked, raising a brow as he looked at you up and down.

“I’ve got everything under control, thank you very much” you spat back, sighing deeply as you try to once again squirm out of the tight robe that was around your body and hands.

Everything was in fact not under control. There you were, bound to the pole, hands tied behind your back and hair stuck to your face with the sweat from your forehead, breathing heavy with your dress half cut up by the bandits who took you capture. Despite their desperate tries you had manage to keep them away from you enough for them to not take it further than some disgusting groping and touched here and there. However despite your deadly looks you shot their way it couldn’t take away the looks of desire they shot in your direction as another one tried to cut off a button of your blouse…

The aggravating man who had jumped on board of the ship all cocky started to whistle as he sat up on the edge of the boat, carelessly taking the knife and removed some dirt under his finger nails. “Just let me know when you need my help, missy” he sung, acting all nonchalantly as if he wasn’t also on a bandit ship, all alone against the 30 men that could show up any second. Not that you had any hope that he would survive one of the men for that matter. They were all buff, scary with scars everywhere, you could tell they were up to no good. This guy? He was skinny, lanky built, curly brown hair and despite his aura feeling like he would be a big man… he was quite a short guy.

“Fine, just get me out of here before they come back” you mutter, the guy looking up at you, stopping mid-through the melody he was whistling. Then he shook his head and his lips left a few of tsk tsk tsk to show his displeasure. “What sort of lady are you? Not even a simple please? I’ve met whores down at the red district with more charm and politeness than you” he stated and rose a brow. That awful awful cockiness would drive you mad but you were desperate.

“Please can you help me out of these fucking ropes? I’m not planning on becoming these bandits slave or sex toy” you state, earning a pleased smirk by the mysterious guy who by ease jumped down from the edge and walked up to you. He then easily cut off the rope using the knife before he put it back into the holder in his belt.

“There we go, now I suggest we leave before those idiots come back” he says, a smug smile on his lips. Within a second you had stepped away from the damn pole, singing deeply as you rubbed your previously tied up wrists with your hands to ease the irritation that the rope had caused. “Thanks” you sigh, walking over to the edge and looked out at the dock, multiple ships stood there and you could hear the muffled sounds of parties and people if you looked out to the town ahead of you… “where even are we?” You sigh, not sure where they had taken you, surely from the accent of the man it was far away from your home…

“Welcome to Incheon city, ma’am! The place filled with dreams, nightmares, whores, pirates and a great amount of cheap alcohol” the man burst out, now somehow standing on the edge walking around as if it wasn’t a 10 meter drop down to the ice cold water below. “Oh fuck! I’m Jisung, by the way, Han Jisung” he added. “It’s nice to meet you, what’s your name?” He asked proudly.

You were about to answer when you heard a voice behind you.

“She has escaped!” A roaring man’s voice yelled as he had climbed up the ladder on the other side. You remembered that man very well, after all he had tried to fuck you at least seven times since your capture a few days ago. Along with him came 4 others, you look back at Jisung with panicked eyes, but you were met by a pair of awfully calm ones. He let out a sigh in displeasure, almost as if he thought the whole ordeal were just bothersome.

“Alright boys, let’s say after me” Jisung started, grabbing one of the robes that the bandits used to climb up to the watch tower. “If you are despite to get a quick fuck, go to a whore house, not kidnap someone” he then continued, cutting the rope off with the knife he had previously used on the ropes that had you tied up. Then before the men could reach you he swung in the rope, using his legs and made 2 of the men fall to the ground in a loud groan. That’s when he grabbed both of the men’s revolvers, tossing one of them to you, which you catch in pure panic. Looking at the man, he easily got all men on the floor, despise them being twice his weight. “Close those pretty eyes for me, pretty lady” Jisung instructed, as if it was an instinct you did exactly like he said and as soon as your eyelids had fallen down so all you saw was darkness the ship echoed with a shot, another another, another and-

“All done, missy” a voice said, opening your eyes you saw the men’s lifeless bodies on the wooden floor, blood painting the deck that poured out of their head. It wasn’t the first time you had ever encountered a dead body before but it was certainly the first time seeing so much blood at the same time, despite being outside you swore you could smell the stench of iron in the red dark liquid ahead of you. Jisung however didn’t give you the luxury to take in the scene for more than a few second, he had other plans. He grabbed the rope he had used before and swung in it, grabbing your waist as you let out a screech, holding onto him with all dear might. You were certain you’d fall straight into the ice cold water below but before you could think twice you felt your feet hit a steady familiar sensation. You open your eyes you had no clue that you even closed in the first place and there you were, still holding onto the man with all your might but standing on the ground below…

“We should leave before more men come back and notice the tiny little mess I caused on their ship” he stated, you realise how damn close he was to your body… your heart beating fast in your chest, perhaps it was the adrenaline of being rescued or seeing the dead bodies that flooded through you, perhaps it was for the fact that this bold man had laid his hands on you and it wasn’t for the wrong intentions, at least that’s what you thought it was?

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

The music was loud, people chit chattering even louder, women with dresses that enhances the chest area was practically fucking some men in the corners. But after what you went through? The dodgy bar that Jisung took you to was a luxury hotel from what you had been dealing with capture at that ship…

You get snapped out of your thoughts with about bang, in front of you stood now a large pint of beer, fizzing and foaming up to the edges. Jisung then sat down and took a large chunk of his own pint he still held in his hand. “There we go, don’t worry, the beer is on me. I figured you’d need it after that whole experience. I doubt those shitheads knows how to feed a lady” he stated, chuckling a bit, using the other chair next to him as a stand for his feet as he let out a groan in relief. “Now, what was that name of yours? I didn’t get catch it last time”

“My name?”

“Your name”

“Oh, right. It’s Y/N, Y/L/N Y/N” you whispered. When you said your surname you saw how Jisung choked on his beer, almost spitting it out again in shock. He hit his chest repeatedly until the beer had gone down the right pipe again.

“Fucking hell? As in the Y/L/N-clan? You’re their daughter? You’re a fucking high class noble woman! How the fuck did you end up captured by them then? Isn’t that miles and miles away?” He asked. Looking at you with huge eyes, the foam of the beer had given him a light moustache. You let out a slight giggle from the look on his face, then you take a big chunk of your own beer.

“I ran away, they set you marry me away 4 days ago, that night I couldn’t take it, I hated that old man they set me up with, he was at least three times my age but the wallet weight more than my family’s love for me I suppose. What I didn’t calculate for was that I’d be captured in the middle of the night by those men who had no idea who I was, so they said they’d keep me as their whore, slave or both. I sailed stuck to that pole until this evening, so thank you for saving me, I wish I could repay you but I don’t have anything of worth on me” you whispered, feeling a flood of guilt flush over you, he had saved your life and you couldn’t even repay him?

“I’m not asking for a payment, Y/N. I saved you because I felt like it, not from the goodness of my heart, not from whatever your noble brain can come up with, I saved you because I was bored and saw you on their deck. Alright? No need to pay me” he stated. Crossing his feet over the other on the chair next to him.

“But there must be something-“

“Enough. I don’t need anything I promise, we’re alright” he said quickly. Looking directly into your eyes. You could feel your heart beat faster again… it could possibly not be adrenaline now, right? For sure he is handsome, but is he even your type? Do you even have a type?

“So what will happen with you now? I’d say get a new dress is your first option, you can’t walk around with your tits almost hung out unless you want someone to accuse you for being a whore” Jisung stated, which made your cheeks flush in embarrassment. You quickly tried to gather the material that was left from what the men had cut off, looking down at your ripped and ruined clothings...

“I have no money and nowhere to go, but do not worry about me, I’ll find a way” I say calmly, smiling in a reassuring manner, even if you were terrified. When you had ran away from home you had no plan, you just knew you had to get out of there before it was too late…

“I may have an old dress or two for you to get, neither of my mates will mind, it’s not like they walk around in a skirt ever..”

“Your mates?”

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

Your chest was beating faster than ever, you felt like you’d pass out any moment…

“You’re a pirate?”

Your entire life your parents had warned you about the pirates that hunted the seven seas. They took what they wanted, murdered, fucked the women and ran off, your father had always said if you ever had the displease of coming a cross a pirate run away and don’t look back before you call the local sheriff. Perhaps if you had heard about this before he rescued you, you’d agree to your father’s words but now? Especially after spending a couple hours with the man you had come to quite enjoy his company. A sexy man who seemed charming enough with perhaps a bit too big of an ego than you’d like, how could he be such a criminal? Being a pirate is a death sentence if you get caught, you won’t even get a trial? Why would this man choose this path of life?

“What did you expect?” Jisung asked in an amused tone as he practically carried you up the rope to his ship, placing you down on the edge of the ships railing, letting you sit there as he climbed on the other side and then carried you bridal style over to the deck where he sat you down carefully.

“I thought you-“

“Were a man of honour and prosperity? Ma’am you’ve come to the wrong place if you’re looking for a hero or a good man” he stated as he fumbled up a key that was hooked on a piece of string around his neck underneath his shirt. He then unlocked the giant trap door leading to the inside of the ship. You both climb down there, you were met by the stench of rum and seawater which made you make a slight grimace.

“We should have some women’s clothing down here from when we raided this noble family all the way in Busan. Like fuck you should have seen those dumb posh faces when-“ he stopped himself, realising that you may take offence by his harsh words about the upper class since he now knew you were upper class as well. “Sorry..”

“No offence taken. To be quite frank, there is a reason I left that place, no money in the world could make me feel happy in that hell. I may have lived in a mansion but that mansion was a jail impossible to break out of in my eyes” you say, sighing deeply as you start to look around through bits and bobs that was scattered around the room. “To be honest I’m envying you. You’re free, away from responsibilities, marriage, birthing children, preferably sons and don’t even get me started on the dreadful gatherings, all the noble ladies wanted to speak about was money of men. I’m tired of it..” you say, slowly turning to a desk with a bunch of documents and paper on it, on the top of a shelf that stood right above the desk was a picture in a frame of 8 young men next to the very ship they were in right now, you could easily pick out where Jisung were despite the low resolution of the picture, with his arm around one of the other guys with a huge smile on his mouth.

“That’s my crew, you see the one with the hat is our leader, or captain, Chan is his name. It started when him and I met all the way in Australia where we stole this glory out of some poor bastard who used it for the queens guards, we decorated it and then before we could leave Australia we met this poor bloke called Felix who joined us” Jisung explained, then pointing at a guy with long bright hair who was winking with one eye. “He already had a huge penny on his head at home after his father found out he was a homosexual, we took him in, we don’t give a fuck who he sticks his dick inside, he is our brother nonetheless” he stated.

“That’s very beautiful if you ask me. You claim to be a bad person but a bad person wouldn’t do that” you explained slowly, looking at him, realising he stood right behind you, with his head almost hanging over your shoulder so that he also could view the old frame, you slowly chew on the inside of your cheek… he really was handsome for a pirate… Han clear his throat before he continues, slowly feeling a bit unease by her words, why would a lady like her truly find him, a criminal, that good?

“Well we figured as we were going to be pirates we already would have a straight way to the gallons if caught, adding hiding a gay man on the list didn’t seem too bad” Jisung stated, looking at you for a few seconds before his eyes quickly turn to the picture again.

“And that’s Seungmin and Jeongin, we met them finally enough at that raid in Busan, they joined us quickly, they’re young but extremely fun and always tells the best stories when we are up late at night around a campfire” he explains with a slight smile. “Oh and that’s Changbin, Hyunjin and Minho. Minho is second captain after Chan, he is also the head cook, probably the only one of us that can actually cook well. Changbin is also the fastest at climbing ropes you’ll ever see! I swear we have accused him of being a witch at least fourteen times!” He explained, smiling at himself as he thought of his dear friends. “And a little secret, we are fairly sure that Felix has had sex with Hyunjin before, we don’t know when but there is something with the way they act…However, whenever we try to get some information out of them they bulge, what a dumb bunch for thinking we’d judge them” he explained and laughed. “They’re all dumb but… they’re the only family I have left”

“Where are they now then?” You ask, realising you hadn’t even seen a trace of any of the said men since you entered the ship.

“Oh they’re in town, probably getting fucked up with all the alcohol, that was my plan too until… yeah” Jisung admitted. “I’m sorry for ruining your plans, Jisung” you sigh as you quickly turn around, face as close as it could be without touching from each other, his eyes looking almost black in front of you due to the lack of light in there… your heart racing faster and faster, he was dangerously close to you, with one hand resting on the shelf behind you, trapping you between the desk and his body…

“Trust me… I’m glad I had my plans changed, otherwise I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of meeting you” Jisung whisper, you can feel his breath against your skin, keeping you eyes at him you slowly placed one hand on his chest that was slightly exposed due to the buttons he had unbuttoned. You swore you could see a slight smirk on his lips perk up. You could feel his hand that wasn’t against the shelf behind you travel to your lower back in a firm get gentle grip.

Before you could even think of what you were doing, you kissed him. You didn’t know what went through your head fuck you liked it. You could taste the beer you had previously had in your mouth as the kiss progressed, deepening and becoming more rough as you became familiar with each other. He hadn’t even questioned it as he had kissed you back the moment your lips met his.

The kiss was hot, breathy, yet you felt more relaxed with this man than you had ever done with a man at home. You felt how his hand that was on the shelf met your hip on the opposite side as the other before he easily lift up up and placed your ass on the table behind you. Then for a moment he broke the kiss before his mouth traveled along your mouth down to your neck and collarbone. You let a moan slip through your lips, the only sound echoing through the walls was the sounds of your heavy breaths along with whatever sound the sea could make from the shore.

His mouth leads its way back to yours, unable to stay away from it for too long. You let your tongue run over his bottom lip and he opens his mouth for you. When you feel his tongue meet yours, blistering electricity shocks down your spine in pure lust. You kiss him harder, his tongue mapping out every inch of yours as if he is in search of the lost treasure in there. He pulls your legs apart so he can stand right between them, feeling his body pressed against yours. You let his hands roam your body, then as he grabs some of the poor material that still held your chest in decent coverage and you hear a loud skrratch. That fucker tore it! As if it was barely anything to tore anyways… his hands cupped your breasts, breathing heavy into your mouth. His hands was fucking cold, but oh it felt so good. He then stop kissing you for a moment, looking into your eyes as both tried to desperately catch your breaths. The tension was electrifying.

“Can I fuck you?” He ask out of the blue after a few seconds of being silence.

As the words left his mouth it took you by a surprise, asking that question when your tits was already free for him when you had willingly had him like this. Almost a comedic moment and a rather funny timing on his part. Instead of answering you grabbed his shirt, giving him a wet kiss on the mouth. He took that sentence as a yes.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

You had never met a pirate before, let alone fucked one. But there you were. He had somehow managed to move you from the desk to the floor. His shirt tossed somewhere along the way along with his trousers. Your upper part of the dress torn a long time ago but your long skirt still intact, him? He was under your skirt between your legs, licking long stripes on your pussy, holding his strong hands around your thighs, partly for keeping you from closing them around him, partly because himself needed something to hold on to.

Your moans echoed through the room, your legs trembling as you covered your upper part of the face with your hand, moaning louder. His mouth doing wonders down there as you were slowly feeling like you’ll reach your peak any moment now.

“I’m gonna cum, Jisung” you breathe out, heavy breaths making it almost impossible for you to say a full sentence.

“Then cum for me, darling” he growled from under your skirt, a loud slap echoed as you felt his hand slap ass. That slap was almost like the last thing you needed, you felt the knotting feeling in your lower stomach build up to the point where it overflow. You let out a breath of pleasure as you came, breathing heavy as you tried to catch your breath. You felt how Jisung kept licking up every single drop of you, feeling your legs turn into jelly as you tried to catch your high along with handling the overstimulation happening.

That’s when you heard it…

“Why is it unlocked?”

“I don’t know”

Then you heard a click, they’re loading their revolver…

Jisung knew that voice extremely well, so the panic arose even faster. He quickly got out of your skirt, his lips glossy from your fluids. “Fuck fuck fuck” he whispered, trying to gather his clothes.

“Guys it’s just me” he yelled, hoping if they were faster than him it would lead to at least them not being shot. That’s when he also tossed one of the dresses he promised you your way, quickly trying to put on his trousers. You act fast as well, doing everything in your power to get the damn dress on and you threw the old dress into a pile of hay in the corner. If you had more time to think perhaps it would be more melodramatic, throwing away the last piece of your old life as if it was nothing. But now? You had no time to think.

You signalled to the halfway dressed man to help you with the zipper in the back. Jisung went right into action, rushing over to you, managing with a trembling hand to get the zipper up right in time for…

“Who’s that?” A voice Said, you remembered him from the picture, that’s Chan, the captain.

“Oh!” Jisung said, clearing his throat, quickly wiping his mouth from whatever excess that was left from you. “This is Miss Y/N. I.. I- uh-“ Jisung said in panic, not sure how to explain to his captain what the fuck he had been doing down here. “I-I was lending her one of our dresses, it’s not like we use them right? I accidentally ruined hers by dropping beer on it” he lies, giving the captain a half sided smile. “But now as you can see she is in the dress so I’ll just go ahead and help her off the ship, thanks” he said and practically pushed you up the ladder to the deck of the ship, leaving the confused captain to wonder what the hell he just witnessed.

“D-Do I really have to go?” You ask slowly, looking at him under the moonlight, a light breeze making his hair blow in the wind… you felt a lump in your stomach again, not like last time, this time you knew… you didn’t wanna leave him.

“W-Well we sail at dawn and perhaps you should find a new place to stay and-“

“Can’t I stay with you?”

“Y/N… I can’t ask that of you? You’ll become a criminal, a whore in the eye of law?” He say, his eyes giving such soft look yet so much pain behind them at the idea of you perhaps leaving for good… you slowly walk up to him, placing one hand on his cheek, making him look at you… he had shown you more humanity, more freedom and lust within these few hours you’d known him than anyone else… you knew you had to stay here…

“I rather be your whore than a noble man’s wife” you whisper, looking into his eyes, seeing how the pain in his eyes flood away and replace with happiness as he grabs your waist, lifts you up and spin you two around, letting out a loud laugh of happiness. You let out a screech and held onto his shoulders tightly as he spun you in case he would drop you, not that he ever would… As he sit you down again he remove his hands form your waits and cups your cheeks like you cupped his a moment ago, placing a couple chaste kisses on your mouth.

“Oh this is” kiss “going to be” kiss kiss “fucking great!” Kiss kiss kiss “I’ll show you the world, I’ll show you what real freedom is”

You couldn’t answer before you heard a voice. You look over at the trapdoor where Chans head stuck out, he held up the dress from the haystack between two fingers.

“Uh, guys? I thought you said it had beer on it, not that you ripped it apart..”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

[jhyoos]

Of Roses And Steel

chapter one : where roses bloom

knight sevika x princess reader

mentions : royalty au, medieval au, romance, strong reader (as in combat and intelligence), silco is king, reader is a heavy daddy’s girl, silco being soft around her daughter, sevika is only 5 years older than you, major character deaths, very long first chapter !

notes : let me know if you guys like the small text or should I go back to bigger words. another chapter will be released tomorrow!

↳ next chapter

The night of the queen’s death remained seared into your memory like a jagged scar, a moment that altered the course of your life—and the kingdom—forever.

Your mother had always been the kingdom’s heart, her kindness radiating like the sun, touching the lives of every villager, knight, and noble. She possessed an innate gift for seeing the good in people, even when they couldn't see it in themselves. When she had married your father, her warmth had melted away the rougher edges of Silco, a man who was once feared for his ruthlessness.

Before her, Silco’s reign had been efficient but cold, his focus solely on maintaining power and expanding the kingdom's borders. But with the queen by his side, something shifted. She softened him, guiding him to rule with compassion as well as strength. Under her influence, roads were built, trade flourished, and the kingdom prospered. When you were born, the union of their love, Silco seemed to find an even deeper purpose. He adored you from the moment he held you in his arms, his mismatched eyes filled with awe.

“She’s perfect,” he’d whispered to the queen, who smiled through her exhaustion. “Just like her mother.”

Your early years were filled with laughter and warmth. Your mother would sing to you in the mornings while brushing your hair, and Silco, despite his busy schedule, would often sneak away from his duties to spend time with you. He read you bedtime stories, his deep voice weaving tales of adventure and bravery. You were his reason to rule with integrity, his reminder that the kingdom’s future depended on more than power—it depended on love.

But everything changed the day your mother decided to visit the village alone.

You were six years old, clinging to her skirts as she prepared to leave.

“Must you go?” you asked, your voice small and pleading.

She knelt before you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I must,” she said gently. “The children in the village are sick, and they need help. But I won’t be long, my love. I’ll be back before the sun sets.”

She kissed your forehead, her smile warm and reassuring, and then she was gone. You spent the rest of the day waiting by the window, watching as the sun dipped lower and lower in the sky.

When the sun finally set and she had not returned, unease settled over the castle like a heavy fog. It was Sevika—then a young squire barely in her teens—who came running into the throne room with the news. Her face was pale, her breath coming in short gasps as she fell to one knee before Silco.

“Your Majesty,” she said, her voice trembling. “There’s been… an attack. The queen—she—”

Silco rose from his throne, his voice cutting through her stammering like a blade. “What happened?”

“She was ambushed,” Sevika managed, her hands clenched into fists. “A group of thieves—they didn’t know who she was. She fought back, but…” Her voice broke, and she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

Silco didn’t need her to. The look in his eyes was enough to send a shiver through the room, a mix of fury and anguish so profound it was almost unbearable to witness. He left the throne room without another word, his footsteps echoing through the silent hall.

The days that followed were marked by grief and silence. Silco locked himself away, emerging only for the queen’s funeral. You remembered the way he stood by her casket, his shoulders rigid, his mismatched eyes devoid of the warmth they once held. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse but steady.

“She was too good for this world,” he said, his gaze fixed on her peaceful face. “But I will ensure her legacy lives on.”

He turned his focus to you, doubling down on his efforts to keep you safe. Guards followed you everywhere, even within the castle walls. He forbade you from going into the village, insisting it was too dangerous. His love became suffocating, a cage built from his fear of losing you as he had lost her.

You grew up under the shadow of that fear, but you refused to let it define you. Determined to honor your mother’s memory, you threw yourself into your studies, mastering everything from diplomacy to combat. Your father disapproved of your training, insisting that the daughter of a king had no need for swords or bows. But you persisted, finding solace in the discipline and focus it required.

It wasn’t until you were sixteen that you truly began to make a name for yourself among the knights. One of the senior knights, impressed by your determination, arranged for you to train with Sevika, who had recently returned to the castle after years spent serving on the borders.

Sevika was in her early twenties then, already gaining a reputation as a skilled and fearless warrior. She had a scar running down the side of her face, a mark of the battle that had earned her the rank of head knight. She rarely spoke, her focus entirely on her duties, but when she did, her words carried weight.

Your first session with her was a turning point. She showed you how to hold a bow, correcting your posture and guiding your hands with a gruff patience you hadn’t expected. “Don’t overthink it,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Just breathe and let the arrow fly.”

For a brief moment, you saw a softer side of her, a flicker of something almost kind beneath her stoic exterior. It was enough to make your heart flutter, a feeling you didn’t entirely understand at the time.

From then on, your crush on Sevika only grew, fueled by fleeting moments of warmth amidst her cold professionalism. She was everything you admired: strong, capable, and unyielding. But she was also distant, her loyalty to your father a wall you doubted you’d ever be able to breach.

You were every bit the spoiled princess, and you made no apologies for it. Your wardrobe was filled with the finest gowns in silks, satins, and velvets, each more extravagant than the last. Shoes adorned with delicate embroidery and shimmering jewels lined your chambers, matched meticulously to every ensemble. The maids who styled your hair each morning knew your tastes well—tight curls for formal occasions, elegant braids when you ventured to court, and soft waves for quiet evenings spent reading in your chambers. It was a life of luxury and ease, one that you embraced wholeheartedly.

Your favorite moments, however, were the hours spent with your ladies-in-waiting. Gathered in the sunlit parlor, the scent of freshly brewed tea mingling with the fragrance of blooming flowers, you would sit for hours, gossiping and laughing with your closest confidantes. Together, you exchanged stories, whispered secrets, and speculated about the various knights, courtiers, and even the visiting nobility. You didn’t shy away from discussing the beauty of the women who graced the castle halls, often causing a ripple of giggles among your companions when your admiration turned bold.

Through it all, there was one secret you kept entirely to yourself: your growing infatuation with Sevika. It wasn’t the kind of crush you could casually admit during tea or in the middle of idle chatter. Sevika’s cold professionalism and the unyielding strength she displayed as the head knight made her a figure of both admiration and intimidation. Her rare moments of warmth toward you—brief, fleeting instances where she adjusted your grip on a bow or gave a quiet word of approval—were treasures you tucked away in your heart, replaying them long after they passed.

But secrets have a way of surfacing, and yours was no exception. One lazy afternoon, as Mel helped you reorganize your chambers, she discovered a bundle of papers hidden beneath your bed. They were scraps of poetry and unsent letters, scrawled confessions of your feelings for Sevika. Mel’s gasp of surprise as she read them turned your blood cold. You tried to snatch them away, but it was too late—she knew. Her teasing smirk was almost unbearable as she leaned against your bedpost, waving the papers at you.

“Sevika?” she drawled, one perfectly arched brow lifting in amusement. “You’re in love with her?” Mel, ever the quick-witted daughter of a noblewoman, didn’t let you live it down easily. Though she was sworn to secrecy, she took great delight in teasing you about your unspoken feelings, often poking fun at how flustered you became whenever Sevika was nearby. Despite your embarrassment, there was a part of you that found comfort in sharing your secret with someone, even if Mel’s constant smirking made you regret it at times.

The dining hall was bathed in warm candlelight, the long table laden with golden platters of roasted meats, fruits, and delicacies from across the kingdom. Laughter and chatter filled the room, and for a brief moment, everything felt peaceful. You sat at your father’s right hand, the place of honor, dressed in a gown of soft lavender silk. The fabric shimmered with each movement, the embroidery catching the flickering light. Around you, nobles toasted to victories, knights traded boasts, and your ladies-in-waiting whispered behind their hands, no doubt commenting on which of the lords appeared most eligible.

You entertained their murmurs with a polite smile, but your focus drifted to the heavy doors of the hall. You noticed them before they opened, as if instinctively sensing Sevika’s arrival. She stepped inside, her boots echoing against the stone floor. She wasn’t in her usual armor but a simpler, dark tunic and breeches, though her presence alone was as commanding as any battle regalia. She moved with purpose, her scarred face set in a grim line.

“Sevika,” Silco called, his voice cutting through the noise. The room fell silent as she approached the king, bowing her head slightly.

“Apologies for the interruption, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice low but carrying easily through the hall. “There’s news from the gates.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. Silco’s eyes narrowed, his wineglass forgotten in his hand. “Speak.”

“The monsters at the borders are escalating their attacks,” Sevika began. “They’re not just striking in waves anymore. It’s constant now. The knights are struggling to keep them contained, and we’re losing ground. Reports suggest their numbers are too great for our current defenses.”

A murmur rippled through the assembled nobles. Silco’s grip on his goblet tightened before he set it down with a sharp clink. “And the commanders? Have they devised a solution?”

Sevika hesitated, her silence answering for her. Finally, she said, “No. They’re holding the line, but we’re losing too many. We need to regroup and rethink our approach.”

Silco’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the chandelier above. Then, decisively, he pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll go to the gates myself. I need to see this for myself and consult with the commanders directly.”

You didn’t think—you simply acted. Rising from your seat as Silco and Sevika left the dining hall, you followed them into the dimly lit corridor. Your silk skirts swished as you hurried after them, your jeweled slippers clicking softly against the stone floor. You reached the shadows just in time to overhear Silco’s voice.

“I’ll leave at dawn with the first battalion,” he said. “The reports alone aren’t enough. If this is as dire as it seems, I need to see it myself. There’s no room for error.”

“Understood,” Sevika replied. “But it’s a risk. The journey to the walls is dangerous, especially with the creatures lurking along the roads.”

“I’ll take that risk,” Silco said firmly. “The kingdom’s stability depends on it. If we don’t act now, there won’t be a kingdom left to protect.”

“Father!” Your voice rang out before you could stop yourself. They turned, surprise flashing across Silco’s face before his expression hardened.

“This doesn’t concern you,” he said, his tone sharp but not unkind.

“It concerns me when you’re talking about putting yourself in danger,” you countered, stepping closer. “You can’t just leave. What if something happens to you?”

Silco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t up for debate, child. I need to go. I won’t make the same mistakes as before by sitting idle.”

Your chest tightened, and the memory of your mother’s final words hit you like a blade. “The last time someone told me they’d come back, they didn’t,” you said, your voice breaking. “She promised me, and she never came home. How can you ask me to watch you walk out that same door and pretend it’s fine?”

Silco’s expression softened, though the steel in his resolve remained. He placed a hand on your shoulder, his mismatched eyes meeting yours. “I understand your fear,” he said quietly. “But I have a duty to this kingdom—and to you. If I don’t go, the threat will only grow worse. You’re stronger than you think, and I’ll return. I promise.”

Before you could respond, Sevika stepped forward, her presence grounding the moment. “He’s right,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. “Your father’s not reckless. He’ll have me and the best knights in the kingdom with him. You don’t need to worry.”

Her words, though meant to reassure, did little to ease the ache in your chest. You looked between them, fighting the tears welling in your eyes. Finally, you nodded, though the knot of unease remained.

As they turned to leave, you stood alone in the corridor, your hands clenched at your sides. The weight of their footsteps faded, leaving only the faint flicker of torchlight and the hollow echo of your thoughts.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of hurried footsteps and quiet murmurs just beyond your door. The servants were already at work, preparing for your father’s departure. Their shuffling echoed in the hallway as they polished the portraits, hung banners in the kingdom’s colors, and arranged the grand send-off for the king. A knot formed in your chest as the realization settled—he was really leaving.

When your maids entered, they didn’t need to speak to know you were already awake. They moved with gentle precision, draping you in a gown of deep crimson, black, and silver. The silk hugged your frame, the silver embroidery catching the faint morning light. Your hair was styled intricately, each strand woven into a braid that they adorned with silver pins shaped like roses. They murmured compliments, but you barely heard them, your thoughts elsewhere.

As soon as they were done, you hurried to the throne room, your stomach twisting with each step. When you entered, the sight of your father nearly stole your breath.

Silco stood at the base of his throne, dressed in armor that seemed more fitting for a king from a storybook than the man you’d grown up with. The polished silver breastplate bore the royal crest, its sharp lines gleaming under the golden light of the chandeliers. A long crimson cape hung from his shoulders, draping elegantly to the floor. At his side rested a sword with a gilded hilt, its weight a reminder of the battle he was about to face.

You didn’t speak at first, your throat tight with the effort to hold yourself together. But when he saw you, his expression softened. For just a moment, the weight of his responsibility lifted, and he looked at you not as a king but as a father.

You crossed the room quickly, wrapping your arms around him in a fierce embrace. He stiffened, surprised, before his arms came around you, holding you as tightly as you held him. His armor was cold against your cheek, but you didn’t care.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “be safe. I love you, Father.”

His grip tightened, his hand brushing the back of your head. “I love you too,” he said, his voice low and filled with something you rarely heard—uncertainty. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his mismatched eyes searching your face. “You’ve grown so much,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Every time I look at you, I see your mother. Her strength, her heart… I hope you know how proud I am of you.”

Your throat burned as tears welled in your eyes. “Then don’t go,” you pleaded softly, your voice breaking. “Please, Father. I can’t lose you, too. I can’t…”

He cupped your face with one hand, his calloused thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek. “I have to, my love,” he said, his voice steady despite the sorrow in his eyes. “This kingdom needs me. And more than that, it needs you. You’re stronger than you think—you always have been.”

His words were meant to reassure you, but they only made the ache in your chest worse. “Promise me,” you whispered. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

“I promise,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. The gesture was lingering, full of the unspoken things he couldn’t bring himself to say. “You’ll see me again before you know it.”

You nodded, though the doubt remained, and reluctantly let him go. As he stepped back, you noticed Sevika standing near the doorway, watching the exchange silently.

You crossed the room to her, your steps hesitant but determined. She straightened when you approached, her expression unreadable.

“I need you to promise me,” you said, your voice firmer now, though your heart still raced. “Promise me you’ll bring him back safe.”

Sevika’s brow furrowed slightly, her usual coldness faltering for a moment. “I promise,” she said simply, her tone calm and even.

You narrowed your eyes, stepping closer until you could see the faint scar on her cheek. “No, Sevika. I’m being serious. I know you just see me as some spoiled princess, but I’m not. He’s all I have. Promise me for real.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she glanced briefly at your hand as it reached for hers. The warmth of your touch seemed to catch her off guard. For a moment, something flickered in her expression—something unspoken.

“I’ll protect him with my life, your highness,” Sevika said, her voice quieter this time. “He’ll come back. You have my word.”

You held her gaze for a long moment, searching for any sign of insincerity. But there was none. Finally, you let her hand go, your heart still heavy but steadied by her promise. As she turned to join your father, you watched them walk away, the ache in your chest growing with each step they took.

For now, all you could do was trust—and wait.

Days turned into weeks, each one heavier than the last as you anxiously awaited your father’s return. The castle felt hollow in his absence, the echo of his authoritative voice replaced by an unnerving silence that no amount of bustling servants or lively courtiers could fill. You tried to busy yourself with your routine, but nothing seemed to dull the ache in your chest.

Mel did her best to distract you, her endless ideas for entertainment failing to ease your worry. She often led you to the gardens, coaxing you to admire the blooming roses or walk among the neat hedgerows. She’d chatter about trivial things—her mother’s letters, the latest gossip among the ladies-in-waiting, or the prospect of an upcoming festival—but her words felt distant, like a hum in the background.

On some days, she’d take you to the nearby lake, where you’d lounge by a small boat anchored at the shore. The gentle lapping of the water against the wood, the songs of birds in the trees, and even Mel’s attempts to make you laugh with exaggerated tales of court drama couldn’t pull you from your thoughts. You were miserable.

The anxiety seeped into your nights, turning them restless. You woke more often than not in cold sweats, the remnants of nightmares clinging to you like a suffocating shroud. Dreams of your father not returning—or worse—haunted your sleep, leaving you too afraid to close your eyes again. You’d toss and turn, clutching the heavy blankets as though they could shield you from your fears.

It wasn’t long before you could no longer bear being alone at night. Mel, ever loyal, started sharing your bed, her presence offering a sliver of comfort. She’d hold your hand or hum softly, her voice lulling you into uneasy sleep. But even with her there, the nights felt unbearably long, and the ache in your chest only grew.

You missed your father. His commanding presence, his sharp words that were always tinged with an undercurrent of affection. No matter how stern he could be, he was your anchor, and his absence left you adrift.

And, though you hated to admit it, you missed Sevika too. Her presence lingered in your mind like a ghost. Even though her words were often clipped and dismissive, there had been something in the way she spoke to you that lit a fire within you. A rare spark of interest, a momentary pause that felt like a flicker of attention just for you.

Her aloofness only made her more enigmatic, her sharp gaze and blunt demeanor stirring feelings that you didn’t quite understand. You replayed your interactions with her over and over in your mind, from the sarcastic comments to the way she’d adjust your posture during archery. It wasn’t much, but to you, it was enough.

It was foolish to feel this way, you told yourself. She was the head knight, loyal to your father and bound by duty. She likely thought of you as nothing more than the king’s spoiled daughter, another responsibility on her long list of obligations.

And yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Each day that passed felt heavier than the last, the weight of your longing for both your father and Sevika pressing down on you. You clung to the hope that their return would bring relief, but until then, you were left to endure the suffocating stillness of the castle and the ache that refused to fade.

Mel, ever persistent in her attempts to lift your spirits, decided that simply resting by the lake was no longer enough. She wanted to give you a moment of true peace, something that might soothe the restlessness in your soul. With a few words to the castle staff, she arranged for a servant to row one of the small boats onto the still waters of the lake.

When the boat was ready, she guided you down to the shore. The late afternoon sun bathed the lake in a soft, golden glow, and the air was filled with the gentle hum of dragonflies and the occasional splash of fish breaking the surface. The sight was tranquil, almost idyllic, but your heart was still heavy.

Mel helped you onto the boat, her steady hand ensuring you didn’t slip on the polished wooden planks. You settled onto the cushioned seat, and as the boat pushed off from the shore, the rhythmic sound of the oars dipping into the water began to lull you into a state of calm.

You leaned against the edge of the boat, resting your head on your folded arm. The water was cool beneath your fingertips as you let your hand trail lazily through it, brushing against the occasional lily pad that floated by. The gentle sway of the boat and the soft rippling of the water were almost hypnotic. For the first time in weeks, you felt a fleeting sense of tranquility.

“If my father and Sevika come back…” you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavy on your tongue, like a confession you hadn’t intended to make. You glanced at your reflection in the water, your face distorted by the ripples. “I’ll actually obey him... and I’ll confess to Sevika about my feelings for her.”

The admission hung in the air, a vulnerable truth you hadn’t even fully admitted to yourself before.

Mel, sitting beside you, turned to look at you. Her usual sharp wit and playful banter were absent as she took in the sincerity of your words. After a moment, she smiled softly, a flicker of warmth and understanding in her expression.

“We’ll see about that, Your Majesty,” she said, her tone light but with a hint of skepticism.

You turned your head slightly to glance at her, catching the faint curve of her lips and the knowing glint in her eye. She didn’t press you further, didn’t tease or pry as she usually might. Instead, she simply leaned back in her seat, allowing you the space to lose yourself in your thoughts.

As the boat glided across the lake, the silence between you was comfortable. Mel’s presence was steady, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t entirely alone in your longing or your fears.

For now, you could allow yourself to hope.

The following week arrived quietly, marked by the same monotony that had filled the days since your father left. You were seated by your vanity, your servant brushing your hair in slow, careful strokes. The rhythmic tug of the bristles on your scalp was almost lulling, but your mind was elsewhere.

Then, a sound shattered the quiet—faint but unmistakable. The trumpets of the king’s arrival.

Your heart leaped in your chest as you sat up straight, the brush slipping from your servant’s hand. “Your Highness?” they asked, startled.

But you didn’t answer. Without hesitation, you jumped to your feet and ran to your balcony, the cool morning air rushing to greet you as you flung open the doors. The grand stone entrance of the castle stretched below you, and there he was—your father, dismounting his horse in a flurry of movement.

As though sensing your presence, his gaze lifted to meet yours. His face softened instantly, a warm smile spreading across his features. He lifted a hand and waved to you, and you couldn’t stop the answering grin that broke across your face.

“Father!” you called out, your voice carrying down to him.

Without a second thought, you spun around and hurried back into your chambers, your bare feet sliding slightly on the polished floors as you moved. You quickly grabbed your slippers, slipping them on clumsily.

“Your Highness, you’re still in your sleepwear—” your servant began, her voice tinged with concern as she reached for you.

“I don’t care!” you called over your shoulder, already halfway out the door.

Your heart raced as you darted through the halls, the familiar corridors blurring past you in your excitement. The heavy stone walls seemed brighter, the tapestries more colorful, as if the castle itself had come alive with his return. The sound of your footsteps echoed off the marble staircase as you descended, nearly stumbling in your haste.

When you finally reached the entrance, your father was just stepping down from his horse, his gloved hands steady as he handed the reins to a nearby stable hand. His cloak billowed slightly in the breeze, his regal presence commanding the attention of everyone around him.

“Father!” you called again, your voice breaking slightly from your breathless sprint.

He turned toward you, his expression shifting from one of composure to pure, unrestrained joy. The moment his eyes met yours, his arms opened wide, and you didn’t hesitate for a second. You closed the distance between you, throwing yourself into his embrace.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you as if he never wanted to let go. His grip was firm, steady, and warm, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“It feels like I’m seeing an angel,” he murmured, his voice low and full of emotion.

You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and faint traces of ink from his correspondence. “I know... me too,” you replied, your voice muffled but no less sincere.

Silco finally pulled back from the embrace, his hands resting on your shoulders as he looked you over, his sharp eyes softening with affection. “Have you been well, my daughter?” he asked, his voice steady yet tinged with concern.

You nodded, though you hesitated before answering. “Yes, Father. I’ve kept up with my studies and my training... though I missed you terribly,” you admitted, your voice faltering slightly at the end.

His expression softened further, and he cupped your cheek with a gloved hand, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “I missed you as well. It was far too long to be away from my only child.”

As he spoke, you noticed the weight of exhaustion in his features—the faint lines of weariness etched into his face and the slight droop of his shoulders. Yet even so, there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes as he looked at you.

He stepped back, his posture straightening as he addressed not just you but the attendants and soldiers gathering around. His voice carried, commanding attention with its authority.

“My soldiers and I have returned victorious,” he announced, his tone filled with the subtle pride of a ruler who demanded respect but did not flaunt his power unnecessarily. “And such a triumph deserves celebration.”

Your heart skipped slightly at his words, and you couldn’t help the small smile that formed on your lips.

Silco continued, his gaze sweeping over the gathered servants and knights. “A feast will be held tonight in the Great Hall. Let it be a night of joy and gratitude for our success and the safety of our kingdom.”

The attendants and soldiers murmured their approval, the quiet hum of excitement rippling through the crowd.

He turned back to you, his expression softer once again. “And you, my child, will be at my side as the kingdom celebrates.”

“I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else,” you replied, your voice steady despite the excitement bubbling within you.

“Good,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But first, you’ll need to prepare. I expect you to look every bit the queen you are destined to be. I trust Mel will see to it?”

You nodded quickly. “She will, Father. I’ll make sure everything is perfect.”

“Good,” Silco repeated, placing a hand on your shoulder briefly before turning to his steward to give further instructions about the preparations.

As the crowd began to disperse, Sevika stepped forward, her ever-stoic presence now standing close behind your father. Her sharp eyes glanced over you briefly before she addressed Silco. “I’ll ensure the knights are ready for the evening, Your Majesty,” she said, her tone curt and professional.

Silco nodded in approval, but before Sevika could leave, his gaze shifted back to you. “Sevika, see that my daughter gets back to her chambers safely. She shouldn’t be running through the halls like that again.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Sevika replied without hesitation.

Your father gave you one last affectionate glance before turning back to his advisors, leaving you standing there with Sevika.

“You heard him,” Sevika said gruffly, her tone laced with the usual edge of authority. “Let’s get you back to your chambers. Can’t have you causing another scene.”

You rolled your eyes slightly but complied, following her as she led the way back into the castle. Despite her sharp words, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort knowing she was there, her towering presence a reminder of both your safety and... something else you weren’t quite ready to admit.

As you and Sevika made your way back through the dimly lit halls of the castle, the cool stone beneath your feet and the drafty corridors sent a shiver down your spine. Without a word, Sevika unclasped her cloak and draped it around your shoulders, the heavy fabric engulfing you in warmth. Her movements were brisk and efficient, as if she had done this a hundred times before, yet the gesture left your cheeks warm in a way that had nothing to do with the cloak itself.

“Thank you,” you murmured, clutching the edges of the cloak tightly around yourself. The faint scent of leather and smoke lingered on the fabric, unmistakably hers.

Sevika gave a short nod, her gaze fixed ahead as the two of you continued walking. The rhythmic clink of her armor filled the silence, but your mind was elsewhere. You kept stealing glances at her, your heart thudding harder with each one. You wanted to speak, to finally confess the feelings you had held onto for so long. The words were right there, resting on the tip of your tongue.

But before you could summon the courage to open your mouth, Sevika’s voice cut through the silence, low and steady.

“Don’t run out in your nightgown again,” she said gruffly, not bothering to glance your way. “It’s quite transparent in the right lighting.”

You froze mid-step, your eyes widening as her words sank in. The warmth in your cheeks flared into a full blush, spreading down your neck as you quickly looked away, your hands instinctively tugging the cloak tighter around your body.

“I-I wasn’t thinking,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted to see my father.”

Sevika finally glanced at you, her sharp eyes briefly scanning your flustered expression before she huffed a soft, almost amused sigh. “That much was obvious.”

You felt your stomach twist with embarrassment, but there was something in her tone—a faint trace of humor, perhaps—that eased the sting of her bluntness.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” you muttered, your gaze fixed firmly on the stone floor as you walked.

“See that you do,” Sevika replied, her voice returning to its usual sternness. “You may be the king’s daughter, but you’re not above common sense.”

Her words stung, but there was no malice in them, only the no-nonsense practicality that defined her. Still, your heart ached as you realized how far away your confession still felt. How could you possibly tell someone like her—so composed, so seemingly unimpressed by you—what you truly felt?

As you neared your chambers, the weight of the unspoken words pressed heavily on your chest. For now, you would settle for the warmth of her cloak and the fleeting moments of attention she gave you, even if they were laced with sternness.

The feast was a spectacle of grandeur. With Mel and a team of diligent servants, you were adorned in your finest jewels, your hair styled to perfection, and the shimmering gown hugging your frame like it was made of starlight itself. The dress—delicate and intricate, like spun silver—glittered under the candlelight, catching every flicker and transforming it into magic. The translucent layers of the fabric hugged your silhouette, leaving just enough to the imagination while maintaining an air of regality.

Mel circled you with a satisfied smile, tucking one final lock of hair into place. “If Sevika doesn’t fall for you tonight,” she teased, “she must be made of stone.”

You swatted her arm lightly but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your lips. With a deep breath, you stepped out into the party, your heels clicking softly against the polished marble floor as you entered the grand ballroom.

The hall was alive with music, laughter, and clinking glasses. The party was far too large for the dining hall, so the grand ballroom served as the perfect venue. Guests danced beneath glittering chandeliers, their movements synchronized to the lively tunes of the string quartet. You and your ladies joined in, swirling through the dance floor in familiar patterns, your laughter mixing with the music.

You’d had two glasses of wine by then—an indulgence you rarely allowed yourself—and it left you feeling warm and light. Your inhibitions melted away, and you let yourself be swept up in the joy of the moment.

That was when you saw her.

Sevika stood near the edge of the ballroom, her tall frame unmistakable even among the most decorated soldiers. Her usual rugged attire was transformed, enhanced with gold detailing that caught the light in flashes of brilliance. Her armor had been polished to a mirror finish, and though her expression remained stoic, she looked breathtakingly regal.

Your gaze lingered, and Mel—ever observant—caught on immediately. She grabbed your wrist, pulling you from the dancing circle with a knowing grin. “Now’s your chance,” she whispered.

You hesitated, your heart racing. “I don’t know, Mel.”

“What if you don’t see her again? What if she leaves for a mission and never comes back?”

The weight of her words struck you, and you turned to look at Sevika again. She was speaking with someone, her stern profile illuminated by the golden light of the chandeliers. Mel was right—you couldn’t waste this moment.

With a deep breath, you smoothed your gown and made your way toward her, weaving through the crowd. When you reached her, you placed a tentative hand on her arm, causing her to turn and look at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Can I speak to you somewhere privately?” you asked softly.

Sevika’s brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded, following you out of the ballroom and into one of the quieter hallways.

The hallway felt like it was closing in around you, the flickering sconces casting fleeting light on Sevika’s armor. Her stern expression was unreadable, and her imposing frame seemed even more unyielding in the dim corridor. Still, you gathered every ounce of courage you could muster. This was your moment, and you couldn’t let it slip away, no matter how heavy the weight of her cold demeanor felt.

You hesitated, the stem of the wine glass trembling in your grip as you tried to muster the courage to speak. She didn’t move, her arms crossed over her chest, waiting. Always waiting, as if the weight of your words was little more than an inconvenience.

"Well?" she said flatly, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "If you dragged me away from the ball for this, I suggest you make it quick."

“I’ve held this in for too long,” you started, your voice trembling slightly. “I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter, that you don’t matter.”

Sevika’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing, her silence more oppressive than any words could be. You stepped closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I love you, Sevika,” you said, your voice cracking under the weight of your confession. “I’ve loved you for years.”

For a moment, her mask slipped. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—surprise, uncertainty, maybe even longing. It was so fleeting you almost doubted you’d seen it at all. But it gave you the courage to close the distance between you, to take her face in your hands.

She didn’t pull away. Her body tensed under your touch, but she remained rooted in place, her breathing shallow and uneven. It was enough. You leaned in, your lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was as much a plea as it was a confession.

For a fleeting moment, she kissed you back. Her lips were hesitant, but warm, and you felt a spark—something you’d only ever dreamed of. It was like the world had stopped, and in that heartbeat, everything else ceased to matter.

But just as quickly, it was over. Sevika’s hands came up, gripping your wrists firmly as she pulled away. The space between you felt like a chasm, and the cold air rushed in where her warmth had been.

“No.” Her voice was sharp, almost a growl. She let go of your wrists, and you staggered back, staring at her in disbelief.

“Sevika—” you started, your voice cracking with desperation.

“Don’t,” she snapped, cutting you off. Her expression was hard, her eyes blazing with something you couldn’t place—anger, regret, pain. “This… whatever this is, it can’t happen. It shouldn’t have happened.”

“Why?” you demanded, tears welling in your eyes. “Why are you doing this? I know you feel something for me. I know you do!”

“Because you’re nothing but a spoiled little girl who doesn’t understand the world she lives in,” Sevika snapped, her tone cold and biting. Her eyes bored into yours, unyielding and merciless. “You think this is some fairy tale where you confess your feelings, and everything falls into place. But that’s not how life works. I serve your father. I protect this kingdom. That is my duty. Not indulging the childish fantasies of a princess who doesn’t know the meaning of sacrifice.”

Her words were a dagger, each one sinking deeper into your chest. You opened your mouth to respond, but no sound came out. The tears you’d been fighting spilled over, streaking your cheeks as you stared at her, your heart breaking with every second that passed.

Sevika’s gaze softened for the briefest moment, but it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the cold mask she always wore. She took a step back, putting more distance between you. “Forget this ever happened,” she said, her voice flat. “And stop chasing after things that aren’t meant for you.”

Without another word, she turned and walked away, her heavy boots echoing down the corridor. You stood there, frozen, as the weight of her rejection pressed down on you. The air felt colder now, the once-grand gown that adorned you suddenly feeling suffocating, like a cage meant to keep you trapped in a world where you could never truly be free.

You slid down the wall, your knees giving out beneath you as you buried your face in your hands. The sound of the ballroom felt even further away now, and for the first time in your life, you wished you could disappear completely.

Mel stepped into the hall, her steps echoing through the quiet corridors of the castle. She froze when she saw you, sitting on the cold stone floor, your body trembling with sobs. The sight of you, usually so composed, crumbled in such a vulnerable state, sent a pang of concern through her chest. “(Y/N)?” she called out softly, her voice filled with both worry and warmth.

Between the heavy breaths, you managed to choke out the words, “She said she didn’t love me back… she called me childish,” your voice breaking as the weight of the rejection hung in the air like a thick, suffocating fog.

Mel's heart ached at the sound of your pain. Without a second thought, she hurried to your side, kneeling down beside you. Her hands gently touched your arms, offering a quiet comfort as she whispered, “Come on, let’s get you back to your room.”

With surprising strength, Mel helped you to your feet, supporting your wobbly legs as you struggled to calm the tears that refused to stop. Her presence was grounding, a steady reassurance in the storm of your emotions. As the two of you walked slowly back toward your chambers, Mel kept a steady hand on your back, guiding you through the castle’s labyrinth of halls.

The comforting silence between you both was interrupted only by the occasional sniffle from you, as you struggled to regain some composure. Mel didn’t say anything more. She knew there was nothing to say—at least not yet. She just wanted to get you somewhere safe, where you could break down if you needed to, without the prying eyes of the castle around you.

taglist: @tinycherry0 @thesecondhandwoman @abbysleftbicepp @artfairyyyyy @bunninel @furrytaesss @savedforlaterr @veladeangl @5t4r1i9ht @athena-winters13 (😝) @inlovewithsevikaandambessa

[daydreaming-nerd]

for the bat boys (or bat boys x feyre), I really wanna see rhys just tied down, desperate, and overwhelmed with pleasure. like everybody just decides to show their high lord some love!! I wanna see rhys in tears (in a good way), and they just praise him and love on him so good!! I can def see rhys having a major praise kink. feel free to ignore tho, thank you!!💖

Our Girl (Bat Boys! x Female! Reader) 

Based off this ask as well

AN: HAHAHA guys I’ve been reading The L.O.R.D.S series by Shantel Tessier and I’ve been fucking loving it. Also I wrote the second half of this in a fucking Barnes and Noble cafe, I was SWEATING, but I wanted to get it done for you because I have some cool Az stuff I’m working on for you!

Summary: When Rhysand becomes High Lord the boys find themselves too busy and too well known to visit their local pleasure house. So they hire the reader to to satisfy their needs.

Warnings: Smut (shocker),sub/dom dynamic, dirty talk, bondage, threesome, objectification, size difference??

Word count: 6,058

Things in Velaris were changing. The second the new High Lord rose to power it was like things were lighter. Shops stayed open later, the people laughed and drank at dinner more often, everything was just better. Yet in the Riverhouse at the edge of the city it seemed there were clouds stirring, in a metaphorical way of course. 

No one had seen Rhysand since the night his father died, which was months ago. 

The most powerful High Lord.

The most dangerous High Lord. 

The most handsome High Lord

And known by the girls at the pleasure house…the most well endowed High Lord.

At least what all my coworkers were whispering around me the day I was brought to the front by the mistress who ran the place. In all honesty I thought I was in trouble, not that I had done anything wrong in the past year I had been here. But no one ever got called to her office for nothing. 

I closed the door behind me to where my mistress was reading a letter, a violet wax seal stamped to the front. Her red hair and red gown complimented the scarlett of her office, of the whole pleasure house really. She claimed it was the color of passion, and demanded that we all practically bathe in it. 

“You asked to see me?” I say timidly. 

I couldn’t afford to lose this job, I had no family, no support system. Nothing to rely on or depend on. Sure it wasn’t the most prestigious career, but I did like it. I had always been interested in sex, fascinated with it really. The woman who lived next door to my family growing up was a sex worker. She always wore the most beautiful gowns and jewels, and lured the most handsome men to her home. My mother cursed me when I said I wanted to look like her one day but I didn’t care. 

“Yes I have a letter here, from the High Lord,” she says, showing me the letter she had been reading when I walked in. 

My eyes widen and the air is sucked from my lungs. What could the High Lord want with the house? Hell, what would the High Lord want with me? 

“The High Lord?” I gawk, taking a step forward attempting to catch a glance at the letter. 

She puts her glasses back down on her nose and reads the paper again, “yes, he asks that I send my very best girl to his townhouse at my earliest convenience.” 

“And you’re picking me?” I ask, my eyes wide. 

“You rake in more money than all the rest of the girls, you’re beautiful, elegant and well versed. I can think of no one better.” she explains setting the letter down on the desk.

My mind swirls, what does the High Lord want? Well sex of course, but I wasn’t one for house calls. Though I suppose he was the High Lord , he couldn’t very well walk in here with the anonymity that others could. 

“Well don’t just stand there!” my mistress shouts. “Go to the townhouse before he thinks me to be a simple fool.” 

I jilt from my thoughts and nod, walking briskly out the door. I bypass the other girls who are chatting about the High Lord and I wonder if any of them are aware of the letter that was sent, what his intentions might be. I guess there’s only one way to find out. 

I had watched the townhouse on the hill my entire life, knew that the High Lord lived there, and constantly wondered what it might be like inside. It was like the scary house at the end of the street that children stayed away from; it had been built up to that mythical status. Except it wasn’t scary—unless you counted scarily prestigious.

As I walked up the front steps and knocked on the door a woman with dark skin and   darker hair opened it and signaled for me to come in. The lush, thick, carpets gave reprieve to my aching feet. Stilettos on cobblestone was never a good idea, but what else did one wear to meet their High Lord? 

She gestured to a set of double doors at the end of the hall. I took in my surroundings, for what it was worth the place was beautiful. Ornate but tasteful. Expensive but lived in. I can see why the High Lord never left. I took a deep breath but before I could even knock on the doors a deep voice, one that could only be described as Night Triumphant, beckoned me to enter. 

I creaked open the door to find the High Lord busily doing paperwork at his desk. He was nothing and everything that I had expected. When the girls at the home whispered of his looks, his charm, I thought of something mythical. But the male before me? He transcended even that. 

His legendary violet eyes flitted up to mine and I swore my breath caught in my throat. He sat his papers down to the side as he stood, bracing his hands on his desk. If his height didn’t make me feel small the sheer power radiating off of him did. 

“My, my,” he croons, rounding the desk to lean against the front. “You are exquisite,” he says, crossing his strong arms in front of his chest. 

I suddenly remember the reason I was summoned here in the first place and I put on the mask, the role I was supposed to play. 

“Well my Lord, you asked for the very best.” I say smoothly taking two steps towards him. “So here I am.” 

“While I love the way ‘my Lord’ rolls off that pretty tongue, feel free to call me Rhysand, you’re going to be here for a while.” he smirked, and I swore there was a star that flashed in his eye. 

I nearly gulped at his words. 

You’re going to be here for a while…

I had been with needy men before, made a career out of it. But this was no man, and I wondered if I could keep up with him. 

“As you wish,” I say nodding my  head obediently. Males like him strived for dominance, it was my job to anticipate that. 

I feel a hand tilt my chin up and once again I’m met with his intense gaze. I was right about the stars, his eyes were littered with them. 

“The selfish part of me wants to play with you right now, but I have a feeling my brothers would be more than angry at me for having you first,” he smirked, his breath so hot on my face I almost jumped when I realized how close he was to me. 

Wait, the High Lord didn’t have brothers, he was an only child, an orphan really. “Brothers?” I ask, the question had slipped out before I could think of a better more professional way to ask. 

“Well not my biological brothers, but my brothers in arms I suppose,” he smirks, releasing my chin taking a step back towards his desk again. “Cassian, the general of my armies and Azriel my spymaster.” 

My breath gets caught in my throat. I had heard stories of the High Lord’s most trusted members of his court. They were large, Illyrian, and death on swift wings. My face must’ve given away my shock as Rhysand let out a low chuckle. 

“Don’t worry they won’t hurt you. They are to care for you as I do, it’s all written here in your contract,” he explained, sitting down and sliding a piece of paper over the desk. 

I made myself comfortable in the seat opposite of him, plucking the paper from the desk and skimming it over.

“You see,”  he begins. “Becoming High Lord has been rewarding but…well…tiring. Cassian and Azriel are just as tired. We aren’t given the same anonymity we had in our youth which has made finding sexual release difficult.” he said, his cheeks blushing slightly. 

“You’ll live here, I already have a room prepared for you. I’ll provide you with a salary  and provide for you in any way you need. In return you provide us with your…services?” he says the last word like he can’t think of a better way to say it. How is he sexy reading my contract to me?

I set the contract on the desk, “And what are the parameters of these services?” I ask leaning forward on the desk. 

Rhysand smiles leaning forward with me, “Mostly we will seek you out on our own but there will be certain times, like tonight, where we will want to share,” he grins like he can already see the scene. 

I nod slowly waiting for him to add anything else and he does. 

“Of course there will be safewords, though I doubt you will need them. Your mistress said you have a rather large palette,” he says and I get his meaning immediately. 

I can’t help but blush, the male already knows more about me than I do him. Something that rarely ever happens in my line of work.

“She didn’t mislead you,” I say, my lips tugging into a small smile. 

“Then you’ll take the job?” he asks plucking a fountain pen from its resting place. 

I look at the large number with lots of zeros written under ‘Salary’, it’s more than I make in three months. I could pay off all my debts with the first two paychecks, and after that? Well the shops of Velaris wouldn’t know what hit them. I could have the life I always dreamed of, expensive silks, fancy soaps, wine aged for thousands of years. And all I had to do was sleep with the three most powerful males in the Night Court. What female could possibly say no?

“I will,” I say, plucking the pen out of the High Lord’s hands singing the marked places next to his ornate signature. 

I look up to see Rhysand already staring at me, with a lust I hadn’t seen before, not in any male. How long had it been since he had sex?

He stands holding his hand out to me, “Allow me to show you to your room.”

“Are you ready to meet them?” Rhys asks with a glint in his violet eyes. 

I nod.

“Good I’ll go preface in, come in when I call you,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to my brow. 

Gods this man was incredible. Paycheck aside, I think I would bend over backwards just to hear him call me a good girl again. Something told me I would be doing just that for the foreseeable future. 

Rhysand opened the double doors and slipped in, the moment he closed it I pressed my ear to the door so that I could hear him. 

“Rhys what’s this about? I have business to attend to,” I hear a deep voice rumble. 

Rhys’ signature chuckle echoes off the walls, “I assure you Cassian that this is well worth your time.” he says. “Az you look tense,” he jests. 

“That’s because I am.” groans another voice. “We’ve been running all around the court righting all wrongs while you sit holed up in here doing paperwork.” 

“As I am well aware,” Rhys starts again. “And I don’t want to be known as the High Lord that merely takes, especially from the two males  I consider to be my brothers. So, I got you a little gift.” 

A pause of anticipatory silence fills the room. 

“Darling won’t you come out now?” Rhys beckons me. 

I open the door to find Rhys standing before two Illyrians sitting on the couch, both of them relaxed like this was their own home, and perhaps it was. 

“Huh?” asked the slightly larger one, with longer black hair. 

“She’s your gift, well, our gift,” Rhys said, pulling a hand around my waist. “I just hired her from the pleasure house in town, she is the best of the best. I know we all haven’t been able to visit the establishment since I came into power and I’m sure you’re both just as…frustrated as I am.” 

“How long do we have her for?” the same Illyrian asked, the one beside him seemingly more quiet. 

“She will be living with us. Use her as you’d like. Dress her however you want, but keep it classy. She’s as much yours as she is mine” Rhys smiles tilting my chin to meet his gaze and I swore my knees trembled a bit. “Though I’m sure she’ll remember who pays her?” he teases. 

“Yes my Lord,” I say seductively, it used to be an act, but not anymore. 

“My Lord,” he repeats. “I quite like the sound of that,” he purrs, looking over to the males sitting on the couch. 

The one with the red siphons smirks, throwing his arms over the back of the couch and spreading his legs. His thighs alone were the size of my head and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to get myself off on them alone. 

“Come here princess, sit on my lap,” he purrs, patting his thigh. 

I slip out of Rhysand’s grasp and pad over to perch myself on the Illyrians leg. The rippling muscles under me tensing. His hand comes up to brush a stray hair from my face as he takes in every inch of me. 

“You are a pretty little thing aren’t you?” he smirks as his other hand comes to support my back. 

Oh I was in for it, I was so in for it. 

“She’s the best of the best, her name is y/n.” Rhysand drawls watching intently as his brother who I have deciphered is Cassian, inspects me. “We decided earlier that her safeword will be starlight,”

“Y/n, huh?” he smiles brushing a stray hair from my face as he drinks in my attire, something Rhysand had clearly purchased for me to wear tonight. A black sheer little nightgown. Revealing, yet classy like he has said. It was clear to me that the male had exquisite taste. 

I feel a warm leather bump into my back as a scarred hand runs over my shoulder. I crane my neck up to find Azriel standing above me, from where he stands he can no doubt get a great view of my tits. 

“How should we thank dear old Rhysand for this marvelous present?” Cassian asks Azriel and the shadow singers eyes gleam.

“Oh I can think of a few ways,” he smirks. 

As if they all had one mind we were winnowed to the bedroom upstairs, my bedroom I realized. The bed had been made big enough for all of us, and I wonder how empty it would feel when the boys weren’t around. 

I look around me, the positions of us all haven’t changed. I find myself gazing up at Azriel, the hungry look in his eye has me taking a step back only to bump right into Cassian earning a chuckle from the general.  A glace to my bed has me seeing Rhysand sitting on it’s edge. 

“Az,” Cassian mumbles, sharing a knowing look at the shadow singer.

Before I can put together the pieces of Cassian and Azriel’s interaction, bands of shadows shoot from all over the room wrapping themselves around the hands and wrists of the High Lord. Rhys struggles for a moment, like it's second nature before he gives in, his face stern. 

“Az that’s enough,” he scowls. 

Azriel brushes off the command and turns my chin to meet his gaze. His finger brushes over my  bottom lip and I close my top lip over his thumb, giving it a gentle experimental suck. His eyes darken and the next thing I know I’m sucking on his thumb and looking at him like a doe eyed fool. 

“What a good girl she is,” he croons before dragging my face to him, replacing his thumb with his lips. 

His kiss and deep and searing, like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. His hands come to cup my face, keeping me there as he kisses me like a starved male. Gods, how long had it been since any of them had sex?

My hair is pushed to the side as I feel the general begin to leave sloppy kisses on my neck. He pulls my hips toward him, and I’m met with his hard on pressed to my back and his bare chest warming my skin. Azriel steps back with love drunk eyes and Cassian takes his opportunity to turn my hips so I’m facing him. 

Somehow he’s even more hulking and intimidating when bare. My eyes glance over the expanse of well built muscles to where his cock is already hard and leaking, and by the size of it I could tell I would be sore tomorrow. 

From behind me I can hear the faint unclasping of buckles signaling that Azriel is mimicking Cassian’s movements. 

“Let’s see you now, little one,” the general smirks before sliding both straps of the see through the gown off my shoulders. The black mesh falls to a pool of fabric on the floor and I’m laid bare for him, for all of them. 

A snap reverberates through the room pulling my attention to Rhysand, his sophisticated garb now long gone. The plains of his toned muscles and swirling tattoos that resemble his brothers on full display along with his aching cock. He’s even more marvelous nude than he is clothed. His lips tug up at the corner as he sees me eye fucking him. 

Cassian’s hand goes under my bare breast bringing my attention back to him, it seems that while I was ogling Rhys, he was studying me. 

“Rhys you’ve outdone yourself,” Cassian smirks and I’ve never felt so exposed. “Her tits are perfect,” he smiles before bending down to suckle an aching nipple into his mouth. 

I moan and lean back ever so slightly into a muscled chest, when I open my eyes Azriel stares down at me. A scarred hand drifts over my shoulder, down my side, and across my bum until it cups my sex and I gasp. 

Cassian’s lips smile against my breast before he moves on to the next one, my breath catching in my throat once again. 

“So small,” Azriel teases, referring to my cunt. “I’m not sure she can take us.” The glint in his eye tells me that this is a challenge, a test. 

“I can,” I say confidently and the shadowsinger laughs. 

“I think I’ll test that out,” Cassian grumbles, taking me in his arms. 

I’m pulled from Azriel’s fiery touch as the warmth of Cassian seeps into me. For the first time in a while my eyes snap to Rhysand. His brow was laced with sweat, as well as the skin on his chest. 

“Oh poor Rhys, did you want to touch her?” Azriel taunted, I was honestly surprised that they would dare to put their High Lord in this position. 

“Please,” Rhysand whimpered, making my heart lurch. 

Did  the most powerful High Lord, the most dangerous High Lord. the most handsome High Lord, the most well endowed High Lord… just beg? 

A sudden boost of confidence fills my chest. 

“Az pull him back on the bed, I’m going to be needing some room,” Cassian boasts massaging circles on my hips. 

Rhysand is pulled to the headboard, the shadows on his wrists pulling his arms out to either side as well as the ones on his ankles, preventing him from getting any sort of friction. The High Lord cursed, as if the brief fiction on his balls from being dragged across the sheets might’ve been enough to get him off.  The logical part of me knew that he could break free of these restraints at any given moment, hells the power practically radiated off of him. But he was here to play the game and I was too. 

“Why don’t you go play with your High Lord a little bit sweetheart,” Cassian croons, clearly loving the power trip he’s on. I take two steps forward before the general grabs me by the throat hauling me to his chest again. I look up at him like a love sick fool. “But stay clear of his cock. He’ll be the last to cum tonight. Doesn’t that seem fair Az?” 

“Seems more than fair to me, seeing as we’ve been doing all the flying around these past few weeks,” Azriel chuckles. 

Cassian releases my throat and I make my way over to the breathless High Lord. It takes everything in me not to straddle him and take him right there. His cock was red, angry, practically begging for it.

I sit on the edge of the bed to his right giving him my best bedroom eyes. Gone was the cocky male from earlier who made all sorts of promises of bedding me the best. Instead a male stripped to his most vulnerable sat before me, chest heaving, eyes wild. The muscles of his arms and legs flexing and bulging from trying to break free of the shadows that bound him, the bindings that made him this way. 

“They aren’t being very fair to you are they?” I say seductively trailing a hand down his shoulders, over the plains of his chest and to his abs. 

He shudders under my touch, “no they aren’t,” he breathes. 

“Mmm,” I hum, placing a kiss on his neck, even the thin sheen of sweat on him tasted divine. “And you were so nice, sharing your little fuck toy with them and now they won’t let me play with you,” I say donning a fake sadness. 

My hand brushes over his hip bone and down his thigh, carefully avoiding the hard erection begging to be brushed. 

“Please,” he whimpers his lips hot on my cheek, and I swear I hear Cassian and Azriel chuckle behind me. 

My hand swoops to his inner thigh, teasing the muscles there. His whimper has me caving, and I feel as though I’m suddenly not acting of my own accord as my hand wanders towards his cock. 

“Ah, ah, ah!” I hear Cassian tut before scooping  me into his arms and pulling me away from Rhys. Causing the latter to groan in frustration. 

“Using daemati to get a female to jerk you off? That’s a new low for you, Rhys.” Azriel chuckles 

Daemati. That would explain why I didn’t feel like I was in control for that one moment. I had heard that the High Lord possessed such powers, but I thought they were simply myths. 

I feel myself being bent over the storage bench at the end of the bed, the cloth covered fluff cushioning my knees and hands as I feel a harsh slap to my bum. 

“Fuck this is going to be so good,” Cassian murmurs from behind me. 

Azriel stands at the other end of the bench fisting his cock but before he can speak Cassian enters me. 

“Oh Gods!” I scream as I feel myself being pushed forward on my hands. 

The stretch of the general filling me so completely had me wondering if Azriel was right about my ability to take them all earlier. Cassian’s hands come to pull me down onto him, as if he needed the help to fully sheathe himself. One hand on my lower back, one on my hip.

“Shit she’s so fuckin’ tight,” Cassian groans as he begins to rock into me.

“Please, please,” Rhysand begs from his spot on the bed. 

I don’t even bother to see the new beads of sweat dripping from his brow, the drops of precum leaking out of his painfully hard cock. Hell, I can’t even think about anything other than the feeling of Cassian picking up the pace behind me. 

“Shh Rhys, I’m enjoying this tight little pus,” Cassian groans, tightening his hold on my hips. 

My arms are starting to go limp when Azriel’s hand tilts my chin up so he can see my fucked out face. 

“Open your mouth little one,” he says, fisting his cock and I obey like a puppet on a string. “What a good girl,” he smirks before tapping his cock on my outstretched tongue. 

“Fuck her mouth Az,” Cassian groans doubling down on his thrusts behind me. 

“You’re such an obedient little thing, I think I’m going to have a lot of fun with you.” he croons before thrusting his cock inside my mouth. 

The general’s relentless hammering shoves Azriel’s cock down my throat in perfect tandem and I start to wonder if there are other females who have found themselves in my position. With the way they fuck both ends of me so efficiently I wouldn’t doubt it.

It isn’t until my drool is falling down my face mixing with my tears that Azriel grips my hair forcing me down on his cock more. The male became more needy than he had been all night as his soft grunts filled the room. My eyes flitted to his hazel ones and a self satisfied smirk crossed his face. 

“You like this don’t you? You like being fucked in both your little holes?” He teases me, pulling my hair harder. 

His words have me whimpering around him and curling my toes. The spymaster was right, I loved this. That I could make these males, the most powerful in the Night Court, so feral, so unhinged. 

Cassain chuckles behind me slapping my ass again, “Too bad we don’t have someone to fuck this third hole back here,” he says taunting Rhys as I feel him trace a finger over that said third hole. 

“Fuck,” Rhys hisses from where Azriel has him restrained, watching the show they’re giving him. 

I feel my legs starting to tremble beneath me and as they start to give out Cassian swipes both hands under my hips to keep me upright. So upright my knees don't even touch the bench anymore allowing him to fuck me harder, deeper, and faster.

“You going to cum little one?” Cassian taunts me, picking up the pace a bit. 

My whine is enough to have Azriel slamming his hips into my face, spilling himself down my throat as my nose brushes the hair at the base of his cock. For a moment I can’t breathe at all, as I feel his seed spill over my tongue. When he pulls out I finally take in a deep breath, which is short lived as he grabs my chin forcing me to meet his gaze again. 

“Swallow,” he orders. 

I do as I’m told, feeling the thick white ropes slide down my throat, warming my stomach. 

His thumb tugs my jaw down forcing my mouth open as he makes sure every last drop is gone. When he’s satisfied he closes my mouth and gives my cheek a light slap, “good girl.” he mutters. 

“Finally,” Cassian breathes and I feel my front being shoved into the cushions on the bench before me, allowing Cassian to drive deeper. It seems his brother's use of my mouth was quite the inconvenience for him.

I make eye contact with Rhys who's painting and sweating. Moans and curses fall from his lips as he watches Cassian take me hard. It’s not long until I’m cumming around his cock.

“Oh gods!” I scream feeling my legs shake and the knot in my stomach unwind as I cum all over the general’s cock. 

Cassian growls, deep and primal, before delivering one last thrust, spilling himself into me, “That’s a good girl. Take it, take all of it.” he groans, forcing my body down. 

As the Illyrian pulls out of me I can feel my heart beating in my throat and in my head. My chest rises and falls in time with my shaking legs. But I know I’m not done, not while Rhysand looks at me like I’m water and he’s been wandering the deserts of summer for too long.

“You were so good, Rhys,” Cassian taunts, running his hand down the High Lord’s leg making his chest rise faster. “We just wanted to thank you for your wonderful gift, didn’t we Az?” 

Azriel nodded next to me, his scarred hands pulling me up  by my shoulders and then  hoisting me up by my thighs so my back was to his front. The position was more than awkward, but as he placed me on his High Lord’s shaking lap I understood why. 

“Make him feel real good princess, we love our Rhysie,” Azriel laughs upon seeing Rhys breath picking up. Despite his words he kept his restraints on the Lord, one last test. 

I place my hands on his chest, the skin there cold and clammy, and I can’t help but want to feel more. His eyes are blown out, and I feel as though he’s looking right through me. He’s a vision like this, maybe even more so than when he was sitting behind his desk looking like sheer power. He was vulnerable here. 

I run a hand down his face like I’m unable to help it and his eyes widen, “So handsome my Lord,” I breathe. “What do you want from me?” I ask as I press my lips to his.

He can hardly kiss back, can hardly even think besides anything but the need. Beside him his brothers run a hand through his hair and whisper praises to him, trying to bring him back. 

“Anything p-please, t-touch me,” he whimpers and I swear I see a tear roll down his face.  From not being touched at all, to being touched everywhere but where he needs most, the High Lord was being pushed to his limits. 

“Yes my Lord,” I whisper before sinking myself on his cock. 

Where Cassian was thicker, Rhysand was long, digging so deep into me that I felt a pinch as he brushed my cervix. The pain bringing me back from the fuck out haze the spymaster and the general left me in. 

Rhysand hissed low, “Oh fuck yes,” he groans pushing his head back on the headboard. 

Cassian’s hand comes up to brush the fallen hair and sweat from his High Lord’s head, “She’s a tight little thing isn’t she?” he asks, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

I splay my hands across Rhys’ chest, trying to give myself the leverage needed to bounce myself up and down on his cock. The slow drag of him inside of me has me scrunching my eyes shut trying to savor every sensation. My shaking legs make it hard to move myself up and down. 

“More, p-please,” Rhysand groans, his voice dropping deeper and starting to resemble the tone I heard this afternoon. 

“Az give her a hand,” Cassian instructs from where he sits by Rhys. 

I feel Azriel settle in behind me, his warm chest bumping against the clammy skin of my back. His hands lift my hips helping me to bounce up and down like I’m nothing but a cocksleeve. The motion makes me gasp and writhe as I’m able to settle to a faster and more stable pace. 

“Oh fuck Az,” Rhysand bites out. “I can’t,” he groans and I watch the muscles of his chest and arms go taut as he pulls on the shadowy bindings that keep him from touching me. 

The strain in his arms and chest is so great that I can see each individual muscle the Lord had built through the years. I couldn’t help but run my hands over him feeling each one. 

“Let him go Az,” Cassian instructs the shadowsinger and within seconds the bindings are gone, like even Az wanted to see what his High Lord would do next. 

Rhysand’s hands fall from the headboard and find their way to my hips. Turns out him not being able to touch me was a punishment for both of us. He shifts his hips so I fall forward, and he connects his lips to mine as he thrusts up into me, putting me at his mercy.

He consumes my mouth fully, running his hands up and down my sides greedily before squeezing my breast making me moan into his mouth. The way he kisses me tells me that I’m no longer in charge and neither is anyone else in this room for that matter. 

His lips detach from mine and fall to my neck leaving opened mouthed kisses there. His hands leave bruises in the skin of my hips as he slams up into me, his cock hitting my cervix with each stroke, those initial stings of pain becoming pleasure. 

“Oh fuck Rhys,” I moan completely forgetting his title. 

“Say it again,” he growls, his voice dangerously low. “Let them know who owns you!” 

I had completely forgotten about the other Illyrians in the room with us. I glance to the side to find Azriel fisting his cock beside me. When I don’t moan the Lord name again a swift slap comes across my ass. 

“Rhysand!” I cry out, feeling the euphoria of him. 

“Fuck it,” he seethes and before I register what he means by it, my back hits the mattress. 

The new position gives him a new range of motion to piston into me. Somehow he’s able to hit me even deeper this way.  Causing me to let out wanton cries and moans as he fucks me, my polished nails scraping down his back trying to find purchase. 

“Yeah Rhys get it!” Cassian cheers from the edge of the bed. 

The taunt makes the High Lord feral, slamming his hips into me. He’s more animal than man at this point having been teased all night. The near primal growl he lets out has me cumming on his cock, my back arching off the back, my moan guttural. 

My cunt squeezes his cock as pleasure lights up my body like lightning, and it isn’t long until  I feel his hips stutter as he cums inside of me with a groan. 

“Oh fuck yes,” his voice is like gravel as I feel him spilling inside of me endlessly, his seed joining Cassian’s. 

Faintly, through the roaring in my ears I can hear Cassian and Azriel’s grunts as well as they finish. The idea of them getting off to their High Lord cumming inside of me is almost enough to make me beg him to do it again. But as he collapses beside me I feel how spent I truly am. 

Rhys hand comes to brush back my hair from my face as he places a kiss to my temple, “Such a good girl for us,” he says to me before turning to Cassian again, “Go get her a towel and a glass of water.” he orders, clearly re-assuming his role as the High Lord. 

He spends the next minute or so running a hand over my hair as he cradles me to his chest soothing me. My breath starts to slow and I feel a warm towel beneath my legs as Cassian wipes away the mess they both made. Glass touches my lips as Rhys helps me to drink the water brought to me. Whatever I don’t finish he downs in one go. 

“Leave us,” he orders pulling the covers over our cold and clammy bodies. 

“What no post sex cuddles for me?” Cassian laughs, throwing up his hands. I laugh before placing a kiss on Rhys chest, as much as I wouldn’t mind all three of them holding me right now I know who pays my bills now. 

“Fine,” Rhys huffs, throwing back the covers behind me so Cass can slip in. 

I wonder where Azriel will lie, but when my eyes search for him he’s already out the door walking to his own room undoubtedly. Something tells me he’s different from his two brothers, he’s quiet, but the words he told me earlier have me wondering what’s up his sleeve.

Cassian’s arms curl around me, and eventually the three of us fall asleep. But the voice that swims through my head as sleep takes me is Azriel’s.

I think I’m going to have a lot of fun with you…

(This is going to be a series! I think I'll do one for each bat boy! If you want to be tagged let me know and if there's any kinky shit you wanna see let me know in the comments or drop it in my inbox!)

Taglist: @yearninglustfully, @moviesismylife,  @readingislife2006, @bookishbroadwaybish, @danikamariemain,  @winchesterbbygrl

Permanent Taglist: @fides25, @dissociated-always @crystalferret202, @batboyrhyrhy , @kennedy-brooke , @sunshineangel-reads , @lilah-asteria , @evergreenlark

[hanshenrykcd]

“I’ll be back,” Henry told his lord, even though he barely believed it himself. Hans didn’t seem convinced either. He didn’t meet his gaze, just sighed and turned his face away. And Henry couldn’t stand seeing him like that: sad, worried—defeated.

He needed Hans to believe him, to hold onto hope, and not to end up like Gelehaut in the story. Even if Henry wouldn’t make it himself, he needed Hans to escape the siege unscathed and to claim what was rightfully his. He needed him to survive and have a great life—with or without him.

So Henry placed his hand on top of Hans’s to get his attention, to perhaps assure him, to comfort him. “I promise you,” he said, managing to sound a bit more earnest this time.

It worked, because Hans turned to look at him, and the corners of his lips curled into a smile. It wasn’t his big grin with flashing teeth or polite, practiced noble smile. It was his rare smile, the one he saved for special occasions, the one that traveled all the way up to his eyes and made something stir in the pit of Henry’s stomach. And he couldn’t look at it for one more second, because if he did, he would crumble.

“And everything will be alright,” he added, as he retracted his hand and rose from the bed. He paused long enough to see the way Hans’s smile had twisted into a defeated sadness once more, and it was too much to bear. He needed to leave before the image burned itself into his mind as the last memory he would have of their goodbye.

“I’ll bring the reinforcements…” He started walking toward the door, but suddenly there was a hand closing around his wrist, pulling him around.

Before his mind could register, Hans’s lips were on his. Desperate, frantic, surprisingly soft, warm. For a moment, Henry got lost in it. It felt like when he attempted to swim and was pulled down under. Helpless. Fueled by fear.

And for a second—just a second—he let himself sink.

But then reality came crashing back, throwing him up on shore right on time. He pulled away with a grunt, his brain slowly catching up with what had just happened.

He almost unconsciously backed away from Hans, his thoughts reeling and heart hammering, refusing to settle down, almost like it wanted to tell him something. But instead he turned away fully, trying to make sense of what had happened, why it had happened. He cared for Hans more than he had ever thought possible. These past few weeks had made him realize that. He was obligated to protect Hans, but even if he hadn’t been, he would do anything for him.

Hans was apologizing in the background, but Henry could barely hear him over the thrumming of his own blood. What they shared was deeper than friendship, beyond mere companionship. Hans’s presence—his laughter, his scent, that sharp tongue of his, even his spoiled little pout—sometimes made Henry’s pulse spike. But he had never imagined anything to actually happen, because Hans would go on and on about wenches.

And because it was a sin. Anything else but a husband and wife was unnatural, wrong, condemned. Henry stopped by the door, knowing full well he should leave. But the taste of Hans was still lingering on his lips, making it impossible. It didn’t make sense for it to be wrong, when it had felt the complete opposite, when it had set something alight inside him. This could be the last time they saw each other. He couldn’t leave like that. Not after getting a taste, not after knowing what it felt like to kiss Hans Capon.

It’s a sin—sodomy.

And yet he locked the door, ignoring everything he had been taught to believe. Because whatever he felt for Hans was stronger than his fear of hell and punishment.

Without a word, Henry walked up to him standing by the fireplace, holding onto some wood. He grabbed Hans by his arm, turning him around, the wood falling to the floor with a clattering sound. Henry then caught him by the waist, pulling him closer, their lips meeting in a kiss. The kiss felt different this time, because everything Henry was incapable of saying out loud was poured into it—and Hans responded immediately, wrapping his arms around him like he understood every word. And for a moment, the crucial task Henry had before him was all but forgotten.

It was just the two of them. 

[hisfavegirl]

Resolve - Aemond Targaryen x SisterWife!Reader x Aegon Targaryen

Summary : the situation rewinds to when you found out you were pregnant, your mother made a tough decision for you and aegon.

You walked slowly through the garden, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot mixing with the gentle rustling of leaves swaying in the breeze. The sun bathed the world in golden warmth, and the air was sweet with the scent of blooming flowers. Your eyes followed your daughter as she ran ahead, her silver hair catching the light like threads of silk. Her laughter echoed like the sweetest melody, filling the empty spaces in your heart with warmth.

A smile tugged at your lips as you watched her chase after a butterfly, her little feet pattering on the stone path. Moments like this were rare — moments where everything felt simple, peaceful, and whole.

But then it struck. A sudden wave of nausea. It was sharp and overwhelming, twisting your stomach into painful knots. Your breath hitched, and your steps faltered. Panic rose in your chest, but you forced yourself to stay calm.

“Not here,” you whispered to yourself, glancing toward your daughter to make sure she was still preoccupied with her game.

But it was too late. The bitter taste surged up your throat. Clutching your stomach, you turned quickly and rushed toward a cluster of bushes near the edge of the path. You barely had time to kneel before you heaved, your body betraying you as you emptied the contents of your stomach into the grass. The taste was foul, the strain on your body harsh and unrelenting.

For a moment, you stayed there, one hand braced on the ground, the other pressed to your chest as you took shallow, ragged breaths. Your heart pounded in your ears, and sweat dotted your brow.

“Mother?” a small, worried voice called from behind you. Your daughter.

You wiped your mouth quickly with the back of your hand, swallowing the bitterness that lingered on your tongue. Turning toward her, you forced a smile, even as your body still felt weak.

“I’m all right, my sweet girl,” you said softly, reaching for her hand as she approached. Her eyes were filled with worry, far too knowing for a child so young. She leaned into you, her small hands resting on your arm as she gazed up at you.

“Are you sick?” she asked, tilting her head.

You hesitated. Your mind turned over the possibilities, your breath still unsteady. It wasn’t the first time you’d felt this way recently. No, it had been happening for days now — sudden waves of nausea, fatigue that clung to you like a fog.

Realization struck you like a thunderclap. Your eyes widened, your breath catching in your throat.

No. It couldn’t be. Not now.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

You were with child. Again.

The weight of the truth pressed heavily on your chest as you sat by the window of your chambers, watching the pale light of dawn spill over the Red Keep. Your fingers absently traced circles on your stomach, a gesture of quiet reassurance — for yourself, for the life growing within you.

You knew whose child it was. There was no doubt in your mind. Aegon. The man who had been your refuge when the world turned cold. The man who saw you when others refused. He had given you warmth when you felt frozen, love when you felt abandoned. This child was his, not Aemond’s.

But love did not erase fear. It did not silence the questions that echoed in your mind.

What will Mother say?

What will they all say?

You knew Alicent would not be pleased. She had fought to maintain control of her family’s reputation, to keep order where chaos always lingered. Her dreams of noble unity had already crumbled once with the annulment of your marriage to Aemond. This would be another crack in the fragile image she sought to preserve.

With a deep breath, you rose from your chair. You couldn’t delay this any longer. She had to know.

The walk to your mother’s chambers felt longer than usual. Servants bowed as you passed, and guards gave you polite nods, but you barely noticed them. Your heart pounded in your chest with every step. What if she blames me? you wondered. What if she blames the child?

When you reached the door, you hesitated. Your hand hovered over the polished wood for a moment before you finally knocked.

“Enter,” came Alicent’s familiar voice from within.

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside. Your mother was seated near the window, a needle and thread in her hands as she mended an intricate piece of embroidery. Her gaze lifted to you, and her eyes softened with that familiar motherly warmth — but also a hint of caution.

“what happend my sweet love?,” she noted, setting aside her sewing. Her eyes scanned your face, always able to read you better than you liked. “You look troubled.”

Of course, she knew. She always knew.

You stepped further in, hands clasped in front of you. For a moment, you felt like a child again, coming to confess some small mischief. But this was no small mischief. This was a truth that would change everything.

“Mother, I need to speak with you,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt.

Alicent’s eyes narrowed, her brows knitting together in concern. “What is it, dear?” she asked, motioning for you to sit.

But you didn’t sit. You couldn’t. You stayed standing, your gaze unwavering as you spoke the words that had been clawing at your heart.

“I’m with child,” you said plainly, each word deliberate, like the clang of a hammer on steel.

Silence.

Her lips parted slightly, her hands falling still in her lap. Her eyes flickered to your stomach, and for a heartbeat, you saw hope there. Hope that perhaps this child was Aemond’s. Hope that this might restore what was broken. But you knew that hope would be fleeting.

Her gaze slowly lifted back to yours, sharper now, more calculating. She didn’t have to ask, but she did anyway.

“Whose child is it?” Her voice was quiet but firm, each word like a blade.

You swallowed hard, your fingers pressing against your palms to keep them from trembling. No lies. Not now.

“It’s Aegon’s,” you said, not looking away. Not this time. You would not flinch.

Her breath came slow, deep, and controlled, the way she always breathed when trying to keep her composure. Her eyes closed briefly, as though she were counting her thoughts, forcing them into place. When she opened them again, they were sharper than ever.

“You fool,” she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of it crashed down on you like a wave. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I know,” you said quickly, stepping forward, your hands gripping the back of a nearby chair. “I know what it means, Mother, but—”

“But nothing!” Alicent snapped, rising from her chair so swiftly that it scraped loudly against the stone floor. “You think love will protect you from the whispers in these halls? From the court? From your enemies?” She stepped forward, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made you feel small again. “This child will be branded a disgrace before it even draws its first breath. You know that as well as I do.”

“I don’t care,” you said, your voice cracking but resolute. “I don’t care what they say about me. I won’t hide it. I won’t hide him.”

“Him?” Alicent’s eyes flickered with shock. “You think it will be a son? Is that why you risk everything for this?” She paced, her fingers pressed against her temples. “The lords will talk. The ladies will sneer. Do you know what they will call you? They will call you whore. They will call the child a bastard. They will call Aegon—”

“They already call him worse,” you said sharply, cutting her off.

Alicent froze, her eyes narrowing as if she had been struck. The air between you turned cold and still, like the eye of a storm.

“Do you love him?” she asked suddenly, her voice quieter now, colder.

The question hung in the air. Not a command. Not an accusation. A genuine question. One that required an honest answer.

You lowered your gaze for a moment, thinking of all the nights you’d spent in Aegon’s arms, of all the times he had pulled you close when the world felt like it was crumbling beneath you. Of how he made you feel seen, whole, and wanted.

“Yes,” you whispered, lifting your head to meet her eyes. “I love him.”

Alicent studied you for a long, unbearable moment. Her eyes, so much like yours, filled with exhaustion, pain, and something else. Resignation. Slowly, she sat back down, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She did not look at you this time. She gazed toward the window, her face stoic as stone.

For a moment, she said nothing. The silence was suffocating, thicker than smoke. Her gaze was sharp, her mind calculating, as if weighing every possible outcome. Finally, she drew in a slow breath and spoke.

“Both of them will need to hear this,” she said, her voice as cold as the winter sea. Her eyes never left yours. “Aegon and Aemond. We will not let this spiral into more chaos than it already has.”

Her words hit you like a blow to the chest. “Aemond?” you repeated, your voice barely a whisper.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “He must hear it from you, not from the whispers of court. If you think this will be resolved in quiet corners, you are mistaken. We face it now. All of us.”

You nodded, heart pounding in your chest. This was no longer just your burden to bear. It was theirs too.

Moments later, you stood in Alicent’s chambers with your brothers. Aegon leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, a sly grin playing on his lips as if he already knew what was coming. His confidence was infuriating but also reassuring in its own way. He glanced at you with a flicker of warmth in his eyes, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary.

Aemond, on the other hand, stood rigid near the window, his one eye fixed on you like a predator watching its prey. His jaw was tight, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture stiff as iron. He knew something was coming. He always did.

Alicent stood between them, her face the very picture of control, though you could see the tightness in her shoulders. The queen had spent years mastering the art of appearing unshaken. But today, cracks were beginning to show.

“Tell them,” Alicent said, her voice calm but commanding.

You glanced at her briefly before turning your gaze to Aemond and Aegon. Your heart felt as though it might break free of your ribs, but you forced yourself to stand tall. You would not falter.

“I am with child,” you said, your voice strong despite the tremor in your chest. The words echoed through the chamber, sharp and cutting.

Aegon’s grin widened, his eyes flickering with something smug but also protective. He pushed off the wall and sauntered forward, his gaze never leaving yours, his voice thick with pride as he glanced at Aemond. “And it's mine.”

Aemond’s face was still for a moment. No reaction. Not a twitch. Not a blink. Just silence.

Then, slowly, his head turned toward you, his gaze burning with quiet fury. Not rage. Not disbelief. But something colder.

The weight of your mother’s decision pressed down on you like a storm brewing on the horizon. Her words echoed in your mind, unrelenting and absolute.

“The annulment will be reversed,” she had said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I will speak with the High Septon myself.”

You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, every breath feeling heavier than the last. Your gaze flickered to Aemond. He was silent, his face a mask of cold indifference, but his eye lingered on you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. His jaw was set, his lips pressed into a thin line, but you could see the flicker of something more beneath it — possession, triumph, control.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms as you fought to steady yourself. This was not a decision made for you. It was a decision made about you.

Then your gaze shifted to Aegon. He stood at your side, his face a mixture of defiance and disbelief. His eyes darted between you, Aemond, and Alicent, and for the first time, he didn’t look like the carefree, reckless man you had always known. He looked angry. No, more than that — he looked ready to fight.

“Mother,” Aegon’s voice was sharp, sharper than you had ever heard it. “This is madness. You can’t just undo it as if none of it ever happened.”

Alicent’s eyes snapped to Aegon, her gaze hard as steel. “I can, and I will. This family is not yours to break apart as you please, Aegon.”

“You think this will bring us peace?” Aegon stepped forward, his voice rising, his arms outstretched as he motioned to all of you. “Look at us! Look at her!” He pointed to you, his eyes filled with frustration and something dangerously close to heartbreak. “Do you think she wants this? Do you think I will let you throw her back into his arms after everything he’s done?”

Alicent’s face tightened, her lips pursed in disapproval. “This is not about what she wants, Aegon. It is about duty. It is about honor.”

“Duty?” Aegon scoffed, his eyes narrowing as he approached her, his voice dropping to a low, biting whisper. “Is it duty that made Aemond lie with Helaena? Is it duty that made you look away when he broke her heart and mine?”

The room fell into a suffocating silence. Alicent’s face paled, her mouth opening slightly as if to protest, but no words came. You could see it in her eyes — the guilt, the knowledge that Aegon’s words had struck where it hurt most.

You felt it too. The truth of it burned in your chest like wildfire. It wasn’t just you who had suffered. It wasn’t just you who had been betrayed. Aegon had, too.

Aemond shifted from where he stood, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “You speak too much, brother,” he said coldly, his eye locking on Aegon. “You always have.”

“And you think too highly of yourself, brother,” Aegon shot back, his grin wild and sharp. “If you think she will ever love you again, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

“Enough!” Alicent’s voice sliced through the tension, her eyes blazing with fury. “This is not a choice for any of you to make. It is mine. I will do what is necessary to protect this family from scandal and ruin.”

Her gaze then shifted to you, and for a moment, you saw her soften, her eyes filled with something like regret. She stepped forward, her voice quieter but no less firm. “You will do this, my child. For your children. For your honor. This is the only way.”

Silence.

You glanced at Aemond, whose eye was now locked on you with unwavering focus. He didn’t smile, but there was something victorious in his expression, like a man who had won a war without ever lifting a blade.

Your heart twisted with disgust.

You turned to Aegon. He was already watching you, his eyes filled with so much worry, so much hurt, and for the first time, you saw something you had never seen in him before. Fear. Not for himself. For you.

You stepped toward him, slowly but with purpose, your gaze never leaving his face. His brows furrowed in confusion, his eyes flickering with hope and doubt all at once.

Then you reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder. Your fingers pressed against the fabric of his tunic, grounding him, grounding yourself. You met his gaze, steady and unwavering.

Then, you turned to face your mother.

“I will do as you command, Mother,” you said, your voice calm, deliberate. “If that is your decision, I will not fight it.”

Aegon flinched as if you’d struck him, his eyes wide with disbelief. “No,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “No, you don’t have to do this.”

Alicent tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing in approval, as if she had known you would see reason. She nodded once, her lips pressing into a thin smile. “Good. You are wiser than I thought.”

But you weren’t finished.

You turned back to Alicent, your eyes burning with something fierce, something unyielding. “But if I am to return to Aemond,” you continued, your voice rising just enough to command attention, “then let me be clear. I will not suffer in silence. I will not endure betrayal and deceit. If I return, it will be as his equal, not his possession.”

The room went still.

Aemond’s face twisted, his eye narrowing in challenge. “You forget your place, wife,” he said slowly, dangerously.

“No,” you said, stepping forward, not afraid this time. “It is you who forgot mine.”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His silence was more telling than any words he could have spoken.

You turned to your mother once more, your chin lifted high. “I will follow your command, Mother. But I will not be silent. And I will not be meek.”

For a moment, Alicent said nothing, her eyes flickering between you, Aemond, and Aegon. Then, slowly, she gave a single nod. “Very well.”

Her eyes softened, but there was sadness there. “Go now. Rest. I will speak to the High Septon myself.”

You didn’t wait for permission. You turned away, your hand still on Aegon’s shoulder. As you walked past him, you felt him reach for you, his fingers gently curling around your arm.

“Don’t do this,” he said, his voice low and broken. “Don’t give her what she wants.”

You glanced back at him, seeing the desperation in his eyes. You squeezed his arm once before pulling away.

“I’m not giving her what she wants,” you said quietly. “I’m giving them what they fear.”

Aegon’s eyes widened, his lips parting as if to say something, but you were already walking away. Each step was heavier than the last, but each step was also stronger. You felt their eyes on you — Aemond’s, Alicent’s, Aegon’s — but you did not falter.

Not anymore.

If you were to return to Aemond’s side, you would not be his shadow.

You would be his storm.

You walked steadily down the corridor, your mind racing with every step. The echoes of your footsteps were joined by another — heavier, deliberate, and unwavering. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

Aemond.

His presence was like a shadow, ever-watchful, ever-looming. The closer you got to your chamber door, the louder his footsteps became, a slow, deliberate drumbeat behind you. You quickened your pace, heart pounding in your chest.

But it wasn’t fast enough.

The moment you reached the door, his hand shot out, pressing it shut before you could open it. Before you could react, you felt him behind you — his chest firm against your back, his arms sliding slowly, possessively, around your waist. His breath was hot against your ear, his movements slow but inescapable.

“You can run from me, you can defy me,” he whispered, his voice low, dangerous, and all too familiar. “But you will never escape me.”

His hand slid down, gentle yet firm, resting on your stomach. The touch was light, deliberate, and far too intimate. His fingers moved slowly, tracing small, idle circles over the fabric that covered your belly. Your breath caught in your throat, rage, fear, and something darker mixing together in your chest.

“This child you carry…” he murmured, his lips so close to your ear that you could feel every breath. “It may be his, but it changes nothing. You are mine.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine — not from fear, but from fury. Your teeth clenched, your nails dug into your palms as you willed yourself to stay still, to not give him the satisfaction of seeing you tremble.

“You hear me, don’t you?” he pressed on, his grip on your stomach tightening just slightly. “No matter what happens, no matter whose child it is… you will always be mine. Not his. Never his.”

You closed your eyes, your breath shallow, trying to block out the feeling of him against you. But his presence was all-consuming, suffocating.

“Say it,” he commanded softly, his voice like silk over steel. “Say you understand.”

Your eyes snapped open, burning with defiance. Slowly, you placed your hand over his, gripping his fingers tightly. But it wasn’t the gesture of surrender he expected. You squeezed, hard enough to make him feel it. Hard enough to remind him that you weren’t as fragile as he liked to believe.

“If you think I will ever belong to you again, you are a fool, Aemond,” you hissed through clenched teeth, your voice sharp as a blade. “This child may not be yours, but know this — I am not yours either.”

You pulled his hand away from your stomach, stepping forward out of his hold. Your breath was heavy, your heart pounding, but you did not stop. Slowly, you turned to face him, your eyes locked onto his.

He stared at you, his eye narrowing, his lips curving into a bitter smirk. “Is that what you believe?” he asked softly, tilting his head as if examining you. “You think you’re free of me?”

You raised your chin, your gaze cold and unwavering. “I know I am.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you crackled with tension, the silence louder than any words. His smirk faded, his eye dark with something far more dangerous than anger — obsession.

He stepped forward, slow and purposeful, closing the distance you had just created. But this time, you didn’t back away. You met him head-on, your eyes sharp with unyielding resolve.

“If you touch me again without my permission,” you said quietly, your voice steady as a storm on the horizon, “I will show you that I am not as weak as you think I am.”

His gaze flickered, just for a moment, his jaw tightening. But he didn’t touch you again. Not this time.

Instead, he leaned in, his voice low, quiet enough that only you could hear. “You’ll see soon enough, sweet wife,” he murmured, his eye never leaving yours. “No matter where you run, no matter who stands at your side, you will always come back to me.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, his pace slow, deliberate, as if he had already won.

But you stood there, your heart steady now, your breath even. Because for the first time in a long while, you knew something that he didn’t.

You weren’t his anymore.

And you never would be again.

Time moved swiftly, and your pregnancy had now reached its fifth month. The days in the Red Keep felt longer, yet each one blended into the next. Your body had changed, your belly round with the life growing inside you. The weight of it was both a burden and a blessing.

You often found yourself walking in the garden, seeking peace among the blooming flowers. But peace was a luxury you no longer had. Aemond was always there.

He walked beside you, silent but watchful, his sharp gaze never straying from you. His presence was a shadow you could not shake. His hand was a constant, resting on the small of your back or lightly gripping your waist, steady and possessive. At first, you’d tried to brush him off, but his grip would only tighten, his touch firm yet calculated.

You hated it.

It wasn’t the touch itself that you loathed — it was the meaning behind it. It wasn’t affection. It was ownership. A reminder that, in his mind, you were still his.

But what made it worse was Aegon.

Every time the three of you crossed paths, you saw the way Aegon’s eyes flickered with barely restrained rage. His gaze would lock on Aemond’s hand at your waist, his jaw clenching so tight you could almost hear it. His hands would curl into fists, his lips pressed into a thin line. You knew exactly what Aemond was doing.

He was doing it on purpose.

Every glance, every touch, every lingering second his hand stayed on you — it was all for Aegon. To provoke him. To remind him. To declare, without words, that you were not his.

You felt like a pawn in their silent war. Every look they exchanged felt like a strike in an invisible battle. Aemond’s grip would tighten just a little more whenever Aegon drew near, and Aegon’s eyes would darken as if he were seconds away from lunging forward.

Once, Aegon had stepped forward, eyes blazing, his lips parting to say something. But you had caught his gaze and shook your head, silently pleading with him. Not here. Not now.

He’d stopped himself, but his eyes never left you. They were filled with something deeper than anger. Hurt. Longing.

The nights in the Red Keep were cold, quieter than usual, but not for you. Your chambers, once a place of solace, had become a shared space with Aemond once more. It had not been your choice. He had demanded it.

At first, you had argued, protested, even sought your mother’s support. But Alicent, ever the mediator, had insisted it was for “appearances” — that it would “ease tensions.” You knew it was a lie. It was control. Aemond’s control.

So now, every night, you endured it. You lay on one side of the bed, eyes on the distant wall, while his presence loomed behind you. Sometimes you heard the sound of him sharpening his dagger, the slow, deliberate scrape of metal on stone. Other nights, it was the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing.

But you never turned to face him. You never acknowledged him.

Tonight was no different. His gaze lingered on you longer than usual. You could feel it. The weight of it pressed against your back like a brand. You bit your lip, holding in the urge to tell him to stop.

No. Not tonight.

Slowly, you sat up, your hand resting on your rounded belly, feeling the gentle kick of the child within you. You ran your fingers across it, soothing both the child and yourself. Without a word, you slipped out of bed, letting your bare feet meet the cold stone floor.

“Where are you going?” His voice was sharp but quiet, like a dagger in the dark.

You didn’t answer him. You didn’t even look at him. Your feet moved steadily, step by step, toward the door. You expected him to call for you again, to stop you, to demand you return to him.

But he didn’t.

The cool night air hit you as you stepped into the corridor. It was dimly lit by flickering torches mounted on the stone walls. The silence of the night was broken only by the soft echo of your footsteps and the faint hum of distant voices from guards on watch.

You didn’t care.

Your hand stayed on your belly as you walked, the warmth of your palm against the growing life within you giving you strength. You didn’t know where you were going at first, but your heart did. Your feet carried you with purpose, with longing.

Toward him.

Toward Aegon.

You missed him. You missed the warmth of his arms, the way he held you without hesitation. You missed his laugh, his sly remarks that never failed to bring a smile to your face, even on the darkest days. With him, you didn’t feel like a pawn or a prize to be fought over. With him, you were just you.

When you reached his door, you hesitated for a moment, glancing behind you to ensure no one had followed. The corridor was empty. Silent. Safe.

You raised your hand and knocked once, softly.

A moment later, the door creaked open. Aegon stood there, his silver hair tousled, his eyes heavy with sleep. But the moment he saw you, that sleepiness vanished. His eyes softened, filling with something warmer than you had felt in weeks.

“You’re here,” he said quietly, stepping aside to let you in.

You didn’t speak. You simply stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you. The weight of the day, of Aemond, of everything — it all slipped from your shoulders the moment you were in his arms.

He pulled you close, his hand cupping the back of your head as he pressed his lips against your hair. “I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m always here.”

And for the first time that day, you breathed. Truly breathed.

The night felt endless, but for once, it was not in a way that brought you dread. It was warmth, safety, and peace. Aegon’s arms around you were a haven.

You lay against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Each beat matched the rise and fall of his breath, slow and steady. His hand rested on your swollen belly, fingers moving in soft, slow circles that lulled you into tranquility. Every so often, he pressed a kiss to your hair, your temple, or the curve of your cheek.

“You should sleep,” he whispered, his voice husky with weariness but full of tenderness. His thumb brushed along your jawline as he tilted your face toward him. “You and the babe need rest.”

You tilted your head up, eyes meeting his in the low glow of the hearth. “I don’t want to sleep,” you murmured, your fingers curling into his tunic. “Not yet.”

You didn’t have to explain why. He understood. You didn’t want to let go of this moment. Of him.

With Aemond, you felt like something to be claimed, to be possessed. His grip on you had always been firm — unyielding, controlling. But with Aegon, it was different. He held you like you were something precious, not something he owned, but something he cherished. He didn’t tighten his hold when you moved, didn’t pull you back when you tried to leave.

And that freedom — that trust — made you stay.

“Then stay awake,” he said softly, resting his chin on top of your head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His hand continued to glide over your belly, slow and certain, his fingertips light but firm enough to ground you. You closed your eyes, not to sleep, but to feel him more clearly. The babe stirred within you, responding to the warmth of his touch. It made you smile.

“They know you,” you said, a soft laugh escaping you. “They always move when you’re near.”

He hummed a laugh of his own, low and soft in his chest. “Of course they do. I’m their father.”

His words echoed in your heart. Father. A title that once belonged to someone else. Someone who, for all his sharp wit and intelligence, never made you feel like this. Not like Aegon did.

He tilted your face toward him once more, his gaze searching yours as if he could feel the shift in your thoughts. “Stay with me,” he said quietly, not as a command, but as a plea. “Stay with me, and I’ll give you everything. No one will ever touch you again.”

You stared at him for a moment, taking in the sincerity in his eyes. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe. Like you could be free.

“I’m already here,” you whispered, leaning forward to press your lips softly against his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His breath hitched, and you felt his arms tighten just slightly around you. But unlike Aemond, it wasn’t suffocating. It was safe. It was home.

The warmth between you and Aegon vanished the moment the door slammed open with a deafening crash. The sharp sound echoed through the room like a crack of thunder.

Aemond stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath, his eye blazing with fury. His gaze locked on you and Aegon, his face twisted with something darker than anger - possession.

Before either of you could react, Aemond closed the distance in long, deliberate strides. His hand shot out, his fingers curling tightly around your arm.

"Get up," he snarled, his voice cold and commanding. "Now."

You gasped, feeling the sharp sting of his grip.

"Let me go, Aemond!" you shouted, trying to twist out of his hold, but his fingers only dug in harder. "You're hurting me!"

"You think I care?" he hissed, his face inches from yours. His single eye burned with something wild, untamed, and his grip only grew more unyielding. "You're coming with me. Now."

Aegon was on his feet in an instant. The air in the room shifted, heavy with tension as he stepped forward, placing himself between you and Aemond. "Let her go, brother," he said with a sharp edge to his voice, his eyes narrowed in warning. "Now."

Aemond's lips curled into a bitter, joyless smile. "Step aside, Aegon," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "This has nothing to do with you."

"Everything about her has to do with me," Aegon shot back, his voice steadier than you'd ever heard it. He reached for you, his hand curling around your other arm in a protective grip. "She's not going anywhere with you."

Aemond's patience snapped. With a sudden, sharp tug, he yanked you toward him with enough force to make you stumble. Pain shot up your arm as his grip turned ironclad, his fingers pressing into your skin so hard you knew it would leave a bruise.

"Aemond, stop!" you cried, twisting against him, but he didn't let go.

Aegon stepped forward, his eyes wild with anger. "I said, let her go!" he barked, his voice louder now, filled with a raw kind of rage that rarely surfaced in him. He grabbed Aemond's wrist, his nails digging into his brother's skin. "I'm not asking, brother."

"She is my wife!" Aemond shouted, his voice breaking like thunder. His body tensed, and for a moment, it felt like the world itself was about to split in two. "Mine! Not yours, Aegon!"

"She's not yours, Aemond." Aegon's voice was eerily calm, his grip on Aemond's wrist firm and unyielding. "She hasn't been yours for a long time. And you know it."

The words struck harder than any blade.

Aemond's eye twitched, his jaw tightening so hard it looked like he might break his teeth. His gaze flickered to you for a moment - and in that moment, you saw something raw and desperate beneath all that fury. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by cold, steely resolve.

"If you think you can take her from me," Aemond said, his voice a venomous whisper, his gaze fixed on Aegon, "then you're more of a fool than I thought."

"Try me," Aegon growled, his eyes narrowed, unflinching.

The room felt suffocating, every breath you took shallow and quick. You could feel Aemond's grip loosening, just a little — but it was enough. You pulled back with everything you had, your heart pounding in your chest.

"I am not yours, Aemond," you said with a voice stronger than you thought you had. "I am not a prize to be fought over."

His eye snapped to you, sharp and burning with something between pain and fury. "Don't think for a moment that he'll love you the way I do," he said, his voice quieter now but just as cutting. "He will ruin you."

"No," you replied, your voice steady as your eyes met his. "You already did."

You stood frozen, eyes locked on Aemond, his hand gripping your wrist with unyielding force. His fingers dug into your skin, and no amount of pulling or twisting seemed to loosen his hold. His breaths came in sharp, angry bursts, his chest rising and falling like a man barely clinging to control.

Your gaze shifted to Aegon, who stood just beside him. Aemond's other hand was pressed against Aegon's throat, pinning him against the wall. Aegon struggled, his face twisted in pain, but he still managed to shoot Aemond a defiant glare. His hands gripped Aemond's forearm, trying to pry him off.

"Stop it, Aemond!" Your voice was sharp, laced with urgency. You tugged at his arm, trying to break his focus. "Please, let him go."

He didn't move. His gaze shifted to you - cold, calculating, and yet, behind it, something more. Obsession. Possession.

"He needs to learn," Aemond growled, his grip on Aegon tightening. "He thinks he can take what's mine. Thinks he can touch what belongs to me." His voice was low, dangerous, every word like the sharp edge of a blade. "But I'll remind him. I'll remind you too."

Your heart pounded in your chest, every beat a sharp thud against your ribs. You stepped closer, ignoring the ache in your wrist, ignoring the fear clawing at your chest. Your voice was softer now but firm. "Aemond... if you want me to come back with you, I will."

That got his attention. His eye flickered to you, his brows drawn together, suspicion laced with disbelief.

"I'll go with you," you repeated, holding his gaze steadily. "But you have to let him go." Your voice didn't waver, even though your body trembled. "This isn't the way. Please."

There was a long, agonizing pause. Aemond's breathing slowed, his gaze moving between you and Aegon. Slowly, his grip on Aegon's throat loosened, his fingers sliding away. Aegon gasped for air, coughing as he rubbed at his neck, his eyes still blazing with anger.

"Don't think this is over, brother," Aemond muttered coldly, his gaze never leaving Aegon as he finally released him.

Aegon coughed, his eyes filled with defiance despite the redness blooming on his neck.

"No," Aegon rasped, wiping his mouth. "It's far from over."

Aemond tugged on your arm, forcing you to stumble forward. You shot one last glance at Aegon, heart aching at the sight of him like this. His eyes met yours, a silent plea for you not to go. But you had no choice. Not now.

"Walk," Aemond commanded, his voice sharp but quieter now. He didn't look at you as he pulled you down the corridor. "If you run, I'll drag you."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, keeping your eyes forward, your heart heavy with every step. Behind you, you could hear Aegon calling your name, but his voice grew distant with every step you took.

Aemond's grip on your wrist remained firm, his fingers like iron shackles that refused to yield. His pace was relentless, each step echoing through the empty corridors as you struggled to keep up. Your heart pounded in your chest, not just from the speed, but from the growing dread that settled deep in your bones.

When you finally reached your shared chamber, Aemond shoved the door open with a force that made it bang against the wall. He pulled you inside, releasing your wrist only to grab your face with his hand. His fingers pressed firmly into your cheeks, tilting your head upward so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Look at me," he hissed, his eye boring into yours, cold and unyielding like steel. "You seem to have forgotten something very important."

You blinked, your breathing quick and shallow.

"Aemond-"

he snapped, his voice low and razor-sharp, each word cutting deeper than the last.

"No more excuses. No more lies. You are mine." His grip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to make your breath hitch. "No one else. Not Aegon. Not anyone."

Your eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape, looking for anything that might help you. But there was nowhere to run. No one to call for.

"You think I don't see it?" he continued, his voice dangerously quiet now, a slow burn of rage that simmered just beneath the surface.

"The way he looks at you. The way you let him touch you." His lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Do you think that I'll stand by and watch while he takes what's mine?"

"I'm not a possession, Aemond," you said firmly, but your voice trembled. "You can't control me."

His smile vanished in an instant. His face hardened, and for a moment, you thought you saw something break inside him. Slowly, he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing harsh and uneven.

"If I can't control you," he whispered, his voice laced with venom, "then I will control everything around you." His eye flickered, wild and untamed. "I will burn it all if I must.Do you understand me?" His breath was hot against your skin, his words colder than ice. "I will destroy anyone who stands in my way. Mother. Aegon. It doesn't matter. No one will take you from me."

Fear gripped you for the first time in a way you had never felt before. This was no longer anger. This was obsession. This was madness. Your breathing grew shallow, heart racing as you felt the weight of his words sink in.

Aemond never spoke threats lightly. He never said anything he didn't mean. And this... this wasn't a warning. This was a promise.

"Please, Aemond," you pleaded, your voice softer now, your hands coming up to grip his wrists. "Don't do this. You don't have to do this."

"But I do," he whispered, his voice like silk over steel. His eye searched yours, softer now, but still dangerous. "Because if I lose you..." He trailed off, his jaw clenching. "I won't lose you."

He finally released your face, and you stumbled back, your chest heaving as you fought to stay calm. Your fingers brushed against your belly instinctively. His gaze followed the movement, his eye lingering there for a moment. You took a step back, keeping your eyes on him, never turning away. The distance felt like a fragile shield, ready to shatter at any moment.

"Rest," he said, his voice eerily calm now. "I'll stay tonight." He moved to unfasten his leather jerkin, as though he had not just threatened to destroy everything you loved.

Your heart pounded as you backed away toward the bed. For the first time, you weren't sure if you were safe anymore - not from him, and not from what he would do.

The morning sun filtered through the tall windows as you made your way to your mother’s chambers. Your steps were slow, every movement weighed down by exhaustion and the dull ache radiating from your wrist. You kept your hand close to your side, fingers gently curled to hide the fresh bruises that marred your skin. The blue and purple marks stood out starkly against your pale complexion, a cruel reminder of Aemond’s grip from the night before.

The familiar scent of lavender and freshly pressed linens filled the air as you entered her chambers. Your mother stood near the mirror, her back to you, as her handmaid carefully fastened the intricate laces of her gown. She glanced at you through the reflection of the mirror, her green eyes narrowing with quiet observation.

“You’re late,” she remarked, her tone sharp but not unkind. Her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, her gaze sweeping over you as if searching for something. “Sit,” she added with a tilt of her head toward the chair near the window.

You moved to sit, your movements careful and deliberate. Your heart pounded in your chest, every glance she sent your way feeling like she might see through you — see everything. The fabric of your sleeve shifted as you sat, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you thought she might notice the bruising.

Her gaze flickered to you once more, her brow slightly furrowed. “You look pale,” she said, dismissing the handmaid with a flick of her fingers. The servant bowed her head and left the room, the soft click of the door closing behind her.

Your mother turned fully to face you, arms crossed, her sharp eyes now fully focused on you. “Are you unwell?” she asked, her voice quieter now but no less commanding.

You shook your head quickly, forcing a small, unconvincing smile. “No, Mother. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Her gaze lingered on you, her eyes narrowing in that way she always did when she knew something was being kept from her. She stepped closer.

“Show me your hands,” she ordered suddenly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Your heart stopped. “Mother, I’m fine—”

“Show me,” she said again, her voice sharper this time.

Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your dress, panic rising in your chest. You glanced at the door, as if it might offer you some escape, but it didn’t. Slowly, reluctantly, you raised your hands, keeping your sleeves as far down as possible.

Her eyes narrowed even further. “Pull up your sleeves.”

“Mother, please, it’s nothing—”

Her patience snapped. She stepped forward and grabbed your wrist with a speed you hadn’t expected, yanking your sleeve up before you could stop her. Her eyes landed on the bruise, the ugly blues and purples staining your skin. Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching in her throat.

Her face shifted from confusion to horror, then to something colder, more dangerous. Her grip on your wrist tightened, not in anger at you, but in sheer disbelief. “Who did this to you?” Her voice was low, each word deliberate and sharp like the edge of a blade.

Your eyes darted away, heart racing. You didn’t want to say it. Saying it would make it real.

Her eyes followed your gaze, and slowly, realization dawned on her face. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled slowly. “Aemond,” she said his name like a curse, as if the mere sound of it tasted bitter on her tongue.

She released your wrist, her fingers lingering there for a moment as if she wanted to pull you into an embrace but didn’t know how. Her eyes softened for a moment, but only a moment. Her jaw clenched, and you saw the familiar look of resolve settle on her face.

“This ends now,” she said firmly. “You are not his to break.” Her words hit you harder than you expected. Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall.

“You’ll stay here with me tonight,” she added, her voice leaving no room for argument. “No one will touch you without answering to me.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt something akin to hope. Maybe this time, she wouldn’t look away. Maybe this time, she would fight for you.

You lowered your gaze, your hands trembling slightly as you tried to keep your composure. “Please, Mother,” you whispered, your voice strained with desperation. “Forget it. Don’t do anything. Don’t say anything to him.”

Alicent’s eyes narrowed with concern as she moved closer to you, her hand gently cupping your cheek. “I won’t stand by while he treats you like this,” she said firmly, her voice filled with quiet resolve. “You are my daughter. No man, not even Aemond, will lay a hand on you and walk away unscathed.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you grabbed her hand, clutching it tightly. “You don’t understand, Mother,” you said, your voice breaking with emotion. “He’s not the same anymore. He won’t care who you are. He said it himself — no one can stop him. Not you. Not even Aegon.”

Alicent’s eyes flickered with something dangerous — not fear, but fury. Her grip on your face tightened ever so slightly. “Then he is more of a fool than I thought,” she said coldly. “He forgets who raised him. He forgets that I am still his mother, and I have not forgotten how to protect my own.”

“No!” you cried, shaking your head frantically. “Please, Mother, I’m begging you. Don’t provoke him. He’s not thinking clearly. He’s not like he used to be.” Your voice broke, and you felt the tears spill down your cheeks. “If you push him, he’ll do something reckless. To you. To Aegon. To everyone.”

Her eyes softened as she saw the fear in you, her strong, brave daughter now reduced to a trembling shadow of herself. Alicent knelt in front of you, her hands resting on your knees. “Listen to me, my sweet girl,” she said softly, looking up at you with a mother’s fierce love. “You are not alone in this. You have me. You have Aegon. You have all of us. Aemond is not as untouchable as he thinks.”

You shook your head again, heart pounding in your chest. “He’ll never let me go, Mother,” you whispered, tears streaming freely now. “He’ll always find a way to control me. He’ll hurt Aegon if he has to.” Your hands clutched at hers, eyes wild with fear. “Please, Mother. If you care for me at all, don’t challenge him. Just let it go.”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line as she gazed at you, torn between anger and heartache. Slowly, she pulled you into a hug, cradling your head against her shoulder. Her hand stroked your hair gently, just like she used to when you were a child.

“Shh, it’s all right,” she murmured, her voice softer now but no less determined. “I won’t do anything to put you or Aegon in danger. But I won’t stand by and let him destroy you either. I promise you that.”

Her words were meant to soothe you, but they only made you more afraid. Because you knew Alicent. You knew that behind her calm, measured words was a storm brewing. And Aemond was reckless enough to walk straight into it.

You slowly pulled away from your mother’s embrace, wiping your eyes as you steadied yourself. Just as you were about to speak, the sound of the door creaking open drew both of your gazes toward it.

There she stood — Helaena. Her soft, serene smile as innocent as ever, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Her eyes met yours, gentle and kind, as though nothing had happened. As though she hadn’t betrayed you.

Your breath caught in your throat, your body going rigid. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Your mother glanced between you both, her eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. She could sense the tension.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Helaena said softly, tilting her head. Her voice was light, so sweet and harmless that it made your chest tighten with resentment. “I just came to see Mother, but I can return later if this is a bad time.”

Her gaze lingered on you for a moment too long, her eyes searching yours as if she were expecting you to say something. But you didn’t. You refused to give her that satisfaction.

“No need,” you muttered quietly, stepping back from your mother. “I was just leaving.”

Alicent’s hand brushed your arm. “Are you sure, my dear? You don’t have to go.” Her voice was concerned but firm. She could see how tense you were, how stiff your movements had become.

“I need to rest, Mother,” you said, your eyes focused on the ground. You knew if you looked at Helaena, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from glaring. “I’ll return later.”

Without waiting for a response, you moved toward the door. Your heart pounded in your chest with every step. You could feel Helaena’s eyes on you, following you like a shadow. The air felt heavier with every inch you crossed.

As you passed her, you didn’t look at her. You didn’t acknowledge her. She shifted slightly, as if she wanted to speak, but no words came. The silence between you was louder than any scream.

Once you were past her, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your steps quickened, your heartbeat thudding in your ears as you put as much distance as possible between yourself and that room.

Her smile. Her voice. Her innocence.

All of it was a lie.

You bit your lip hard, willing yourself not to cry. Not again. You had shed too many tears already, and you refused to give her the power to cause any more.

You froze at the sound of Aegon’s voice calling your name. Panic shot through you like lightning. Your breath hitched, and your heart pounded so loudly you could hear it in your ears. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. If Aemond was nearby, if he saw you with Aegon, there would be consequences — consequences you weren’t ready to face.

But you didn’t move either. You stood there, caught between fear and longing.

His footsteps echoed softly as he approached. You could feel him before you saw him, the familiar warmth of his presence just behind you. Slowly, he stepped in front of you, his eyes searching yours with quiet concern.

“Look at me,” Aegon said softly, tilting his head to meet your gaze. His voice wasn’t teasing or playful like usual. It was steady. Serious. “Please.”

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Your eyes stayed fixed on the ground, afraid that if you met his gaze, you’d break.

His gaze lowered, his eyes drifting to your hands. Slowly, his face changed. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing as he took in the dark bruise on your wrist. His fingers reached out, gentle but firm, taking your hand in his.

“Who did this to you?” His voice was low, quiet, but the edge of anger beneath it was unmistakable. His thumb traced the bruise with a touch so soft it almost hurt more.

You yanked your hand back, cradling it against your chest as if to shield it from him. “It’s nothing,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Aegon’s eyes flickered, his jaw tightening. “Don’t lie to me.” His voice was sharper now, his eyes no longer soft but hard as steel. “Was it him?”

Your silence was enough of an answer.

His eyes darted down the hall, his shoulders stiffening like a predator spotting prey. His breathing grew heavier, nostrils flaring as he clenched his fists. You reached for him quickly, grabbing his sleeve with your unbruised hand.

“Don’t,” you pleaded, your voice urgent. “Please, Aegon. Not here. Not now.”

He turned his gaze back to you, and for a moment, you saw the conflict in his eyes — the war between fury and restraint. His jaw worked as he ground his teeth together, his eyes scanning every inch of your face.

“He doesn’t own you,” Aegon said, his voice rough but filled with certainty. “He never did.”

Your eyes stung with tears you refused to shed. “Please, Aegon,” you whispered again. “Just let it go.”

His eyes lingered on you a moment longer, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. But for you, he relented. He let out a heavy breath, his shoulders relaxing just a little.

“Fine,” he muttered, taking a step closer. “But I’m not letting this go forever. He’ll pay for it.”

You shook your head, fresh tears brimming in your eyes. “Don’t make it worse, Aegon. Please.”

He stared at you, his eyes full of emotions he didn’t know how to say. He reached up, his fingers lightly brushing your cheek, and for a moment, everything else melted away.

“I’ll do whatever you ask,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “But if he hurts you again, I won’t wait for your permission.”

He leaned forward, his forehead gently resting against yours. Neither of you spoke, letting the silence say what words couldn’t. For once, it felt like you weren’t carrying it all alone.

Your footsteps felt heavier with every step as you entered your chamber. The air was colder than usual, as if all warmth had been sucked out of the room. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your breath came in short, shallow gasps as your eyes settled on the figure sitting by the fire.

Aemond.

He sat in silence, one elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his fingers idly spinning a dagger. The soft glow of the fire reflected off the sharp steel, casting flickering lights across his face. His gaze was fixed on the blade, his focus so intense that it was as if you didn’t exist in the room. But you knew better. His calmness was a facade—a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

You froze near the door, every muscle in your body tense. Your throat felt tight, and the urge to cry out was almost unbearable. Your eyes darted to the door behind you, calculating the distance, wondering if you could make it before he noticed.

“Enjoying your time with our brother, hmm?” His voice cut through the silence, sharp as the edge of his dagger. His tone was low, quiet, but it held a threat that couldn’t be ignored.

The dagger stopped spinning. His fingers held it still, balancing it delicately between his thumb and forefinger. Slowly, his eye lifted to meet yours. Cold. Unforgiving. Burning with barely restrained fury.

“Not going to say anything?” he continued, tilting his head slightly like a predator watching its prey. “Or perhaps… you think I didn’t see?”

Your breath hitched, and you felt your chest tighten with fear. “Aemond… I’m tired,” you whispered, forcing yourself to sound calm even as your voice trembled. “I just want to rest.”

He stood. Slowly. Deliberately. Every movement controlled and precise, like a lion stalking forward. The dagger remained in his hand, dangling loosely but never truly at rest.

“Tired?” he repeated, his tone eerily soft, tasting the word as if it were foreign to him. “Tired of what? Of your freedom? Of the warmth he gives you?”

He took a step forward, his boots thudding softly against the stone floor. Your back pressed against the door, and your breathing quickened. You had nowhere left to go.

“He touched you, didn’t he?” His voice grew sharper, more venomous with each word. “I saw it. I saw how he looked at you like you belonged to him.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh that sent chills down your spine. “But he forgot one thing.”

He was right in front of you now, so close you could feel the heat of his body against yours. Your heart pounded in your chest as if it were trying to break free.

“You are mine,” he whispered, his voice so low it felt like a hiss of smoke curling around your ear. “No matter how many times you run to him. No matter how many times you let him touch you. In the end, you will always belong to me.”

“No,” you said, your voice cracking with the weight of your defiance. You shook your head, your eyes fierce despite the tears threatening to fall. “I am not yours, Aemond.”

His eye narrowed, and his lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. “You’re wrong.”

He lifted the dagger, the cold steel barely grazing your cheek. The touch was light, almost like a lover’s caress, but the weight of the threat behind it was suffocating.

“I don’t need a marriage to claim you,” he said, his voice colder than the blade on your skin. “I don’t need anyone’s blessing. You have been mine since the beginning. And I will make sure everyone remembers that — including you.”

The tears you had been holding back finally fell, hot trails down your cheeks. But you refused to look away. “If you love me…” your voice cracked as your throat tightened. “If you love me, you will never betray me.”

His smile disappeared instantly. His face went cold, his features carved from stone. He pulled the dagger away from your cheek, his gaze empty but somehow more terrifying than his rage.

“I love you,” he said slowly, as if it were an undeniable, absolute truth. “And that’s exactly why you will never leave.”

Without another word, he turned his back to you and walked toward the fire. He set the dagger down on a small table beside him, his movements calm, methodical, as if nothing had happened. He sat back down in the chair, folding his arms over his chest as he stared into the flames.

“Go to bed, wife,” he said, his voice unnervingly casual, as if the past few moments hadn’t happened at all.

It wasn’t a request. It was a command.

Your legs felt as if they had turned to stone. You couldn’t move. Your whole body trembled as you stared at him, watching the way his eyes remained fixed on the fire, not even glancing your way.

He didn’t have to. You knew he was still watching you.

Your eyes darted to the door behind you. Just a few steps. Just a few.

“If you step out of that door,” he said suddenly, his voice soft, almost gentle. “I will make sure Aegon never sees the sun again.”

Your heart stopped. Your eyes widened, and your gaze shot toward him. He didn’t look at you. He stared into the flames as if they were more interesting than anything you could ever say.

But you knew he wasn’t bluffing.

The tears came harder now, streaming down your face. Your hands shook as you wrapped your arms around yourself, hugging your body tightly. Slowly, painfully, you turned away from the door and took one step toward the bed. Then another.

Your heart felt heavier with every step, as if the weight of the world had settled on your shoulders. Your knees wobbled, but you forced yourself forward until you reached the edge of the bed. You sat down, your eyes fixed on the floor, your hands pressed against your growing belly.

“Good girl,” Aemond said softly, his voice filled with dark satisfaction. “You know where you belong.”

You felt yourself break. Something inside you, something you’d fought to protect, shattered.

You lowered your head, closing your eyes tightly as if shutting out the world would somehow make it all go away. But nothing could block out the cold weight of his words.

Your fingers curled over your belly, cradling the life growing inside you. Tears dripped down onto your lap, and a quiet, broken sob escaped your lips.

But there was no comfort for you here. No warmth. No safety. Only the sound of the fire crackling softly in the hearth and the quiet hum of Aemond’s breathing behind you.

You knew then that you were trapped. Not by the walls of the Red Keep. Not by your duty or your vows.

But by him.

The days passed quickly, but each one felt heavier than the last. You had grown cautious-every glance, every step, every breath weighed down by the fear of Aemond's eyes on you. His presence lingered even when he wasn't there, like a shadow that never faded.

You learned to move carefully, to avoid his gaze whenever possible. Your secret moments with Aegon became even more fleeting and hidden. You met him only in places where Aemond's eye could not reach-when he flew with Vhagar or during his training with Ser Criston. In those moments, you could breathe freely. For just a little while, you could feel like yourself again.

But every night, the suffocating weight returned. No one knew. Not your mother. Not Aegon. No one knew what happened in the darkness of your shared chamber.

Aemond's hand would grip your wrist with bruising force, dragging you to him no matter how much you resisted. You would plead with him, reminding him of your condition. "Please, Aemond, I'm carrying a child." Your voice would break, your tears falling freely.

But he never listened. His response was always the same. "i don't care, i will claim what's mine."

You stopped fighting after a while. It hurt less that way.

Every night, you lay there with tears streaming silently down your face, staring at the ceiling as he claimed what he thought belonged to him. His hands gripped you like a vice, his breath hot and sharp against your neck. Every whisper of his love felt like poison in your ears.

"You're mine," he would say, as if repeating it would make it true.

But in your heart, you knew it wasn't love. It was possession. It was control.

Every morning, you'd wake up with new bruises-faint marks on your wrists, your hips, and your neck. They lingered for days, and you covered them with sleeves and scarves, hiding them from the world. But you couldn't hide them from yourself.

Aemond would watch you dress with that same, sharp gaze. His single eye followed every movement, as if to remind you that no matter where you went, he would always be watching. You never looked at him. You never spoke to him unless absolutely necessary.

But he didn't care.

He knew. He knew you feared him. And he relished in it.

The only peace you found was in Aegon's presence. His touch was gentle. His words were soft. Sometimes he would press his forehead against yours, and for a moment, it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from your shoulders.

"Run away with me," he whispered once, his voice filled with quiet desperation. "We'll leave them all behind. I'll take you somewhere no one will ever find us."

Your eyes stung with tears. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to take his hand and run far, far away. But the image of Aemond's face flashed in your mind-the cold fury in his eye, the sharp edge of his dagger.

You knew he would hunt you to the ends of the world.

"He'll kill you, Aegon," you whispered, voice hollow. "He'll kill you just to make me watch."

Aegon cupped your face with both hands, his eyes fierce with defiance. "Let him try."

But you shook your head. "No. I won't lose you too."

Aegon pulled you close, his arms wrapped around you like a shield against the world. You buried your face in his chest, allowing yourself a moment of weakness, a moment to pretend you weren't afraid. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, soothing, steady, strong.

"I'll protect you," he vowed, his voice firm with resolve. "Even if it costs me everything."

But in the pit of your heart, you knew that protection would come at a cost. And you were terrified of what Aemond would do when he realized that the thing he cherished most-the thing he believed he owned -was slipping from his grasp.

You were now in the final month of your pregnancy, and the weight of it all — both physical and emotional — had become nearly unbearable. Your swollen belly left you confined to your chambers, your movements slow and careful. The once-familiar halls of the Red Keep now felt distant and unreachable.

Your mother visited often, her presence soothing, though her eyes always lingered on you with quiet worry. She could see it — the exhaustion in your gaze, the unspoken pain you carried. She never asked questions, but her hands would often reach for yours, squeezing them gently as if to remind you that she was still there.

Aegon visited, too. His visits were a much-needed reprieve from the storm that raged around you. He brought laughter, warmth, and stories that made you feel like you were living outside these walls. When he sat beside you, he’d rest a hand on your belly, grinning as he felt the baby’s kicks. “A little dragon with fire in their blood,” he’d say, his eyes crinkling with pride. His smile always eased your heart, if only for a moment.

But there was another presence in your chamber that refused to be ignored.

Aemond.

He allowed Aegon to enter your chambers, but only under his watchful eye. He would stand in the corner, arms crossed, his gaze cold and sharp as Valyrian steel. His presence hung in the air like a storm cloud, suffocating and ever-looming. You could feel his eye on you, always watching, always calculating.

Every glance exchanged between you and Aegon was met with the slow, deliberate clenching of Aemond’s jaw. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t have to. The threat lingered unspoken in the room.

“You don’t have to stay,” you had said to him once, exhaustion seeping into your voice. “I’m safe enough with my brother.”

Aemond’s eye flickered toward you, his lips curling into a faint, humorless smile. “You misunderstand, dear wife,” he replied, voice low and sharp as a blade. “I don’t stay to protect you. I stay to remind him that you belong to me.”

You felt the chill of his words settle into your bones. It wasn’t protection. It was control. It had always been control.

Aegon shifted beside you, his hand still on your belly, fingers pressing firmly as if anchoring himself to you. His eyes never left Aemond, his jaw tightening, his nostrils flaring. For once, Aegon didn’t have a joke to throw at his brother. He didn’t laugh. He only stared.

“You can remind me all you want, brother,” Aegon finally said, his voice quiet but sharp. “It won’t change a thing.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened, his fingers twitching at his side. His eye moved to you, as if daring you to say something, to deny him, to challenge him. But you didn’t. You stayed silent, your hand covering Aegon’s on your belly.

Aemond noticed. Of course he did.

His lips pressed into a thin line, his hands clasping behind his back as he approached. Each step felt like the sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard. He crouched in front of you, his eye level with yours, so close you could feel his breath on your skin.

“Soon, you’ll give birth,” he said softly, his voice deceptively tender. His hand reached for your face, his fingers brushing against your cheek with a gentleness that made your stomach twist with unease. “And when that child is born, it won’t matter whose blood runs through its veins. It will be mine. As you are mine.”

You turned your face away, but his grip on your chin forced you to look at him.

“Say it,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “Say it, my love. Say you are mine.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you bit your tongue, refusing to give him that satisfaction. His gaze searched yours, his patience waning.

Aegon’s voice shattered the moment. “Enough, Aemond.”

The air grew thick with tension. For a moment, it felt as though one wrong move would set everything ablaze. Aemond’s eye flicked toward Aegon, his lip curling into a sneer.

“Be careful, brother,” Aemond warned, his voice low with menace. “You’ve taken enough from me. Do not take her, too.”

Aegon rose slowly from the bed, his eyes locked with Aemond’s. “If she were truly yours, brother, you wouldn’t have to force her to say it.”

The silence was deafening.

Aemond stared at him for a moment longer, his breathing slow but deep, like a dragon ready to breathe fire. But then he rose to his full height, his hands still clasped behind his back. He tilted his head, his single eye narrowing in cold amusement.

“Be careful, Aegon,” he murmured as he turned on his heel, walking toward the door. “You never know which dragons bite.”

With that, he left, his footsteps echoing down the hall like thunder. The room felt lighter in his absence, but the weight on your chest remained.

Aegon sat beside you again, his hand finding yours. You clutched it tightly, your breath coming in shallow, unsteady gasps.

“He won’t touch you again,” Aegon promised, his voice low with conviction. “I won’t let him.”

But you both knew Aemond’s promises were not so easily broken.

As night fell and darkness draped itself over the world, the soft glow of moonlight spilled into your chamber, casting pale silver rays across the stone floor. You sat by the window, gazing out at the vast, endless sky, your fingers slowly tracing circles over the curve of your swollen belly. The rhythmic motion brought you a small measure of peace, a quiet reminder of the life growing within you.

But that peace did not last.

You felt him before you heard him. The subtle shift in the air. The weight of his presence behind you. His footsteps were too quiet, too deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. Your heart quickened, but you didn’t move, didn’t turn. Perhaps if you stayed still, he would leave you alone.

Then, you felt it.

His fingers brushed through your hair, slow and deliberate, as though he had every right to touch you. Your body tensed immediately, every muscle going rigid, and your breath caught in your throat. The tenderness of his touch only made it worse — the careful, possessive way his fingers lingered at the ends of your silver strands, as though you were something precious that belonged to him alone.

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to stay still. Do not react. Do not show fear.

But he didn’t stop.

His hand moved to the crown of your head, his fingers weaving through your hair as he leaned down. You squeezed your eyes shut, every part of you screaming to move away, but your body betrayed you, frozen in place. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the faint brush of his lips as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re too quiet tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and soft as silk, but laced with a quiet edge of danger. His lips lingered a moment longer before pulling away. “Are you afraid of me, wife?”

You didn’t answer. Your eyes stayed fixed on the window, your gaze distant as if the stars could somehow save you. Your fingers still rested on your belly, rubbing small circles as if to shield your child from the storm that lingered behind you.

Aemond’s patience was thin. It always had been.

His hand slid from your hair to your shoulder, his fingers curling around it with just enough pressure to make you feel it. “Answer me,” he said more firmly, his tone like a blade pressed against your skin. “Are you afraid of me?”

Your throat felt tight, as though it had been closed off with chains. For a moment, you thought of Aegon’s words. “He won’t touch you again. I won’t let him.” But Aegon wasn’t here. It was just you and him. It had always been just you and him in this room, in this prison masquerading as a marriage.

You swallowed hard, forcing down the fear that clawed at your chest. Slowly, you turned your head just enough to glance at him from the corner of your eye. His face was calm, too calm, his eye watching you intently, sharp and unblinking. The firelight from the hearth behind him flickered, casting shadows over the sharp angles of his face, making him look like something carved from stone.

“No,” you said quietly, your voice hollow. “I’m tired, that’s all.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his eye narrowing as if he were trying to see past your words, past your mask. Slowly, his grip on your shoulder loosened, his fingers sliding away, but not before brushing against your skin one last time.

“Rest then,” he said, his voice a whisper of command. “You’ll need your strength soon.”

He walked away, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. You didn’t turn to watch him go. Your eyes stayed on the stars. Your fingers pressed more firmly against your belly as if your child could feel your silent plea for strength.

Behind you, you heard him settle onto the bed. The quiet rustle of fabric. The shift of weight as he leaned back against the pillows. The room felt colder with him in it.

You stayed by the window for a while longer, counting each breath, each second, until you were certain his gaze was no longer on you. Only then did you allow yourself a quiet, shuddering breath.

He called you to the bed, his voice low but commanding, leaving little room for refusal. Your heart sank, but you knew there was no escaping it. Slowly, with quiet, measured steps, you approached, each movement feeling heavier than the last. The weight of his gaze bore down on you like chains, unyielding and inescapable.

He watched you intently, his sharp eye tracking your every move, and when you sat on the edge of the bed, he tilted his head, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice as smooth as silk, but it sent a chill down your spine.

You lay down beside him, your movements stiff and mechanical. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight, and you tried to keep your breathing steady, calm, though every muscle in your body was tight with tension.

He turned toward you, his long silver hair falling over his face, the firelight catching on its strands, giving him an almost ethereal glow.

His fingers brushed against your cheek, tracing the curve of your face with an unsettling gentleness. You didn't flinch, didn't move — you'd learned that it only made him more persistent.

"Look at you," he said softly, as if in awe. "So quiet, so obedient tonight." His thumb lingered at the corner of your mouth, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips. "I could almost believe you've finally accepted your place."

You didn't respond. Your eyes stayed fixed on a distant point beyond him, unfocused, your breathing shallow but steady. His thumb pressed lightly against your lower lip, tilting your face toward him, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Don't look away," he whispered, his voice gentle but firm. "You're mine. You always will be."

Then, without warning, he leaned in, his lips pressing against yours. It wasn't harsh or forceful, but that only made it worse. It was slow, deliberate — the way a man kisses something he believes belongs to him. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss.

You didn't move.

You didn't push him away, but you didn't kiss him back either. Your lips were still, unmoving, cold. You knew better than to resist outright, but giving in was something you would not do.

Not tonight. Not ever.

He pulled back just far enough to look at you, his eye narrowing as he studied your face. For a moment, it felt as though he might say something - a rebuke, a threat, a reminder of who you belonged to. But he didn't. His hand lingered on your face, his fingers trailing down your jawline, before resting lightly on your throat.

He could feel your pulse there. He always did this, as if he needed to remind you how fragile you were in his hands.

"One day, you'll stop fighting me," he said quietly, almost like a promise. "One day, you'll see that there's no one else who will ever love you like I do."

His hand slipped away from your throat, and he settled back onto his pillow, closing his eye as if nothing had happened. You stayed still, your eyes fixed on the ceiling, your heart pounding in your chest.

You gripped your mother’s hand tightly as a sharp wave of pain tore through you, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. Sweat clung to your skin, your back arched as you cried out. The maester and midwives moved around you with practiced urgency, their voices a blur of instructions and reassurances. But none of it reached you. All you could hear was the pounding of your heart and the sound of your own labored breathing.

Tears streamed down your face as you turned your gaze toward your mother. “Please,” you sobbed, voice hoarse from exertion. “Please, let Aegon in. I need him.”

Her eyes softened with concern, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she didn’t answer, torn between your plea and her sense of propriety. Her fingers brushed your damp hair away from your forehead, offering comfort, but it wasn’t enough. “He’s right outside,” she said, her voice soothing but firm. “You’re strong, my sweet girl. You can do this.”

“No!” you gasped, clutching at her hand as another contraction hit, fiercer than the last. Your body trembled, and you shook your head violently, eyes wild with desperation. “I need him, Mother! Please, I need him with me!”

Her eyes darted toward the door, hesitation clear on her face. She knew who else was waiting outside. Aemond. His presence lingered like a shadow even beyond the thick wood of the door. Her gaze returned to you, torn but seeing the raw fear and pain in your eyes.

“Very well,” she relented at last, brushing her lips against your temple. “Stay strong, my love. I’ll bring him.”

Her hand slipped from yours, and you watched her figure retreat toward the door, her skirts swishing behind her. Your breath came in shallow, broken gasps as you tried to focus on anything but the pain. You heard the faint creak of the door and muffled voices beyond it.

The sound of heavy footsteps filled the air.

Aegon’s voice came first — louder, more insistent. “Move, Aemond.” His tone was sharp, like steel drawn from its scabbard. “She needs me.”

“She doesn’t need you,” Aemond’s voice followed, cold and controlled but laced with something darker beneath it. “She has me. She doesn’t need anyone else.”

“Don’t make me push you aside, brother,” Aegon hissed, closer now, each footstep deliberate and unyielding. “I’m going in.”

There was a tense pause, then the heavy thud of something — or someone — hitting the wall. The door swung open wider, and for a moment, you thought Aemond might follow. But it was Aegon who entered, his eyes locked on you, face twisted with concern. His gaze softened the instant he saw you, taking in your tear-streaked face, your trembling form, and your outstretched hand reaching for him.

“I’m here,” he breathed, rushing to your side and falling to his knees next to the bed. His hands were warm as they clasped yours, his fingers curling around yours like he was anchoring you to the world. “I’m here, love. I’m not leaving you.”

Your sobs broke free at his words, and you squeezed his hand like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “Don’t let him in,” you whispered frantically, your eyes darting to the door. “Don’t let Aemond in.”

Aegon’s jaw tensed, his eyes flicking toward the door, where the shadow of his brother lingered just beyond the threshold. He glanced at your mother, exchanging a silent understanding. Her eyes were sharp as she moved to block the doorway, her stance unyielding.

“No one will come near you,” Aegon vowed, his eyes never leaving yours. “Not him. Not anyone. It’s just you and me now.”

The pain came again, searing and unrelenting, and your cry filled the room. Aegon’s forehead pressed to yours, his voice a low, steady murmur in your ear. “Breathe with me,” he said, his breath warm and familiar. “In and out. Just like that. We’ll do it together.”

And together, you endured.

The pain was unbearable, sharper than any blade, hotter than any flame. You screamed, your voice hoarse from the strain, tears streaming down your face. “I can’t do this!” you cried, your breath coming in short, frantic gasps. “I can’t, Aegon! I can’t!”

Your body trembled with exhaustion, every muscle burning with effort. Panic clawed at your mind, the weight of it crushing you as you shook your head in denial. Your eyes locked onto Aegon’s, wild and desperate.

He cupped your face, his thumb brushing away your tears with a tenderness that contrasted with the storm of pain inside you. His gaze held no doubt, only fierce determination. “Yes, you can,” he said, his voice low but steady, like an anchor in the chaos. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known. Look at me, love. Look at me."

You blinked, trying to focus on his face as everything around you blurred into the background. The soft glow of the firelight, the hurried voices of the maester and midwives, even the sound of your mother’s quiet prayers—all of it faded away until it was just him.

He pressed his lips to your forehead, letting them linger there for a moment longer than necessary. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” His voice was warm, a promise wrapped in steel. “One more push. Just one more, love.”

The maester’s voice cut in. “It’s time. Push now, my lady. You’re almost there!”

Your whole body shook as you gripped Aegon’s hand so tightly that you were certain you’d break his fingers. But he didn’t flinch. He only squeezed back, grounding you, giving you something to hold on to.

With a cry that tore from the deepest part of your soul, you bore down with all the strength you had left. Every fiber of your being focused on this single moment, this one final push.

“You’re doing it,” Aegon whispered, his voice filled with awe and pride. “You’re doing it, my love.”

There was a searing, blinding moment of pain. And then—relief. The weight in your belly lifted, replaced by the sharp, piercing wail of a newborn’s first breath.

“It’s a boy,” the maester announced, his voice filled with quiet joy. “A strong, healthy boy.”

Your chest heaved with the effort, your whole body slack with exhaustion. But the sound of that tiny cry pulled you from the haze of pain. Tears welled in your eyes as you turned toward the maester, who carefully placed the squirming, wriggling babe into your arms.

He was small, red-faced, and loud—so loud. His silver hair, damp with birth, clung to his tiny head, and his little fists flailed in the air. You stared down at him, breathless and overwhelmed.

“He’s perfect,” Aegon breathed, leaning down to rest his head against yours, gazing at your son with wide, wonder-filled eyes. “You did it, my love. You did it.”

A sob broke free from your chest, this time from joy instead of pain. Your fingers brushed against the soft skin of your son’s cheek, marveling at how small and delicate he was. “We did it,” you whispered, turning your gaze to Aegon, eyes filled with love and gratitude. “We did it together.”

He kissed your temple, his lips warm and lingering against your skin. “He’s ours,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “No one will ever take him from us.”

As you gazed at your son, your heart swelled with a fierce, protective love that drowned out every fear, every doubt. He was yours. Yours and Aegon’s. And no one—not Aemond, not anyone—would change that.

The air in the room grew heavier as Aemond’s boots echoed softly against the stone floor. You could feel each step, the slow, deliberate pace of a man who believed he had every right to be here. Your eyes flickered from your mother’s warm gaze to Aemond’s cold, unyielding stare.

Aegon was seated beside you, his fingers gently stroking the back of your hand. His presence was steady, grounding, and you clung to it like a lifeline. He noticed Aemond’s approach immediately, his posture straightening, his eyes narrowing like a predator ready to pounce.

Your heart tightened when Aemond stopped at the side of your bed. His gaze swept over you, lingering on the bundle of warmth cradled against your chest—your newborn son. For a fleeting moment, something softer passed through his eye, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

He leaned down slowly, his silver hair falling around his face like a curtain, and before you could react, his lips pressed firmly against your forehead. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tender. It felt like a brand—an unspoken claim.

His hand brushed your cheek as he straightened, his cool fingers lingering for a heartbeat too long. His gaze locked onto yours, sharp as a dagger’s edge. “You have done well, wife,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, as though every word was a vow. His eye flickered to the baby nestled in your arms. “Our son is strong. I knew he would be.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You felt Aegon’s grip on your hand tighten, his fingers curling protectively around yours. His body went rigid beside you, every muscle taut with barely restrained fury.

“He’s not yours, brother,” Aegon said, his voice sharp but controlled, like a sword just before it strikes. “You know that as well as I do.”

Aemond’s smile was a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. He didn’t look at Aegon—he only looked at you. “Blood is blood,” he murmured. “No matter how it is claimed.”

You shook your head, feeling the weight of his words press on your chest like a stone. “He is not yours, Aemond,” you said firmly.

He didn’t move, his gaze fixed on you. His eye lowered slowly to your son, and his fingers twitched at his side, curling into a loose fist. “Does it even matter anymore?” he asked quietly, but his voice was like a blade slicing through the stillness of the room.

“It matters to me,” Aegon shot back, his voice laced with venom. He stepped forward, just a pace, and you could feel the shift in his body, the protective edge to his movements. “If you have something to say, brother, say it. But don’t you dare cast your doubts here.”

Aemond’s gaze snapped to Aegon, sharp as Valyrian steel, his lip curling ever so slightly. “I wonder if you’d still be so bold without your guards and wine to dull your senses.”

“Try me.” Aegon’s voice was low, dangerous in a way that surprised even you. "you can't just take what's mine just like that"

Aemond tilted his head slightly, his eye narrowing with quiet amusement. “Take?” he repeated, his tone as smooth as silk but sharp as steel. “I do not need to take what is already mine.”

Your mother’s eyes flicked between the three of you, her face tense with concern. “Aemond,” she said softly, placing a hand on his arm, trying to pull him back. “Leave them be. Please.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might listen. His gaze darted to his mother, his jaw tightening, his breath slow and controlled. But then his eyes settled on Aegon, and something darker flickered behind them.

“Careful, brother,” Aemond warned, his voice low with menace. “You’ve taken things from me before. Do not think I will let you take her too.”

Aegon rose from his seat slowly, his movements calm, calculated. But his eyes were anything but calm. They burned with a quiet, seething rage. He stepped between you and Aemond, his back to you, his shoulders squared like a shield.

“She is not yours, Aemond,” Aegon repeated, his voice low but firm. “Not now. Not ever.”

The two of them stood there, inches apart, their gazes locked in a silent war. It was a moment of unbearable tension, and you feared for what might happen next.

But it was your mother who broke it. “Enough,” Alicent said, stepping between her sons, her voice steady but commanding. “Both of you, enough.” She turned to Aemond, her eyes hard but pleading. “This is not the time for your pride, Aemond. She has just given birth. Leave her in peace.”

For a moment, Aemond didn’t move. He looked down at you, his eye lingering on the sight of you and the child in your arms. His face was stone, but you saw the flicker of something else—resentment, jealousy, longing.

You turned your head at the sound of your sister’s voice. Helaena entered the room, her soft footsteps barely audible on the stone floor. She carried her baby in her arms, rocking her gently, her usual distant but kind smile on her face.

Her eyes landed on Aegon first, and she tilted her head, her gaze as soft as ever. “Aegon,” she called his name with a small, almost pleading tone. “The twins are asking for you. They won’t sleep without their father tonight.”

You saw Aegon glance at you, hesitation flickering in his eyes. His jaw clenched, his grip on your hand lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “I’ll be back,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing against your fingers.

You nodded, offering him a small, reassuring smile. You could see the guilt in his eyes. It wasn’t easy for him to leave you here, not after what had just happened with Aemond.

Aegon leaned down, pressing a kiss on your forehead, then glanced at the baby nestled in your arms. “Rest, love,” he murmured softly. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

He stepped toward Helaena, and she glanced at you briefly. Her gaze lingered on the baby in your arms. Her smile grew wider, her eyes lighting up with that familiar dreamlike warmth. “He’s beautiful,” she said softly, her voice gentle as a lullaby. “He looks just like you.”

Her words should have brought you comfort, but they didn’t. Not when you knew who was still standing behind you.

You felt it before you heard it—the weight of his presence, the sharp, cold sensation of being watched too closely. Aemond’s breath was steady, his gaze sharp as ever, piercing into the back of your head like a blade.

He moved closer, slowly, as if to make his presence unavoidable. His voice came low and quiet, just for you to hear. The words were soft but sharp as a dagger’s edged.

“Does it ease your heart,” Aemond whispered, his voice like silk and steel, “to think he’ll love you more than he loved her?”

Your chest tightened painfully, the words like a sudden blow you weren’t prepared for. Your breath hitched, but you didn’t turn to look at him. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

But he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, his voice even quieter now, dangerously gentle. “Men like him never stay, sweet wife,” he continued, his words coated with venom. “Not for you. Not for anyone.”

Your fingers gripped the fabric of your blanket tighter, your heart pounding in your chest. You bit your lip to keep from saying something that would make it worse. You didn’t want to give him any more power than he already thought he had.

Behind him, Helaena’s eyes shifted to Aemond. Her smile faded, her brow furrowing ever so slightly. She blinked slowly, as if seeing something others could not. Her eyes met yours briefly, something unspoken passing between you. She knew. Somehow, she always knew.

“Come, Aegon,” Helaena said softly, turning away, her voice gentle but firm. “The twins are waiting.”

Aegon glanced at you one last time. You could see it in his eyes—the promise that he would return. That he wouldn’t leave you alone.

But he left. He had to.

The door shut softly behind them, and you were left alone with him.

Aemond didn’t move for a long time. You could feel him standing there, feel his eyes on you like a brand on your skin. Slowly, he moved around to stand in front of you, his gaze locking onto yours with that same cold intensity.

“You will never be free of me,” he said softly, his head tilting slightly, his eye narrowing. “No matter how far he runs or how sweet his words are, you will always belong to me.”

He crouched down, his gaze level with yours now. His face was unreadable, his voice soft but absolute. “Do not forget, sweet wife,” he said, his eye flicking to the baby in your arms. “I never forget what is mine.”

Your heart felt like it might shatter in your chest, but you didn’t look away. Not this time. You met his gaze head-on, your eyes fierce despite the fear clawing at the edges of your mind.

“I am not yours, Aemond,” you said, your voice steady but firm. “I never was.”

His jaw clenched, his lips pressing into a thin, dangerous line. For a moment, you thought he might strike you. But instead, he reached forward, his fingers brushing lightly over the baby’s head, his touch far too gentle for a man with so much darkness in his heart.

“We’ll see,” he whispered, standing slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “We’ll see.”

He turned and walked toward the door, his steps slow, controlled, each footstep echoing louder than the last. He didn’t look back as he left, but his presence lingered, like a storm waiting to break.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, and you exhaled the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

You looked down at the baby in your arms, your fingers stroking his silver hair. His little face was peaceful, unbothered by the storm that surrounded him. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his tiny forehead, your heart aching with love and fear all at once.

“You are mine,” you whispered to him softly, your voice trembling with quiet determination. “No one will ever take you from me.”

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Calming the Emperor God

Geta x wife! reader

warning : hurt/comfort, kissing, cuddling, mention of murder and sickness

Summary : Rome seemed to turn on their rulers, what Caracalla compensated with more Colosseum fighting Geta had to face reality as much as he thought he was divine, he alone couldn't control everything. The demand of his head was only the beginning as the emperor sought advice and care in the arms of his wife.

info : A work for Geta I just wanted to give him a long hug, enjoy reading ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marriage, when you were a ruler of a empire, it was important to have a wife after your appointment, someone you loved or not, someone who could give you an heir.

He had even less regard for his father than his brother, a man driven by empathy and kindness as well as hope, a weak man whose only great deed was to father him and Caracalla with his mother, nothing else. That was the only reason for his damned father's last acts, a marriage.

A marriage three years ago, on his twentieth name day, he took her as his wife, a young lady of his own age from a noble house of the united kingdoms under Rome.

He hadn't thought much of her then, but when he looked at the sitautioon now, she was more than just his love, she was his shield, the judgement of the people and a light that all kinds of people looked up to so that the people wouldn't rise up in revolt.

She was a pillar at his side who could lead Rome, advise Caracalla and be there for him at the same time…the only thing that had not been created in all this time was an heir.

An inheritance that in theory the two emperors had in each other, but with each passing day Geta saw how bad things were for Caracalla, ,,The Holy Roman Empire will belong to the world, but three deaths would mean its end" he had said shortly after their wedding, at first still indifferent to her, even disgusted by her failure to conceive and paranoid that she would betray him.

But none of this mattered when he saw how gentle she was with his brother, how good she was at managing the senate and how understanding she was towards him every day.

,,My doubts were never about you, my husband, a marriage of the dead is beyond our influence and your circumstance worries me more than my own" she had admitted when she realised how bad things were for the emperors.

Who ruled a world empire, how easy she had had it, several siblings, no illnesses, her parents a long life and security, everything Geta and his brother didn't have.

Both had hardly received any training in warfare, politically she hardly knew what to do and they had no connection to the people.

From the moment they were born, they had already come too close to the sun and would never raise their wings again. She was a woman, a princess, aware of her role as a mother, but if she couldn't even be that, she would do anything to support her husband.

Taking her eyes from the marble floor that lay cold beneath her sandals, she looked back at her husband Geta presenting new proposals for the military, improvements and enhancements to a Senate that seemed barely interested.

They were strategies and proposals for which Geta had spent hours and nights in the library with her, he was trying so hard for his people, or at least for the world for now, the dream of a Rome that covered the world, it wasn't fair that the senate consisted only of fake snakes, but you couldn't kill them either.

No one is interested but us she thought and sat down again on Geta's throne when she heard a giggle next to her.

Caracalla was once again more than just bored by all this and began to play with his fingers, seeing that Geta gave her a quick glance and an unsaid ‘thank you darling’ seemed to come from his eyes, she rose to take care of Caracalla.

As much as the presence of both emperors was required, Caracalla was disturbed by the introduction of the laws the blond was probably about to rise herself, she put her hand on his shoulder, ,,We should leave Geta alone, how about a game?" she asked in a whisper and saw the grin widen. Already sending Caracalla forward.

She bowed to Geta who had paused in his speech, allowing everyone a brief moment to think, ,,I'm already longing for your liberating kiss of my sorrows" he murmured to her before placing a kiss on her cheek, a face with a ‘divine’ countenance looking back at her before she withdrew from the senate.

Once again, her god had to try to cope on his own, an event that occurred weekly and took its toll on him, for what was an emperor without preparation since childhood?

He was nothing.

Footsteps followed Caracalla, who was already pulling out his favourite figurines from a wicker basket, ,,The conquest of Rome with the crucifixions of the Christians!" he announced and she clapped as he told her everything in meticulous detail.

Not a game in the sense, but something amusing for him, especially when he could stab the little figures and she had to make the death noises that he always found extremely sweet, ,,Your memories are unfathomable and fascinating," she said and tapped him on the forehead.

He could hardly remember what was served for dinner yesterday, but he seemed to know such a battle going back hundreds of years completely by heart, it was the madness you couldn't control.

But that didn't matter because, apart from the battle, they played together with Dundus and in the afternoon she had to sing Caracalla a lullaby because otherwise he wouldn't go to bed, otherwise he would only cause more ‘problems’ like a small child.

One thing that hardly bothered her anymore she knew it would give Geta less to worry about and she had a few more hours of peace and quiet in which to organise her own things, ,,Sleep well little king" she whispered as she closed the door to his room and with a sigh made her way back to her own room.

Knowing that the meeting in the senate would take a long time she returned to her art of the gods, knowing that only they could help her and her family Appolo I pray to you for healing and beauty over my brother-in-law Caracalla and husband Geta she heard her own praying voice in front of her altar to Appolon the model for Geta.

In all the golden clothes he wore, even the make-up was dedicated to the god, but the gods seemed to have abandoned the brothers since the birth and not given her a blessing.

She spent the next few hours embroidering, writing and reading books, hoping to get advice from former emperors on how to cultivate fields to increase yields, which were getting lower and lower.

This was bad for the population of Rome, the army and the imperial family itself, who had to cope with all this without falling into the madness that Caracalla was making worse and worse.

The goblet of water next to her was refilled every now and then and the lamps and torches in her room were turned on by the servants when the sun had long since reached the horizon, she knew that the discussion in the Senate had to come to an end.

She was about to roll back the parchment and place it on the table when someone knocked on her door.

,,Yes?” she said, but instead of her beloved she only found a servant who bowed and replied, ,,Emperor Geta wishes to see you, he insists that you dine with him. His brother Emperor Caracalla has already been taken care of” the message read.

She sent the servant away with a wave of her hand and rose herself more hastily than she had intended and immediately headed for his chamber, which was only a corridor away.

So Caracalla is sleeping well it flashed through her mind casually as she realized that he had probably taken care of him as well. Geta was once again doing a lot more than he was supposed to, another reason why she loved him so much.

Stopping in front of the large double wooden door, the guards bowed before they opened the door for her and she was finally back with him, ,,Geta dearest I see you again,” she said happily and automatically went to the table where she had expected him to be for dinner but he wasn't there.

Turning around as she heard a sniffle she saw a golden curly head standing on the balcony, he was overlooking the city but ewa san his posture made her falter ,,Geta? Is everything alright?” she asked as she stepped out into the cool night and stood behind him, her fingers carefully resting against his back.

He was tense, trembling slightly but whether it was from the cold or the excitement she couldn't tell, ,,No one...none of these philistines listened, it led to nothing,” he finally said slowly as he turned to face her, the moon shining above him, the cold god watching over God's representation on earth.

The make-up on his face smudged, the golden light clothes wrinkled and not smooth and his blond hair completely disheveled. He did not have the madness of his brother, but as the sole ruler of an empire, such a burden lay heavily on him alone. ,,My husband, you know I couldn't be prouder, don't you?” she asked the superfluous question but knew he needed it.

The next moment he turned to her with a sigh and grasped her hands, she could see the watery eyes even in the faint moonlight, ,,The feelings are the same...but an emperor without his senate only with enemies and no support as it seems...is neither god nor man he is nothing” he finally spoke the truth and embraced her a little more strongly, slightly painfully and yet seeking help.

She understood him, understood him from the bottom of her heart, a pain, a helplessness she knew only too well.

Putting her hand on his cheek and looking at him for a moment, he entangled her in a kiss, she felt his hand at her side running over her hip, ,,Love you” she heard the murmured words as they broke away, as this wonderful fallen god looked at her so full of grace and love.

Her heart was bound with his as the brass rings made a soft muffled sound as their hands met again, the small smile on the god's lips as he looked at his love.

,,You are the most important thing to me and to Caracalla and I as your beloved swear to you that this will not be the end,” she assured him and saw the love that showed in the darkly painted eyes.

She saw him look away at Rome, the city behind him, his home and the empire that belonged to him, saw the nod, heard the intake of breath as he pulled her into another kiss. he may be destitute but he would never lose his family, his love, Geta knew that.

,,We'll show them together," he promised and led her next to him, leaving his hand linked with hers and seeming to promise her not only Rome, but the whole world, because together the imperial family of Rome would be able to do anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@potatoesenpaii , @thatnerdliv , @scorpiongirlsthings , @pxnx-kk

@the-a-word-2214 , @peakygirl1919 , @k-yurieee

[cheesus-doodles]

Letters

Yandere Rollo

Masterlist | TWST Masterlist

‎

i like my repressed christian boys a lot if yall can't tell ;-;, couldn't pass up on this....tr will be back on schedule next!

Rollo Flamme never imagined himself as simply ordinary. He had always been destined to be extraordinary, committed and focused, willing to put in the work to achieve perfection. Yes, there was no doubt that there were ways to go to meet his goals, seeing as his fire lily plan went up in flames on first contact with that wretched Malleus Draconia and his Night Raven buddies despite his months of meticulous planning and careful scheming.

Yet here he was, walking at a speed Rollo hoped didn’t divulge how fast his heart was pounding away, your letter carefully tucked away deep within his robes, pressed right up against his chest. Green eyes concentrated on nothing but his next step, his poker-face and overall reputation as the Student Council President a god-sent for keeping unwanted attention away as he cut a path through the school towards his room, hands clasped in front of him as they always were. 

Outside the gates of Noble Bell College, Fleur City was as lively as ever, the hustle and bustle of a city coming back to life under the gentle evening sun echoed throughout the conversely silent campus as people enjoyed busking in the remaining sunlight after a long day of work. It was an exceptionally cool day too, the white-haired boy noted to himself, the breeze sweeping down the hallways and bursting forth into the open air strong enough to lift the ends of his robes.

A respectful mumble of “Rollo-kaicho” rose from the scatter of students milling around as he walked past, though nothing that a returned nod of acknowledgement couldn’t settle.

The peacefulness that blanketed the stately campus as the sun sank further and further down the horizon reminded him much of the night of the Young Mage’s Social ball, and more so, you. Rollo could recall that particular evening with perfect clarity, the sights and sounds replaying again in his head as the purple-clad mage made his way indoors, the old wooden door swinging shut behind him with nay a creak, shutting out both the wind and the sounds of the city.

‎

His own footsteps were the only sound ringing across otherwise empty corridors as the boy turned the situation he had found himself unexpectedly stuck in over and over again in his mind. It had never been his intention to fall over his own set trap, yet how was it he did so anyway despite all his wariness and discipline?

This had all begun as a plot for revenge right after he had been bested, by villains no less. It would be hard for Rollo to even admit that he had come to terms with the beating he received several months ago, let alone the night after it happened, and his next plot had already begun to hatch the moment you swept into view dressed in your masquerade costume, accompanied by none other than Malleus himself. From everything he witnessed, it was clear that the Draconia housewarden cared greatly for you, and dare he guess, maybe even had some unexpressed feelings for you. 

Not that he hadn’t noticed you before that night, but it was certainly the first time that he had come to realize just how central a place you held among the Night Raven College students, and how crucial a card you would be in his next plan to wipe that smug smirk off of that wretched fae prince’s face.

The night of the Young Mages’ Social ball had been surprisingly ordinary, given what had just happened. He had been exhausted and dead on his feet, even if he showed no sign of it outwardly; the orderliness of the hall that he painstakingly cleaned after the last fire lotus had withered was a welcomed sight. Alas there was no time for sleep, not that it would matter given his already heavy eyebags. But despite his state, you had instantly caught his eye at the start of the ball, quietly huddled towards the back of the Night Raven group, trying your best to look anywhere but at him or at the rest of the crowd as you and your friends were singled out as the saviors of Fleur City. And it was obvious that you were feeling even more out-of-place as the dance began in earnest, though whether it was from the crowds or just general awkwardness, Rollo could not say.

Taking his leave from the merrymaking, the white-haired Council President could find no surprise within him when he found you sitting alone later outside of the hall, enjoying the peace and quiet that had fallen over the city with the arrival of night, looking up at the blanket of stars, a glass of what looked like juice in your hand.

“May I join you?”

You had jumped at his words, though you did settle quickly upon realizing it was just him for reasons unbeknownst to Rollo. “By all means,” you replied, waving him down to join you. After all, he did just try to essentially kill your friends and all mages in general. Perhaps you knew something he didn’t, the purple-clad student mused to himself, subtly watching you from the corner of his pale green eyes. Or perhaps you were just presumptuous, given you hadn’t been affected as badly as the rest.

The dark sky was clear of clouds, the dark of space dotted with twinkles as far as the eye could see, the moon hanging alone amidst the barren sky; an alluring sight for weary souls - and judging from how discreetly you had excused yourself from the social, you definitely were tired. 

A pause as Rollo took a seat a respectful distance from you. “Too much?”

You nodded. “Too much.”

Whatever it was, you seemingly held no ill will towards Rollo, simply accepting his quiet company. And so the two of you sat in comfortable silence as the young mages danced and laughed the night away just a stone’s throw away. The minutes melted into hours as the world continued to turn, though the calmness of the reality around him was a far cry from the turmoil of thoughts within his head. 

When the night started to grow old and the cacophony of noises began to die down, it was as if an unheard bell had gone off, and you reluctantly stood, empty glass now in hand - your friends were bound to come looking for you should they notice you were missing. And with you leaving soon and that night being the last one you were spending at Noble Bell College, it was finally time to launch the first phase of his plan.

”I would like to write to you,” Rollo started, immediately cringing internally as the words left his lips, but there was no going back now. “If it is alright with you.”

He held his breath as you considered his request, your head cocking to the side as you contemplated. “Sure, why not?” You shrugged, shooting him a light smile, your hair gleaming in the waning moonlight. “Goodnight, Rollo.”

Exhale. And that was that.

‎

But now here he was, Rollo mused, eagerly anticipating the opportunity to read your letter alone. Has his plan gone astray? He shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts of you, just till he could be alone. For all his routine and self-discipline, you were the one temptation he couldn’t seem to get squash down.

Coming to a pause at the fork in the hallway, the Noble Bell Council President paused. The last thing he wanted was to be interrupted tonight in the midst of his much-needed analysis of your letter, so against the burning desires of his heart and the weight of your letter heavy in his robes, he forced himself to take a detour, his feet carrying him down sparse corridors towards the councilrooms. It was easy to spot his Vice President still hard at work amidst the otherwise empty room, scouring through a stack of papers at his desk, head down and pen scribbling away.

A quiet clearing of his throat was enough to get the attention of the occupant inside. “Rollo-kaicho!” Said student rocketed up from his seat, hurriedly adjusting his slipping striped cap. “What brings you here at this time of day?”

“I wanted to check in before I retired for the day,” replied the white-haired boy, giving a courteous glance to the rest of the unoccupied desks before returning his gaze to the other. “Is there anything I should know about?”

The Noble Bell Vice President stuttered for a moment, lost for words and wrecking his tired brain in an attempt to find what to say. “I-uh-“

Pulling out his celestial-patterned handkerchief, his movement just barely managed to cover the disgusted look that fell over his expression, eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing as the stench of magic overwhelmed his senses, though Rollo still managed to keep his tone neutral. Even if he was the one to initiate contact, that hardly made a difference with his nausea. “It’s fine,” the magic-adverse mage managed to grit out without a hint of distaste, his tone as neutral as it always has been. “Please have the points ready for me tomorrow morning.”

“Of course, Rollo-kaicho. I apologize again.”

‎

Finally being able to lock his room door behind him brought a relief much like cold water over hot iron, ending the depraved pulsing in his mind that the mere presence of the envelope in his robes against his chest brought on with every passing second. Tossing the heinous paper carelessly onto his well-worn table top, Rollo instead hurriedly picked it back up again, pale green eyes scanning for any further damage he had caused, though fortunately there was none to be found.

Letting out a sigh of relief, the white-haired boy settled into his chair. Now, to satisfy both his curiosity and anticipation.

Trembling fingers carefully peeled open the envelope, revealing a slightly yellowed, unevenly folded paper much to Rollo’s chagrin - he would have much preferred if you used a perfect white piece of paper, quality stationery instead of this random piece you must have had left over from your homework, and if you had folded it the same way he did all this time. But he supposed he couldn’t expect that high a standard from you, given the riff-raff of mages you found yourself in the company of. As he gently freed your letter from its paper enclosure, his sensitive nose caught a whiff of a familiar scent, the smell probably having lingered on from when you first mailed it out.

The light fragrance of your favorite shampoo, Rollo deduced, bringing the paper up to his nose. He recognized it, no matter how faint it was. You must have just finished showering when you wrote and sealed the letter if the aroma still endured. A breath of fresh air amidst the rank odor of magic and mages.

And then he began to read.

Dear Rollo, the letter began as it always did, those two words enough to have his heart skip a beat like nothing else could. But this time, the next few that followed were even better. Your letter came late, and it was sorely missed.

Line by line, you spelled out your daily ongoings, your interactions with your fellow schoolmates, your inner thoughts. Rambling about anything and everything that came to mind, thoughts spilling out without filter straight onto paper. About how Grimm (that filthy magic cat) nearly failed his test again and about how Deuce and Ace got into their latest spat of trouble with their housewarden Riddle. About how Jack and Epel were like to work with on your history project, and how you felt about one of your lunches being stolen by Leona.

Just like that, the minutes slipped through his finger, and with a pang in his heart, Rollo came to the end of your letter.

He placed the paper down on the paper, taking a breath.

How was it that he could feel so attached to another person through a simple piece of paper? How did you ensnare him so effortlessly, bypassing his hard-fought discipline as if it didn’t exist? Did all this mean that his revenge plot against Malleus had already gone awry?

‎

The night was cool and quiet, the moonlight that shone through his stained glass windows bringing the Noble Bell Council President back to that fateful night. A light gust of wind seeped in through a small crack, creaking the old wooden panels in the floor as it blew through his room. 

Your writing had improved, Rollo noted, as per his guidance in his previous letter. You were using a ruler to ensure straight lines, and your handwriting had neaten greatly; a far cry from your first reply to him, the memory of those scrawling letters that ran up and done and every-which way except straight across the paper still causing shivers to run down his spine. That was bad.

Carefully and painstakingly refolding the paper, Rollo stood, returning it to its envelope before moving to stow the letter within his secret compartment above the fireplace, with previous letters neatly arranged upright according to date received. His fingers lightly brushed past all your correspondence with him, his chest fluttering at your willingness to speak with him, his mind already churning with how and what he should reply to you. Would you be interested in perhaps coming back to Noble Bell? Maybe he should visit Night Raven College? Even if that blasted Draconia was there, it would be worth it just to have some private, personal time with you, the white-haired mage calculated, his hand tapping an unknown rhythm across his desk that he now leaned against.

‎

There was no point in denying his obsession with you, not at this point - it had been awhile since you started to occupy his every waking moment and thoughts, and being as organized and detailed as Rollo was, he could pinpoint the exact moment when he began to spiral. Sure, his first letter had been full of nothings, meaningless pleasantries and stories that he polished to perfection over the course of a night of restlessness. But what he got back was your heart on your sleeve, your mind like an open book for him to pick apart and examine.

As things turned out, the more he picked, the more he found. Questions he sent always came back answered, with you evidently letting slip more than you intended to originally say, sometimes directly and sometimes when he read between the lines. 

A single line in your third reply to him was all it took to begin his unending slide. 

You were from a different world.

The more he sat on it, turning it around and round in his mind, the more his chest grew warm, and you began his center of focus. Even the mere passing pondering of what you were doing now was enough to grip Rollo’s entire being, to have his heart rate increase and his thoughts to jumble. After all, in this foul, tainted world, there could be no purer person than someone who came from a place where no magic exists.

You were perfection embodied. 

In a twist of fate, you turned out to be pure, a shining beacon amidst the foul-smelling heathens. A gift from the heavens, a blessings from the divine meant for none other than him, that no one could properly appreciate except for him. Sure you weren’t the most orderly, and you did have your moments where you were occasionally wowed by magic, especially the inhuman feats from that wretched Malleus Draconia, but you remained untainted despite your constant proximity to the taint of magic that surrounded and cloaked you as if a heavy fog. Never indicated anything more than a passing interest in the magic that your companions wielded and an admiration that Rollo was sure he could rid you off. All you needed was time away from those mages, spent instead in his company.

‎

Stepping away from his desk and moving now towards his personal bathroom, Rollo came to the answer he had been looking for as the boy moved to undress himself for a nighttime shower. It had been in front of him all this time.

The answer was no. 

No, he hadn’t forsaken his plan to wield you against Malleus; sure the exact details had changed as the months went by, but everything he did was as he had schemed. Just that now, you didn’t have to be a means to an end, you didn’t need to be just another casualty wrecked up amidst his crusade against the villains. Stealing you away from the fae prince would be one of the largest blows he could deal with to that condescending prick, the beginning of his downfall - the excitement tingling at Rollo’s arms as he imagined the crestfallen expression that would twist Draconia’s face, the streak-free bathroom mirror reflecting the pale green eyes that lighted up in callous pleasure.

It would be glorious.

But for now, Rollo determined, schooling his face back into its usual neutral look as he turned to step into the shower room, what he needed to concentrate on was his next letter to you.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A fun question your opinion: In each arc, what do you think is the theme of each arc? ( It can be a motif, messages, subject)

These are a mix of jokes and serious thoughts ^^ just to avoid the post from being too heavy overall!

The Rose-Red Tyrant:

Breaking free from perpetuating a cycle of abuse

You are your own person, not a puppet controlled by your parent/guardian

At the same time, you have to take accountability for your own actions (your background can explain your poor behavior toward others but it does not excuse that behavior)

Control that is too constrictive will only push away potential connections and experiences, keeping you isolated and complacent

Anger management classes are good for you, guys

The Usurper from the Wilds:

Let’s play fairly and be good sports!

Judging people for their merits rather than by titles or birth

What makes someone worthy to lead is noble behavior and attiude

Standing up for what’s morally right, even if everyone else seems to be against you

You have value, worth, and hope in spite of what others may tell you and put you down for

It’s totally okay to get revenge on the asshole that tripped you that one time/j

It’s technically not a crime if you don’t get caught (except Leona did, in fact, get caught)

The Merchant from the Depths:

Don’t be ashamed of your past self—embrace it, accept it, and use it as a point of reference for self growth

Be the bigger person rather than becoming a bully yourself

Let your accomplishments speak for themselves

There is no “easy way out” or shortcut; be prepared to face the consequences of your actions

Not everything is as it may seem (think about the “trick” with Azul’s contracts)

… Read the terms and conditions very carefully and think things over before you sign a contract 💀

Schemer of the Scalding Sands:

Wow, this baby can fit so much generational trauma!!

Sometimes you just miss each other’s messages or greatly misinterpret the other’s intentions (Kalim giving Jamil the benefit of the doubt, Jamil obviously being the Bad Guy and everyone else has to point that out to Kalim)

There’s a very complicated relationship between those in power and those without power; this can breed hatred for those at the top

Talent and skill left unacknowledged can fester into resentment

Institutions of higher education can and will accept monetary bribes, what are you gonna do about it?

Not everyone wants to reconcile and make friends; this is okay and should be more normalized

A Beautiful Tyrant:

You can try your best and work hard, but life doesn’t owe you anything (depressing thought, but unfortunately true)

Beauty is not limited to just one’s looks; beauty can also extend to one’s character and actions

Your worth shouldn’t come from external forces; if you are satisfied with yourself, you will always be “beautiful” no matter how you look or what losses you may experience

Public opinion and the entertainment industry are brutal af

Screw gender norms 😤

The Watchman of the Underworld:

The grieving process in general

Moving on from the past instead of fixating on it and letting the past consume your present and hold you back from a future

Learning to forgive yourself

Reaching out and making new support systems/opening up to others to help you cope

Bearing the sins of your ancestors (Shroud family curse)

The Lord of Malevolence:

Change is inevitable, all good things must come to an end; we must learn to accept them and bravely move toward the future

Love endures, transcending race (Sebek), blood (Silver), and time (Lilia)

Self-sacrificial love (Maleanor for Malleus, Lilia for the other Diasomnia boys, Dawn Knight for his own family, etc.)

Is it “true” happiness if it is a fake reality, a convenient dream?

We hate and fear what we do not understand, even though we have the capacity to

You cannot live forever in a happy fantasy world where none of your loved ones/favorite characters leave you, your trauma doesn’t exist, and everything conveniently pans out how you want it to; sooner or later, you must “wake up” and face reality (this point is particularly meta; it applies both in-game and in the real world, speaking to us players and our relationship with the escapist fictional content we consume)

Prologue: Welcome to the Villains’ World and Overall Main Story:

The power of friendship :))

Revisionist history (cuz… y’know… Great Seven and all)

We’re stronger together than alone

It’s okay to rely on others

We may be very different people from very different backgrounds, but it is still possible for us to understand one another

[aniseandspearmint]

THE GIGGLE SPOILERS

okay okay so, there is a Doctor just chilling on earth for the next however long, taking quick jaunts occasionally, but LIVING linear time and everything.

There is an entire regular meeting support group for companions of The Doctor.

That Donna is definitely going to be invited to, right?

Does Donna open with, "Hi my name is Donna Noble and The Doctor is currently living with me 'cause he finally burnt out after a few million years and needed a break. He's recovered enough to be gettin' antsy and a nice local trip or two to see old friends would do him good! Anyone object to me binging him along next week?"

The big question is, would it be rude for 14 to show up?

On the one hand, this is technically a support group for people to talk about their adventures WITH him, in a safe space and all that.

I can't imagine he'd be unwelcome, but would it be too awkward????

OH WAIT NO HILARIOUS THOUGHT.

Donna attends the companion support group.

Donna talks about The Doctor in the present tense a bit, but in such a way that the rest of the group think he's an elderly working dog she's adopted and is rehabbing.

That she named The Doctor because of fond memories with her own Doctor.

And it's just SO clear she's talking about an elderly pet. The tone, the stories....

"Rose has been real helpful gettin' him to be more active. She'll chase him around the yard for a few laps, tossing a ball around!"

"Granddad's been trying to get him to go out and shoot moles with him, but The Doctor doesn't like guns much, you know."

"He's been driving my mum up the wall, sniffin' around the kitchen every time she's cooking. Course, he does it to everyone but mum's nearly stepped on him a few times!"

"My daughter makes lovely stuffed animals *shows pics on her phone*, The Doctor loves them! We find him napping in the yard with one as a pillow all the time. She sells them by the way. Her etsy shop is-"

And then one meeting she's like, "Oh, would you lot mind if I brought the Doctor next week? He's feeling better, I think it'd be nice if he got out of the house for a bit?"

And of course everyone is like, 'oh sure' 'yeah' 'alright' 'no problem'.

And then next week rolls around and-

That is an ENTIRE fully bipedal Gallifreyan Doctor. Huh.

[moonselune]

Drow noble who's grappiling with the knowledge that she's falling for a very much not-drow person. Good lord it's a man, too. The whole surface men thing is really fucking with her. Thank you!

yes omfg i love writing drow reader aha

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

As a noble drow, sworn to the spider queen, your world had always been one of rigid power structures, ambition, and ruthless cunning. Emotions—particularly love—were seen as weaknesses, and the idea of falling for anyone, let alone a surface dweller, was unthinkable.

Worse still, Gale of Waterdeep, the very man you found your thoughts continually drifting towards, was the antithesis of everything you had been raised to value.

He was human. A surface dweller. And a man.

You grappled with this knowledge constantly, the war between your upbringing and the unsettling warmth that had begun to take root in your heart. Drow society would scoff at such weakness. Lolth herself would probably strike you down for even entertaining such an idea. Gale was kind, intelligent, and often annoyingly optimistic—traits that would be ridiculed among your people. And yet… despite everything, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

It was madness. He was nothing like the cruel, power-hungry individuals you had grown up around. Surface men were meant to be tools, meant to be used and discarded, certainly not respected. And yet, here you were, losing yourself to the idea of him.

Your thoughts churned as you sat quietly on a rock overlooking your camp. The surface was unsettling in its own way—the endless sky, the open space. It made you feel exposed, vulnerable, and yet, it was also freeing in ways you had never anticipated. Still, this love—or whatever it was—felt too dangerous, too uncontrollable.

You let out a long breath, trying to reason with yourself, when movement in the distance caught your eye. Gale was walking across the camp with his usual absentminded grace, his nose buried in a scroll as he meandered through the grass. You couldn’t help the way your gaze lingered on him—his messy brown hair catching the sunlight, his deep focus on whatever arcane theory had captured his mind this time. There was something calming about his presence, even if he was completely oblivious to the world around him.

Just as the thought crossed your mind, Gale tripped. His foot caught on a protruding tree root, and in the blink of an eye, he was sprawling forward, landing face-first in a particularly muddy patch of earth with a muffled thud.

You sighed audibly, feeling a mix of frustration and exasperation bubbling up inside you. Of course, this was the man who had somehow found his way into your heart—this clumsy, absentminded wizard who seemed more likely to trip over his own robes than navigate the world with any semblance of grace.

You could almost hear the cruel laughter of the other drow nobles if they ever saw this, and yet… despite it all, despite his ridiculousness, you felt something warm unfurling inside you.

Without even realizing it, a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you watched him push himself up from the mud, wiping dirt from his face with a bewildered look. He glanced around sheepishly, trying to see if anyone had noticed his less-than-dignified fall. His eyes found yours across the distance, and he gave a half-embarrassed, half-amused shrug as if to say, "Well, that happened."

You shook your head slightly, muttering under your breath, “Idiot.”

But even as the word left your lips, there was no bite to it, no disdain. No, that was your idiot over there, bumbling through life with his mismatched socks and his endless passion for the mysteries of the Weave. As much as you wanted to deny it, to cling to the harsh, unforgiving rules of your upbringing, you knew the truth now. You were falling for him—maybe you had already fallen.

It was absurd. He was absurd. And yet, despite everything, you couldn't help but love him.

You rose to your feet, dusting off your armor as you made your way toward him. His eyes lit up with that familiar sparkle of affection and curiosity as you approached, but you could still see the streak of mud across his face, and it only deepened the exasperation you felt for him.

“You couldn’t watch where you were going?” you asked, your tone dry but laced with affection.

Gale chuckled softly, sheepishly brushing more dirt from his robes. “Ah, well, you know me. Too many thoughts in my head, not enough attention to the ground beneath my feet.”

You narrowed your eyes at him but couldn’t stop the small smile that played on your lips. “You’re hopeless.”

He gave a charming grin, wiping the last of the mud from his face. “Perhaps. But I’m your hopeless mess.”

There it was again—that warmth, spreading through your chest and settling deep inside you. The part of you that had been molded by Lolth’s cruel teachings wanted to scoff, to walk away, but the larger part of you—the part that had grown stronger since you left the Underdark—wanted to stay. Wanted to be with him.

You sighed again, shaking your head. “Yes, you are.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The undercurrents of tension in the camp were subtle but undeniable, a silent hum that hung between you and Minthara. The evening had crept in, the flickering of the campfire casting long shadows on the ground as you sat across from her, the crackling flames making her eyes gleam with a mischievous edge. You’d been grappling with a strange sensation lately—one that didn’t sit well with you. It was as foreign as it was unnerving, this pull toward Astarion. A weakness, you told yourself. A distraction.

And yet, there it was.

Minthara’s lips curled into a knowing smirk as she watched you, her sharp eyes never missing a thing. The tension between the two of you had thickened ever since you’d let it slip, in some small, unguarded moment, that Astarion had started to mean something to you. She had, of course, latched onto it immediately.

"That pale elf of yours," she drawled lazily, leaning back on her elbows as her smirk widened. "He’d make a fine concubine, wouldn’t you say?"

You stiffened, your hands tightening around the ornate handle of the goblet you held. She said it so easily, as if Astarion’s value was something she could weigh and measure, as if he was a trinket, an adornment. You should have agreed with her. The logical, Lolth-sworn part of you should have seen it the same way—a useful tool, a possession to command.

But that thought twisted in your gut, and before you could stop yourself, a fierce protectiveness surged through you.

"Don’t," you snapped, your voice low and cutting, sharper than you intended. You felt your eyes narrow as you glared at Minthara. "He’s not a toy for you to play with, Minthara."

Minthara’s reaction was instant—an arched eyebrow and a slow, creeping smile that made your skin prickle. She was enjoying this far too much.

"Oh, have I touched a nerve?" she teased, her voice a velvet purr. "Could it be that our cold-hearted noblewoman has fallen for her vampiric elf?"

Her words twisted inside you, and you hated how easily she could see through your carefully crafted walls. This was a weakness, wasn’t it? Astarion was a tool, an asset. But the thought of reducing him to something so simple made you feel… wrong. And now, here was Minthara, teasing you with the very thing you couldn’t admit to yourself.

Before you could muster a response, you heard soft footsteps behind you. Astarion sauntered over with his usual grace, his movements smooth and calculated, his smirk as ever-present as the shadows that clung to him. He stopped beside you, a curious look flickering in his eyes as he glanced between you and Minthara. He could sense the tension—he always could.

"Well, well, what have I stumbled into this time?" Astarion drawled, his voice lilting with amusement as he folded his arms across his chest. "I do hope I’m not interrupting anything too… serious."

Minthara’s eyes gleamed with wicked amusement as she looked at you, silently daring you to act. Here was your chance—your chance to prove you hadn’t fallen for him. To show that you were still in control, that Astarion was nothing more than a useful asset, a distraction to be managed, not embraced.

But you didn’t rise to the bait.

Instead, without thinking, you reached for Astarion and pulled him close, wrapping your arms around him in a possessive, protective embrace. The gesture startled him, and for a brief moment, you could feel the tension in his body as if he wasn’t sure how to respond. But then his arms slipped around your waist, holding you with a surprising tenderness, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

Minthara’s smile grew wider, her amusement clear as day.

"Ah, I see," she said softly, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "You have fallen for him. How adorable."

You felt a heat rise in your chest, a flush of both anger and embarrassment. Your grip on Astarion tightened, and you pointed a sharp finger at Minthara, your voice firm as you growled, "Go away, Minthara."

She chuckled softly, clearly pleased with herself.

"As you wish," she purred, rising to her feet with all the grace and confidence of a predator who knew exactly when to let her prey simmer.

She sauntered off into the shadows, leaving you and Astarion standing by the fire. The air between you felt heavy, your heart pounding in your chest as you clung to him, still not entirely sure what had possessed you to act so… openly. So vulnerably.

Astarion, for his part, seemed to enjoy it. His lips brushed your ear as he whispered, "You do realize how fascinating you are when you’re all… possessive like that. Quite unexpected from someone of your upbringing." He pulled back slightly, his crimson eyes locking onto yours, a sly grin playing on his lips. "Dare I say, it’s rather endearing."

You scowled, pushing him away gently, trying to regain some semblance of your usual composure.

"Don’t get used to it," you muttered, but the heat in your face betrayed you.

Astarion chuckled, his voice low and warm. "Oh, darling, I’ll cherish every moment of it."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The midday sun cast long shadows across the camp, where the sounds of practice swords clashing and the grunts of exertion filled the air. Your sharp, calculating gaze swept over the scene as you leaned against a tree, arms crossed in feigned disinterest. Wyll, the Blade of Frontiers, was at the center of it all, effortlessly guiding a group of refugees through rudimentary combat drills. His movements were precise, his words gentle yet firm as he corrected their stances and offered encouragement. It was a sight you should have found ridiculous, even pathetic. Yet you found yourself watching him—again.

The warmth of the sun felt like a strange, foreign thing on your skin, much like the warmth blooming inside you as you watched Wyll in action. He was so good—too good. Too moral. Too heroic. Everything you had been taught to despise in someone. Everything Lolth had warned you against. He was the antithesis of what a Lolth-sworn drow noble should admire.

And yet, here you were, your gaze lingering on the strong lines of his frame as he moved with that effortless grace that came from years of discipline. Wyll was just so… frustratingly kind. A champion of the downtrodden, always putting others before himself, always ready to leap into action to save those in need.

It was foolish. Self-sacrificing. Weak.

But that didn’t stop the traitorous flutter in your chest whenever he smiled, that disarming, earnest smile that made you feel things you shouldn’t—things that no drow noble should ever entertain. Lolth would never forgive you if she knew how easily you were falling for someone like him. A surface-dweller, no less. A folk-hero.

It was unthinkable.

Your grip tightened on your arms as you fought the feelings stirring within you. Weakness, you told yourself. This was nothing more than a fleeting distraction. Something to be controlled, suppressed, forgotten.

And then, as if sensing your gaze, Wyll turned his head toward you, catching your eye from across the camp. For a split second, your heart leapt into your throat, panic rising as you realized you’d been caught staring. His eyes lit up with that familiar warmth, and before you could even think to look away, Wyll smiled—one of those charming, roguish smiles that made your chest ache.

To your horror, he blew a playful kiss in your direction.

Your heart stuttered, your breath hitching in your throat as you felt a rush of warmth flood your face. It was a simple gesture, innocent even, but the effect it had on you was devastating. Your mind raced, torn between the instinct to glare at him, to scold him for being so foolish, so open—and the overwhelming urge to smile back, to let your guard down, to surrender to the inexplicable joy his presence brought you.

Lolth forgive you.

You bit down hard on your lower lip, forcing yourself to turn away, to tear your gaze from Wyll’s infuriatingly charming face. Your heart was pounding now, your mind racing with thoughts that should have been buried.

How could this happen? How could you be so enchanted by someone like him? He was everything you should despise, yet here you were, betraying everything you’d been raised to believe.

Wyll had gone back to his training, unaware of the storm he had ignited inside you. You pressed your hand to your chest, feeling the rapid beat of your heart beneath your palm. The emotions you were grappling with—this strange, all-consuming pull toward him—were getting harder and harder to ignore.

You were a drow. You were supposed to be strong, calculating, superior. Love—true love—was a weakness, a vulnerability that Lolth herself had warned you against. And yet… Wyll’s goodness, his decency, was like a light in the darkness you had grown so accustomed to. He made you feel like you could be something more, something beyond the cold, ruthless confines of drow society.

And that scared you.

As you stood there, lost in your thoughts, you realized with a sinking feeling that you were already in too deep. You could no longer deny the truth, no matter how hard you tried. You were falling for Wyll, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

The question was: What would you do about it?

Would you embrace this unfamiliar, terrifying feeling? Or would you push him away, burying these emotions beneath the weight of duty and tradition, as you had been taught?

For now, you stayed rooted to the spot, watching him from a distance, unable to look away for long. You’d never admit it out loud, but in that moment, you knew.

Wyll wasn’t just a distraction.

He was your undoing.

And perhaps, just perhaps, that wasn’t such a terrible thing.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The campfire crackled softly in the evening air, casting shadows across the clearing. The night had grown quiet, the refugees settled into their makeshift shelters, and the others in your party tending to their own business. But you—your mind was in turmoil.

You sat alone at the edge of the camp, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, as if trying to ward off the whirlwind of emotions surging inside. You were a drow, a noble Lolth-sworn drow at that. You were raised in the darkness, taught to be ruthless, cunning, and strong. Yet here you were, grappling with something you had never expected, never wanted, and certainly never prepared for.

Halsin.

The very thought of his name sent a wave of frustration through you. He was everything you should despise—everything your kind was raised to reject. A creature of the earth, a druid who worshipped balance and life, someone who saw beauty in the natural world where you saw only the chaos of survival. He was gentle and kind, especially to the refugees you had originally deemed insignificant. His heart was far too soft for a world like this. And yet, it was that heart that had somehow wormed its way into your own.

You caught sight of him in the distance, helping a family reinforce their shelter. His tall, broad form moved with ease as he offered his strength to those in need, his calm voice carrying through the camp. You hated that your eyes lingered on him. You hated that the sight of him stirred something deep within you, something that made your pulse quicken and your thoughts spiral.

He caught your gaze, and your heart leapt in your chest. Halsin's warm, golden-brown eyes softened as he straightened and made his way toward you, his approach unhurried, but purposeful. You cursed yourself for not looking away, for letting him see the conflict etched into your features.

“Something troubles you,” he said gently as he reached you, his voice like the steady rhythm of the forest itself. He crouched beside you, his presence grounding and yet somehow deeply unsettling.

Of course he cares about you. That only made it worse.

You clenched your jaw, fighting to hold back the chaos swirling inside you. How could someone like him—so pure of heart, so rooted in kindness—make you feel this way? It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong.

“I hate you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion, though the words were filled with no venom. They sounded hollow, even to you.

Halsin’s brow furrowed slightly, but instead of pulling back, he reached out, his large, calloused hand resting gently on your arm. His touch was warm, comforting in a way that only fueled your frustration.

“What have I done to earn such hatred?” he asked softly, his voice devoid of judgment, only concern. He was patient, as always, willing to wait for your response, willing to listen.

And that—that was the problem.

You felt your composure crumbling. Every wall you had carefully constructed, every defense you had built was breaking apart under his gaze. The dam burst, and you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“You—” your voice cracked as you banged your head softly against his chest, fists clenched, anger mixing with something far more vulnerable. “You ruin everything.” You pressed your head harder against his chest, as if somehow his strength could erase the turmoil within you. “Damn you, Halsin.”

Without hesitation, Halsin wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you into his embrace. His touch was tender, gentle, and it broke you in ways you hadn’t expected. You stood there, your fists weakly hitting his broad chest before they fell limp at your sides, tears stinging your eyes. You couldn’t even summon the strength to push him away.

“Damn you,” you whispered again, your voice muffled against him, but it held no true malice. It was a desperate, anguished confession. You hated him for making you feel like this—for making you care.

Halsin’s arms tightened slightly around you, his breath warm against your hair as he held you. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, simply allowing you to lean into him, to release the storm that had been brewing inside you for so long. His presence was unshakable, a solid force of calm in the midst of your chaos.

“Whatever it is that troubles you,” he said softly, his voice low and soothing, “you don’t have to face it alone. I am here. Always.”

His words cut through you like a blade. How could he be so good? So kind? It made no sense, and yet you couldn’t stop the flood of emotions that surged in response. You felt vulnerable, exposed in a way that terrified you, but you couldn’t deny it any longer. This man—this druid who was so unlike anything you had ever known—had become someone you couldn’t bear to lose.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“You don’t understand,” you whispered, voice trembling. “You don’t know what this means. I shouldn’t feel this way… not for you.”

Halsin looked down at you with that steady, unwavering gaze of his, his hand gently cupping your cheek.

"Perhaps not by the standards of others,” he said softly. “But the heart… the heart does not always follow such rules.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening at his words. The world you had known—the one ruled by darkness, deception, and power—was crumbling away, and in its place was something you had never expected: love. It terrified you, and yet, with Halsin standing there, holding you so gently, you realized that perhaps… just perhaps, it wasn’t so terrible after all.

And in that moment, as his warmth surrounded you, you allowed yourself to let go, if only for a little while.

“Damn you,” you whispered once more, but this time, the words were softer, filled with something closer to acceptance than anger.

Halsin smiled, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. “Damn me, then,” he murmured. “If that is what it takes.”

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you didn’t fight it. You allowed yourself to rest against him, to feel the peace that his presence brought. Because, in the end, no matter how much you tried to deny it, you knew the truth: you were falling for him.

And there was no turning back.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I loved writing this and hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ Patience is a Virtue ⭑ (Domina Mea, Chapter Four)

Masterlist

A/N: Smut finally! We all chant in unison

Pairing: Geta & Caracalla x F!Noble!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, +18 MDNI, Macrinus is a rat fr, tensions rise, both the Emperors patience snaps, teasing, dirty talk, caressing, masturbation (M), making out, oral (f receiving), nipple sucking/breast sucking kink, pure infiltered want, caracalla being upset and pouty :(

Summary: Tension rises as you carry the heavy burden, when you tell the Emperors, they reward you for your good behavior.

Word count: 2.7k

A tingly feeling had spread across your skin, face still painted with a reddish hue, all evidence of the wine you had consumed an meager hour ago. Your eyes felt glossy as you stared at the Praetorians marching over to you, Macrinus was still posted at your side. Nerves and impatience knotted in your stomach, the information you had retrieved tonight was sensitive and you wanted to inform the Emperors immediately.    

��My Lady, come with us, we have been searching for you.” A taller Praetorian said, before he was joined by six others, all were ordered to take you to the palace. The fresh cooler wind of the night cleared your head a bit, something you were quite grateful for. The wine had been so potent, and as it had been your first and only cup, it had a strong effect on you. Macrinus followed you as you were escorted by the guards to Palatine Hill, not speaking a word along the way.

The thought of what you were about to tell the Emperors made your skin cover in goosebumps, you had no idea how they would react to this information, this insurrection. But you knew you had no choice but to tell them, it was your goal after all. From the start Macrinus had been off putting, a little too kind and serving. Now you know why, it was all to gain their trust, to distract them with a new toy so he could manipulate them. You just hoped that Macrinus fell for your trap. 

Upon arrival at the hall near the throne room it was eerily silent, and for a moment you wondered if anyone was there. However when you turned the corner, you were met with those four pairs of familiar eyes. “Where have you been?!” Your father stressed while he walked towards you with long strides, arms open to hold you close. “I’m so sorry-” Your voice got muffled when your face met his shoulder. 

“It’s all right, I was so afraid, but you’re safe- you’re safe.” Acacius whispered, his strong arms almost squeezing the life out of you. “I forgive you- for everything, just please don’t ever just leave again.” He continued. “I promise, I won’t.” You vowed, tears stinging your eyes. Mind now clear, you realised how stupid it had been, to just leave like that. But mistakes were made and now all that could be done is to forgive. 

“She had sought me out, General. For advice, although, perhaps next time it would be better done accompanied- and during the day.” Macrinus spoke up, stepping closer to the Emperors before bowing. “Daughter.” Lucilla murmured before embracing you as well. When she let you go, it was then you noticed the state of the Emperors. 

Geta’s hair was messier, his robes as well, his makeup smeared and distraught. Caracalla did not look much different, both looked like they had been fighting. “Your majesties, I beg for your forgiveness. For just... leaving and not saying a word. I hope you too, can forgive me.” You pleaded, curtseying lowly. “Everyone out.” Geta ordered, he didn’t yell this time. No one opposed him as they all quietly left the room, leaving you with the twins.

“Did- did you try to escape? Our company?” Caracalla croaked. Immediately you rose, “No! No, not at all!” Your voice rose as well while you hurried over to them. “No?” Geta asked, he was clearly not very convinced. “No please, it is nothing like that.” You begged, accidentally getting closer to them then would be considered appropriate. “Then what? Why would you just leave us like that? We had a thousand Praetorians searching for you, we thought that you had been taken- or worse, killed!” Caracalla yelled, his voice breaking more with each word. 

“I cannot speak about it here, I don’t think. It is very sensitive information, where would the most secure and private room here be? Caesar?” You spoke with widened eyes. Geta looked at you as if you had gone as mad as his brother, perhaps he had infected you. “What are you talking about? Have you lost your mind?” Geta scoffed. You could feel defeat wash over you but you knew that for the sake of the Emperors, you had to push them.

“Please, Caesar, trust me.” You had a feeling you would be begging even more tonight, but if that was what it took, you would. Caracalla nodded at his brother, Geta looked from his twin to you, and your pretty pleading eyes- and gave in. They did not tell you where you were going, but as you passed doors and wandered through hallways, you could guess. The decorations turned more and more expensive and grand with every step. 

The hallway that led to a dead end was riddled with guards. There was one large gold double door that was opened for the Emperors, you behind them. As you stepped inside, the large bed chamber must belong to Geta, it was neat, organised and a large four-posted bed stood in the middle of the room, all kinds of fabric adorned it. Geta gestured for you to join them in the sitting area of the room, they each sat in a large cushioned chair, while you settled on a settee that matched them. 

“Speak.” Geta said a little too cold and curt for your liking. “The reason why I left so abruptly was not only because of the fight I had with my father, but also because I had to follow my gut. So I followed Macrinus to his estate. And I know it was stupid and ill considered but I was right. From the moment I met him, something about him seemed so sinister and so off putting. So when I had successfully followed him inside, there was a man visiting him. They talked about some plan Macrinus has, a plan to one day rule Rome- he did not give specific details as he didn’t want to involve the man, but he has definitely been plotting.” You rambled as the memories came back to you. 

Geta and Caracalla were speechless, both stared at you intensely. “However, on my way out. I ran into guards, so I lied to them that I was seeking advice from Macrinus so he wouldn’t suspect anything, hopefully that worked-” Geta suddenly interrupted you. “What kind of advice did you speak of?” He asked with narrowed eyes. “A-about you, Caesar. Both of you, I uhm...sort of told him or rather asked him how I could- charm you? All to make him believe that I was there for that of course, to make him think I’m just...a girl with an affection for the Emperors.” You mumbled, it was clear your face was flushing red again.

“Hm.” Was Geta’s only response. Caracalla bit his lower lip. As if they hadn’t heard you talk about the treason you had discovered. “What will happen to him now?” You decided to ask, breaking the ever growing silence. “I want to make sure that I have multiple sources that can confirm...some sort of conspiracy being formed.” Geta spoke while he ran a hand through his hair. “Exactly, for now, we might reward you. For your loyalty and devotion to your Emperors.” Caracalla added.

“I just wish to serve the empire- and my Emperors of course.” You smiled, adjusting the bracelet on your wrist. You were slightly afraid to look at them, even though you wanted to know so badly how they would reward you- how they would maybe touch you. “What do you think, brother?” Caracalla asked, looking to his side. “I agree, you are so very devoted, and you have our ear, and trust. For that we must thank you.” Geta grinned. 

Your heart sped up as Geta then stood from his seat, walking over to you. Caracalla was quick to join him, afraid of missing out. “Has a man ever kissed you?” Geta asked with a lowered voice. “Well yes,” You answered, the brothers both sucked in a breath, trying to hold in their anger, “on my hand. Is...that what you mean?” They almost both released it at the same time too before Caracalla laughed. “No, not quite.” Geta smiled. 

“Let me show you, show you how good we can make you feel.” Caracalla breathed heavily, each word dripping with want. Geta licked his lips, his stare was captivating but terrifying at the same time. You nodded at his words, you could feel your skin grow hot, breathing feeling more laboured. It was then Caracalla lost all resolve and surged forward, pressing his lips hard against yours. His tongue then forced open your lips and you couldn’t help but moan in both surprise and desire. 

Geta joined you on your side, letting his hand roam your body before settling on your breast. Caracalla put one of his hands at the back of your neck to keep you in place while he moved his tongue inside your mouth, he couldn’t help but let out groans of relief. Finally they had you alone, and finally they could take what they wanted. It was then you felt Geta’s mouth in your neck, his warm tongue licking your skin. His mouth sucking the flesh from time to time. 

Caracalla then was forced to come up for air, to which he pawed at your toga. You noticed how he now had a bulge at his groin and wondered if that was because of his excitement. Geta helped his brother with your clothes, unclasping it at the middle while Caracalla worked on the clasps at your shoulders. “What are you going to do?” You almost whimpered out, you still felt the need to know their next moves.

“Geta is going to make you feel very very good, for everything you’ve done for us. And then- perhaps you can make us feel good too. Would you like that?” Caracalla almost heaved out, finally he had undone the clasps and his hand was quick to tug down your toga to reveal your bare chest. Nipples hardening at the cool air that blew through the room. “Fuck.” Caracalla whined. “Gods I need to taste you-” Geta rushed out before he slid off the settee and knelt before you, forcing Caracalla to sit at your other side. 

Lust completely overtook your senses and all you could think about was them, more importantly their hands on you, what they looked like bare and what they would do next. “Please- I want more-” You confessed, forgetting all your manners. Geta chuckled lowly as he spread your legs, lifting up the skirt of your toga slowly as if to not tease you, but himself. Geta could feel how hard he was, something he hadn’t been around anyone but you ever since you met. You did not only just leave their company earlier, you left them aching, with full balls and unmet needs.

Caracalla turned your head to face him again, before he kissed you hungrily once more. It was now his hands that groped at your breasts. “Such, irresistible tits-” He panted between kisses, when he broke off, you could feel Geta’s hands caressing your now bare thighs. “An irresistible cunt too brother- so fucking wet and swollen-” Geta mumbled before he spread your legs further and dove in. A cry left your lips when he licked your folds with his tongue. “Yeah? Does that feel good?” Caracalla teased, still massaging both your mounds. “Perhaps I’ll have a taste of these while my brother feasts on your cunt.” He whispered in your ear.  

You nodded impatiently, you had no words for how Geta was lapping at your pearl. Strings of moans and cries left you, you felt like pushing Geta away while at the same time pulling him closer. Geta whined and shuddered himself, while his mouth sucked and licked at you, not wanting it all to be over too soon. Caracalla couldn’t resist anymore and kissed from your mouth down your neck. Sucking on the skin at your collarbone before he took your left nipple in his mouth.

A loud whine escaped you at the feeling of one brother between your thighs while the other sucked at your breasts. You didn’t even notice how Caracalla was touching himself over his toga, he couldn’t help it- all the excitement and teasing had made him so hard, his own arousal started to leak on his thigh. Caracalla sent vibrations over your skin while he moaned around your nipple, his own stimulation adding to his arousal.

“I can’t- I-” Your back arched and you instinctively gripped Geta’s hair, your breath stuck in your throat as your first orgasm sucked the life out of you. Your soul felt like it was departing with the way Geta did not cease his actions, instead he lapped at you faster. “No! Please-” You choked on air as your legs began to shake, Geta noticed then how overstimulated you were and ended his torment. His own scalp was aching from how you pulled it but he was desperate to feel it again. 

Caracalla was still suckling at your breast, his hand massaging his cock over the fabric covering it. Geta came up to kiss you now your lips had a break from his brother. Pausing before he spoke, “Do you taste yourself on my tongue? Such a delicious cunt you have- all ours- only ours.” Geta rambled. He didn’t even give you time to answer before he resumed kissing you, his tongue now lapping inside your mouth instead. Then Geta moved your hand to his bulge, encouraging you to squeeze it, massage it. He hissed when you did, whispering praises in your ear as you jerked him over his clothes. 

He was about to remove his toga to resume your activities when three heavy and loud knocks pierced the room. “What?!” Geta screamed, making you flinch as his voice penetrated your ear. Caracalla paused his movements too, looking up with ragged breath. “I apologise your majesty but General Acacius is asking for his daughter, he would like to take her home.” An unknown voice explained on the other side of the large doors, probably a Praetorian. “Not now! Fuck off!” Caracalla then screamed. They were both good at that.

“I’m afraid he is insisting, Caesar.” The voice continued. You had almost completely forgotten your father and Lucilla were still somewhere in the palace, waiting for you. “Perhaps, we could- continue... this, when we have more time?” You meekly suggested. Geta looked at his brother who shook his head no, but Geta knew better. He did not want his best General to know yet what he and his twin were doing to his precious daughter, if he decided to send you away or even leave with you, it would ruin everything. 

Geta knew the best course of action was to have you return later, to avoid suspicion and to keep you around. “You will come back later, perhaps tomorrow.” Geta decided, you nodded. “No, no, no! We have not finished yet!” Caracalla almost cried, he finally had you, and now you were being ripped away from him? “Brother, she will come back, now to avoid further suspicion, she should come back tomorrow.” Geta insisted. Caracalla let go of you and sat back with a scoff. 

“I’m sorry Caesar, I will come back, I promise.” You told him sweetly, before making the bold move to kiss him on his cheek. That little goodbye kiss was not enough for him, he turned you and kissed you on your lips before reluctantly letting go. Geta then helped you with your toga while Caracalla definitely pouted next to you, refusing to help. And you knew you were in too deep when Geta finished dressing you, helped you stand and kissed you softly before caressing your cheek and bringing you back to your father...