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potatomountain · 2 years ago

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“Fallen Crown” pt 2

Pt 2: Fate Sealed

Captured prince Yeosang[Ateez] x “tainted” Princess fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of r*pe, manipulation, trauma, reader is a royal “puppet”, Yeosang is a captured prince of a neighboring empire, Yeosang in chains. Reader is lowkey a badass. Mentions of death, fights to the death, torture, gladiator ring- gladiator fights. Lashes, some slight flirting, sexual implications, non-con implications (not yeo, never yeo). Blood, sword-fighting, injuries.

Word count: 4.6k

An: figured it was time for part two of this, and honestly it didn’t go just as I imagined- Yeosang kinda took over and decided he was running the show xD any and all feedback is appreciated.

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also, taglist (message or ask to be on): @lelaleleb / @hwaightme-recs / @candypop1611 / @inkpot-winters / @avantalem / @ammystri /

Part of me wondered how it managed to come to this, stepping down from the stage until I stood face to face with my opponent. He won all ten battles, with surprisingly less injuries than I expected, but it was clear he was at his limit… the fact he had handled ten of the strongest fighters this Arena had and was still standing, no deep injuries.

I should be scared, the fact this was my opponent, when I was still such a novice fighter myself. The King had sounded both pleased and disappointed at this outcome, and I wondered which one of us he wanted to see lose more. Which one he wanted to see lashed and bleeding for his audience. His own daughter? Or this captured Prince?

I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of this at all, but I knew I had to obey. What else could I do? They would not make my death quick, and they wouldn't make this man's death quick either. Obliging the horrendous demands of the tyrant King was the only option.

I didn't have to like it. "Just… make this quick." I called over to him, taking in his labored breathing, all sorts of scratches and brushes on his body, pieces of torn fabric darkened further by his blood. His dark eyes lifted to mine, an unreadable expression as we were both handed swords. I swallowed hard, trying to moisten my sudden dry throat even a little.

I should be scared, definitely, after watching how skilled this man was taking down skilled fight after fighter without a single weapon, no matter his injuries or the like, there was no comparison in our levels. This wasn't a fair fight, I lost from the beginning.

So why wasn't I scared? Why did I feel a sense of calm when I looked upon his form, more concerned that I might mar his pretty face or accidentally injure him [or myself]? I didn't really have time to process why, as the horns blew to signal the start of the fight. We were both given short swords, with him twirling his with ease with one hand and yet I still needed two- another contrast to our skill.

"I'm going to attack your left." He called out, just enough for me to hear, before he charged forward.

I moved out of instinct, jumping back but getting knocked ever so slightly in the stomach before I brought my own sword up, clashing with his. Cheers erupted from the stands but I paid them no mind. He announced his next attack, this time giving me more than enough to process and counter.

I couldn't, for the life of me, understand why he was doing this. The fight was getting dragged out, out of instinct I was following his commands, even when he told me to attack him. Was he doing this to put on a show? One the crowd was loving. He looked beyond exhausted, struggling here and there as we continued a sword dance that he was constructing.

Dodge left, swing up, roll back, press forward. Command after command, and yet I was obeying. Why was I following along? I should just let him land a hit, end this embarrassment. It’s not like I wanted to obey, I found that I rather detested it, yet here I was, following his commands to a tee.

The crowd loved it, the scene that this man was orchestrating; my lack of abilities still shone through, and it was his apparent exhaustion that led to my ability to dodge his attacks. Even I believed that he was simply exhausted, that he didn’t have the strength to put into each swing of his sword, if not for the gentle commands he spoke before each swing.

Minutes had gone by, sweat beading my neck and forehead and the sword beginning to feel heavy in my own hands. “Are you ready to end this?�� He had muttered, our swords locked in a clash at the hilts, faces so close I could see the sweat running down his too pale skin, mingling with a cut to his cheek I had just put there a second ago. I wanted to reach out, wipe the blood away and apologize for hurting him, but this was not the time. So I simply nodded.

“I’ll take the lashings, you’ve done enough.” I breathed out, taking a step back and pushing his sword out of the way. His eyes widened with shock, the weapon flinging out of his hands to land several feet away.

My eyes followed the object, tensing up at this new development. “Aim for my right shoulder.” But of course he was giving another command, and I obeyed, hoping he would just dodge it and dive for the sword.

The sharp edge of the sword digging into his flesh as he fell to his knees before me was the last thing I expected, the last thing I wanted. He cried out, perhaps more for show than in actual pain, the stands rumbling with the loud cheers and stomping of feet.

Finish him. Cut off his head.

I tried to ignore the harsh chants, staring down as blood pooled from the wound I had made, pulling my sword out and stumbling back out of shock. All other wounds had been shallow, while this was not. A large gash- bone would probably be visible once the blood stopped gushing out and soaking the black and white fabric of his tunic- stared back at me tauntingly.

“Enough!” The King boomed out, quieting the crowd and effectively saving me from doing more damage to the man before me than I’d like. Except, I had forgotten in my panic that there was more to come. “The fallen Prince shall receive the ten lashings from our royal whore. Bring out the whip.”

Stiffening, I looked down at the top of Yeosang’s head, his hand covering his shoulder as if that was going to stop the bleeding. My mind was in overdrive, replaying the fight, his words, his actions, until I could only come to one conclusion: He planned this. He had every intention of taking the lashes from the beginning, to play the perfect entertainment and put up just enough of a fight no one else would question my victory.

My stomach churned with uneasiness as I blinked rapidly to fight back the tears. Whatever pride I had left was in shambles, as the realization hit that my opponent was more concerned about my pride, my wellbeing, then the kingdom that I belonged to. His concern cut deeper than any sword, spread and burned in my veins more than any poison, and threatened to consume me.

It was the sword being ripped out of my hand, and replaced with a whip, that had my mind focusing on the situation once more. “Ten lashes, my dear daughter.” I could only nod at the King’s words, watching as Yeosang was dragged and chained up to the pole. I had no choice but to follow, stepping onto the stage as his tunic was ripped in half, exposing his back while the torn fabric hung loosely on his arms. “Make them count.”

I swallowed to try and get some moisture into my far too dry throat, but to no avail. The whip felt far too heavy in my hands, the exposed skin on his back unmarred aside from some small nicks during his fights today, blood running down his shoulder but at a much slower pace now. That was my only solace, that perhaps he would not bleed out, that I could repay his fucked up kindness some other way even if I was about to scar the man ten more times.

My hand tightened on the whip, the guards giving me ample space and staying out of range, perhaps afraid I might try and use the whip against them in a fit of anger. Either way, they left me free to speak without being heard. “You should’ve let me take the lashes.” With as much strength as I could muster, I swung down, the whip cracking against his flesh, the sound echoing in the arena. “He’s going to do plenty more to you anyways.” The second whip, dragging a bit of the blood from the first lash, both beginning to welt almost instantly.

The fact Yeosang was silent, nothing more than a meager grunt with each new lash mark added to his back. Three, then four, then five. My hand was trembling as I lifted the whip for the sixth, angle off and hitting too close to his torn shoulder. He cried out, loud enough for the nearest onlookers to hear, and I felt my heart clench at their cheers. I had tried, as much as I could, to avoid his right shoulder, but I had never held a whip before or harmed someone in this way… I could only do so much.

As if he knew, which he probably did, he looked over his shoulder, a soft smile as if to reassure me peeking over the bloody gash for my eyes only. “It’s alright, I can handle more than this.”

I found myself once more blinking back tears, bringing down the whip for the seventh with a much louder crack. His back was more red than the pale white of his skin, from the blood to welts to bruises beginning to form. “I can as well, Your Majesty. In fact, it is only a matter of time before I am on the receiving end of this whip.”

It wasn’t a lie, I didn’t mention my fate to receive pity or sympathy, and he didn’t seem to give me either. There was a shift in his gaze, as if looking at me with new found appreciation. “And yet you aren’t afraid?”

I shrugged, bringing the whip up. “Why would I be? It is my fate, whether as a pure princess married off, or this-” I brought it down, catching his left shoulder dangerously close to his neck. Two more to go. “You can’t hope for more if there was never a chance to begin with.” I knew how sad, how heartbreaking my situation was- Clara would often cry for my fate as I had no more tears to shed. Any solace helped ease the reminder I had a nose around my neck since birth, a fate I long since grew accustomed to.

To spare myself the look in his eyes, the ninth lash was a bit harder than before, resulting in another cry and his head falling forward. It hurt more to hear his pained cry, than my own situation. He was someone who had more, and yet he had it taken. I had nothing, even this cursed punishment was more than my previous life, and even then it wasn’t much of an improvement.

I pitied him, but I could not pity myself.

The tenth lash came quickly, marring his lower back to avoid the cluster of gashes just below his shoulders. With disgust I threw the bloody whip to the side, turning to look up to the pavilion where the man responsible for all this stood with a sadistic smirk, hands gripping the railing. “Perhaps I underestimated you my dear Daughter, you could’ve been as cruel as I.”

The words stung, but they were an opening for something more, a string I could grasp on to get a bit more solace in this life. “Cruel? Your Majesty, allow me to prove how cruel I can be, for your entertainment.” I motioned to the bloodied man. “Give me responsibility over this prisoner, from his lashes to his care, as I’d like to see him live long enough to appease your entertainment, long after his skin is no more than raised scars and deformed features. What say you?!” I was amazed at how steady my voice rang through the arena, the cheers at the idea just what I liked to hear.

While they may take it as cruelty, I knew Yeosang could decipher the truth. It was my form of mercy, putting myself on the line to try and ease even a bit of his pain- but if he protested now, it would come back to me. I didn’t know much about this man, but I had discerned a weakness he didn’t show the hundreds of onlookers: he was a gentleman who didn’t want to cause even a tainted whore like I any pain. It was a kindness I wished to repay, albeit a little, and this was the only way I could think of.

“Very well.” The King called out appreciatively. “If he dies before we grow tired of him, then your head will fall with his.” Just like that, your fate was tied to the man before you; the man who was now being picked up and dragged towards the exit.

Perhaps he did see this move of yours as cruel, and not as the mercy you saw it as, but the dead was done.

He met your eyes briefly, and for the first time, seemed to glare at you, the rage you had long expected finally appearing in those gorgeous dark eyes of yours.

Your life was bound to his.

Night was falling, only the torches lit the cells as I passed and yet the majority of them were still dark. There were few with barred windows that gave the prisoners some connection with the outside world, but the moon hadn’t risen just yet, the last bit of the sun’s rays unable to reach the dark crevices even through the bars. Only my lantern and the guard’s torch lit up Yeosang’s cell, a frown pulling on my features as I took in the sight of him.

“Why did you do it?” He didn’t look back at me, slumped in the middle of the floor once again covered in the chains I had removed from him before, no care what-so-ever had been given to him, not even a meal or clean clothes.

I had expected this, all such things in the large basket I carried as I nodded at the guard with me to unlock the door. I was silent as the keys jingled, the click of the lock opened, and I was let in. “One hour, and then I am to fetch you.”

“Thank you.” I nodded towards the guard, who only sneered before walking away with half my light. I turned the lantern up, moved past Yeosang to set the lantern on the table by the far corner, taking my time. I could feel his eyes on me, demanding an answer to his question, but I wasn’t ready to give it just yet. “Why did you show mercy on me? We both know that fight should have been yours, the lashes should have been mine.”

Keeping my back to him, thankful for the black fabric of the gown I wore, I slowly took out each item I had brought. Bandages, clothes, some bread and cheese, a large canteen of water, and a few rags to clean him up with. There was alcohol and some needle and thread, which I was hesitant to bring but I knew his shoulder needed it.

When he didn’t answer, I glanced back, a brow lifted. “Well?”

He sighed, hands at his sides gripping the chains. “I did not wish to harm a lady.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “I am no lady, Your Majesty, has that not been obvious?” I moved closer, reaching out to grab the chains. “I am a pawn, always have been, always will be, to the Tyrant I ironically call father. I am what he says, and therefore I am no lady. This… arrangement is as much for me as it is for you.”

He watched my hands as I pulled each chain off him gently, setting them at the foot of the bed and out of the drying blood around him. “How so?”

“Well for starters, as long as this form of entertainment amuses him, he will not try to find another use for me.”

When I didn’t continue, he prompted softly, as if not really wanting to hear the answer. “And what other use would he have?”

I shrugged, pushing his torn fabric down his arms to lay at his waist with the rest of the fabric. With his torso exposed fully, I hissed through clenched teeth. “I am but a prize to his favorite fighters. A few of the men you had fought today had won before. They enjoy partaking in the fight, to win a so-called Princess for a night and do as they desire, and have chosen that over freedom.” I stood back up, avoiding his gaze as I grabbed the rags and equipment I needed, coming back to kneel before him, reaching out to wipe the blood from his shoulder with a rag. “It’s only a matter of time before he presents you with the same option- or, God forbid, gives one of them the option to have their way with me in that arena.”

I felt him tense under my hand at my words and I risked a glance. My breath caught at the unbridled rage crossing his features, the way his upper lip pulled up in a snarl. “He would do that- to you?”

Slowly I nodded, perplexed by his words. “He has mentioned it before, if I do not behave.” It was an odd thing, someone getting angry on my behalf: a stranger no less. “Were you not aware of how he is? You led a rebellion against him.” It was a poor attempt to get the focus off me, but I could only hope it would work so I could focus on the wounds.

He didn’t answer, opting for silence as I dabbed away as much of his blood as I could, exposing each wound that littered his chest. He was indeed beautiful, even with the gashes and bruises marring the muscles. The type of beauty I would often dream of as the male lead of those books Clara would bring me, that had me hoping for a Prince to sweep me away from this place. Perhaps I would’ve been married to him, or another one of his brothers, if I had remained a Pure Princess; a fact that was unlikely, but nice none-the-less.

We settled in a comfortable silence as I cleaned up him, a silence that was a little less comfortable as I moved to his back, my guilt eating away at me as I took in just how sweltered the lashes were. “You know… I try not to despair over my fate, over the things I have done, over what I am meant to do… but I would say today is the first time I regret this life.”

He stiffened over my wandering fingers as they lightly traced over each lash after I cleaned it. There was an unspoken question on his lips, in the way his breath hitched and he turned just enough to watch me out of the corner of his eye. I wonder if he saw the sadness I felt, the guilt, no doubt reflected in the set of my lips or the tears threatening to fall in my gaze. “The last time someone had shown me kindness, she died in this arena. And now this time, it is a stranger that shows me kindness, that questions my existence as if it is unnatural… I suppose it is, but I tried not to mind it. But this?” My fingers ran up the bit of smooth skin from the top lash to his right shoulder. “To harm that stranger with my own hands, leaves quite the nasty taste in my mouth.”

“Then why-”

“Because it is the only mercy I could think of. Better my hands, my damnation, than that of the brutes who enjoy the power play of harming someone who they believed to have been above them at one point.” Emotions clouded my head, my actions of their own violation without confirmation of a thought as I leaned forward and pressed my lips just next to his wound, my eyes meeting his. “This is the only kindness I can give to the man who has shown me more than I dare ask for.”

He didn’t say anything, all emotion falling from his face as he turned to face forward, leaving me to my own devices. The silence that followed was both heavy and yet comfortable; he didn’t protest as I cleaned him up and took care of each wound, even haphazardly stitching up his shoulder and a few of the lashes that were much deeper than I thought and intended. He winced, muttering curses as I cleaned them with the alcohol, and even more so as I wrapped the bandages around his torso and over his shoulder.

I stood up, motioning for his clothes. “Strip, I have clean clothes for you for now. Don’t worry, I won’t look.” I handed him the black coarse tunic and trousers, the only ones I could find really but they would have to do.

As he changed, the shuffling of chains and fabric the only indication, I busied myself with putting away the dirty rags that were now stained with his blood, and the empty alcohol container. Only when he cleared his throat did I turn, holding out the now half empty water container and the bread and cheese wedge. “I hope this will suffice for food for now, I will see about what other meals I could bring you.”

He nodded, taking them from me, before sitting on the harsh cot that was more wood than fabric. “And you? What about your wounds?”

I bit my lip at his question, my eyes locked on the cut on his cheek. “Mine can wait.” I had hoped the black dress would hide the fact I had yet to tend to my own wounds, but mine were not as deep or in need of care. “Your cheek-” I reached out, only for him to grab my wrist and lock eyes with me. “Your Majesty I-”

“Call me Yeosang, Princess, I am no royalty here.”

“Neither am I, so don't call me Princess.” I didn’t pull out of his grip, just watched as he turned to place a kiss on the inside of my wrist. It was gentle, but I was sure he could feel my pulse skip at the sensation of his lips.

“Then what am I to call you?” He pressed another kiss up my arm and I could feel my cheeks redden.

This time I did pull my hand away. “Please do not try and seduce me, Yeosang- while the King would gladly let you have your way, there is nothing I can do for you outside of what I have so far.” I warned softly, motioning for him to eat.

“I could say the same for you Princess. You are as trapped here as I, do you think I could free you from here?”

I shook my head without hesitation, taking a few steps back and avoiding his smoldering gaze. There was a shift in the tension between us, both accusing but also like a thousand sparks threatening to burn me alive in a way I was sure I would welcome. “If you think that is my true intention with the deal I made with the King, you are wrong. I am merely trying to make the last of my days as painless as I can, but I will not run from my fate.”

“I see… prideful to the end?” He took a sip from the canteen, breaking eye contact as I smiled wryly.

“Not prideful, merely stubborn. I cannot take my own life, I cannot do something to have it taken from me. Any attempt at escape would be meaningless as it would only increase the surveillance and suffrage I am meant to forgo until the day the King decides my head shall meet the guillotine. Perhaps it is simply cowardice on my part, to work with the hand I’ve been given and try for some semblance of a life in this hell, but it is all I’ve known so there is comfort in that.” I pointed a finger at him. “But you, you chose to come here, to fight, I do not see you sitting pretty as I do, nor playing into the hands of the crowd and the King. Does that not make you the prideful one?”

He didn’t answer, the only acknowledgement to my statement was a smirk playing on his lips before he bit into the cheese. I could hear the guard from earlier approaching, the hall illuminating slowly by his torch. “My time is up, I will stop by once more tomorrow. The Arena is only active two days per week, so you have time to rest.”

I went over to finish cleaning up my mess, grabbing his discarded clothes to add to the rags. “I’ll have these cleaned for you.” As in I was going to wash them myself.

Just before the guard came into view, I felt an arm wrap around my waist, the warmth of his body pressed against my back and his hot breath on my neck. “Four months.”

I turned to ask what he meant, only to hear the chuckle of the guard as he knocked the keys against the bars. “My, you work fast don’t you whore? Already have this fucker wrapped around your finger too? Just remember you don’t get to fuck anyone your father doesn’t give permission for, doll.”

I stiffened in Yeosang’s hold, pulling away and grabbing both the basket and the lantern before hurrying to the door as the guard unlocked it. “That must be tortuous for you then guard, that a prisoner like myself has a better chance of fucking her than you do.” Yeosang’s words were cold, pointed, and I nearly missed the clench of his jaw.

The guard just snarled. “I doubt this pussy is worth your freedom, scum, as for me it could be just a fortnight’s pay.” No sooner had I stepped out was the crude man gripping my chin. “I hear she’ll spread her legs for anyone for the right price, a Princess still likes to spend money after all.”

I slapped his hand away, forcing a smile. “Aye, and if you think a fortnight of your pay is enough for a Princess, even a slut like I, you are dumber than I as well.” I walked past him, scurrying ahead. “Don’t try to touch me again, as you said… my father likes to choose who gets the privilege to do so, beg him first.” The words were only added to prevent the man from acting out in anger, yet it was another guard making rounds that ultimately saved me from humiliation.

I didn’t look back, nor listen for any final words.

This was my fate, and I was not to be ashamed of it in front of him- he was not a knight in shining armor, but just a man who shared my fate. Yet I couldn’t help but wonder… What did he mean by that? Was it a declaration of his conquest over me? Was it an answer to my previous question over which of us would break first? Was it a prediction of how long this farce would last? Or how long he would have left to live?

Four months… there was no good outcome I could think of, so the time frame only filled me with dread.

____

Next Chapter

#yeosang #yeosang x reader #ateez yeosang #atz yeosang #kang yeosang #gladiator yeosang #gladiator #gladiator au #ateez fanfic #fallen prince yeosang #prince au #captured prince au #fallen princess #prince yeosang #princess reader #reader is the daughter of a tyrant #fallen crown #related to: fallen crown

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myfairkatiecat · 1 year ago

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mysterious benedict society medieval au

#that’s it that’s the post #tmbs #medieval au #for some reason it’s in my head #like there’s a castle with a tyrant who goes by the name of curtain #and his twin is out there somewhere plotting to overthrow him cause you know he’s a tyrant #then you’ve got Martina who would be the most pretentious noblewoman #and prince sq who just wants to do art and is sheltered from most of what his father does #and Milligan was a nobleman but he’s suffered amnesia somehow purposefully caused by garrison #who works in the castle in science except all the science is very behind and medieval-y #so Kate technically is of noble blood but she doesn’t know it #Reynie is a peasant orphan raised by kind woman Dipika Perumal #idk if I want sticky to be of noble blood and run away or be from a common family attempting to climb using his knowledge #and Constance is the obligatory Person With Powers that there is in any good medieval au #she’s the psychic from somewhere #rhonda and number two would be so interesting in this au too #especially Rhonda with like her love for assuming identities #because there’s so much that could be done with that in a medieval au #am I missing any characters?#I love this idea #maybe I’ll have to make it #the mysterious benedict society

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iceunhie · 6 months ago

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— out of this world (and into another) : genshin impact

premise: you could've sworn the transmigration curse didn't have an effect on you... so what exactly are you doing here?! (alternatively, you tumble straight into your favorite video game; and you're kinda fucked)

...or, a genshin manhwa otome game inspired au.

act i: scaramouche, alhaitham, wriothesley.

↳ act ii: lyney, neuvilette, kazuha, kaeya. (next)

warnings. fem!reader but can be imagined as genderless if u'd like hehe, a shit ton of manhwa tropes in one, this is a hot mess aka not proofread all that much, half clunky half decent writing

a/n: as promised via the poll heh,, while i do plan to make this an actual au, im not that sure ^^; just the tip of the iceberg here tho!!

MAIN MASTERLIST | AU MASTERLIST (coming soon)

YOU — unsuspecting civilian turnt transmigrator

you've always been too attached to fictional characters for your own good.

yes, even the ones that are remarkably irredeemable (the power of a backstory is very formidable) and complex (complexity is a virtue!)

villains have always been destined to die, be cursed, or destined to curse others. it was heartbreaking, really. you've wished for a chance to rewrite their fates for them to find even a sliver of happiness, even when the fate of their plot says otherwise.

which is why when you find yourself awake into the game of your dreams, “Teyvat's Seven Stars”, like any lover of cliche novel and manhwa tropes, this is the time you think that maybe life wasn't so shitty on you.

....there's only one tiny, teensy, itty bitty problem here, actually.

you're not the protagonist. you're not even one of the protagonist's faithful friends and underlings that light protagonist's road to conquering the world and its men (and as of the 4.0 update, it's women); no, you're none of those.

you're a no name extra, and not to mention, a character involved with the game's main villain characters who are coincidentally the love interests of the game's black route!

[ unlock transmigration package: ultimate transmigrator's route ( ????? MODE ) ]

[ no ] [ yes ]

( 国崩 ) SCARAMOUCHE — the tyrant

“as of today, you will be engaged to crown prince kunikuzushi, who is her grace the shogun's rightful heir to the throne.”

when given approval to stare at your so-called soon to be husband, you expect the worst, mostly. the multitudes of character dialogue you've played through detailing his rather discourteous personality (which basically meant he was a huge asshole) don't exactly paint a pretty picture.

however...

who was this tender hearted looking scaramouche that ‘obliterated armies in the blink of an eye?’ the t in tyrant stands for tyrannical, not timid!

eyes like lighting framed by the longest eyelashes you've ever seen and an unfairly pretty face, comparable to a fair lotus. after fawning over his otherworldly countenance, a sinking realization of dread pools in your stomach.

oh, you are so screwed.

essentially tied to the indigo-haired ticking time bomb of a future tyrant due to the strong standing of your family for a period of until the main story starts, you're destined to never get crown prince scaramouche's affection, being his fiancée who scaramouche is arranged to for political means only.

not to mention, you're in an even more deadly position; of all the characters you switched souls with, it's the one that essentially dies by their own fiancé's hand because they were horrible to him! what atrocious luck!

frantic, you wrack up about three ways to survive.

plan a) win over the shogun's favor by being an appropriate partner unlike the original flavor of this body, who resorted to bullying the innocent prince and unknowingly digging their own grave or b) be a guiding friend to scaramouche as he learns the ways of the world and c) make sure you don't end up giving the protagonist a bad ending via his twisted personality.

weighing all these options, you decide to do all three in hopes to cement a life instead of a deathflag. prevention is better than the cure (aka: the protagonist) after all!

(you may also just want to spend time with your favorite character. having a time limit and a sign that says ‘i'll die in the future!’ should at least warrant you extra time to show some affection to scaramouche, at least.)

so, you do what anyone in your position would do: give affection! lots of it.

admittedly, it wasn't all flowers and rainbows. scaramouche—ahem, kunikuzushi—was very shy and reserved indeed, with his mother ei even worse off! (besides, who trains and studies all day and has to stop crying every time they were injured?! that was just too much!)

it was rather hard at first, the frigid atmosphere of the usually silent Tenshukaku Palace almost impossible to permeate. but with your amazing charm (read: deathflag radar) and social skills, you manage to let the members of the Royal family open up to you.

speaking words of praise in ei's cooking (a very difficult feat to accomplish), spending afternoons with your fiancé and teaching him ‘how to be a shoujo worthy male lead, name-version’ (very confusing to explain), and the cherry on top, driving away that vile teacher of his—the Doctor—once word got out that he'd been taking advantage of scaramouche as a political puppet king in the future. trauma enabler destroyed! look at your immeasurable powers!

(“you're not a failure.” clasping kunikuzushi's hands in yours as he reels back from you. damn that doctor.

his tears shot a wave of heartache through you. you can't bear to see your favorite in such suffering. “whatever happens in the future, i won't abandon you.

no matter what, i'll always be on your side, okay?”

kunikuzushi looks at you with something in his eyes—something like adoration. “do you promise that?”

“yeah.” you say without hesitation, the glow of the sunlight hitting your face so dazzlingly that kunikuzushi's eyes widen that his mouth hangs agape in awe. “i promise, kuni.”)

to your greatest delight, your efforts worked in your favor.

ei now spends time with her son, and though it's almost always just a tad bit awkward, you and the guuji yae miko get the two to strike up conversation, and overtime, kunikuzushi becomes more open to you.

(“[name], what kind of man is your type?”

“huh? well...” you think for a while. this was a great opportunity to say it, right? that life changing protagonist quote!

“to me, the only person i'll ever like the most is you, kunikuzushi.”

“do you really, really mean that?” and oh, he looks so cute—flustered and red from your words. worth it.

“yup! now, i made some shimi chazuke, try some—”)

(admittedly, lots of favoritism is involved.)

—and while you reap the fruits of your hard work, you spend warm, sunlit afternoons with ei at tea, even learning about other nations from scaramouche's aunt nahida and even befriended a few of his future affiliates—childe (though for some reason, kunikuzushi always pulls you away from him whenever he spots the two of you together), signora (she tolerates you, you think) and etcetera.

(“then, if i do well, can you kiss me on the cheek, [name]?”

you agree, much to his delight. scaramouche avoids the gaze of a certain pink haired fox eyeing him questionably. unbeknownst to you, he glares at the woman's scrutiny.)

unprecedented things unrelated to the plot happen too; like how your family, which basically only saw you as a political bargaining chip and an unwanted child they could get rid of easily—no longer sent you any demeaning letters demanding money once scaramouche found out....

(“they've been leeching off of you for how long?” so scary... is this was kunikuzushi is like when he's worried?)

(“...kunikuzushi, how long will you keep up that weak-hearted facade of yours? if they find out how.... dishonest you are....”

“i don't need the reminders of a foxy old hag that doesn't know her place. this is fine as it is.”)

(you don't need to know.)

but, you're nothing compared to the inevitable flow of the plot. inazuma is wracked with war, and it just so happened that you'd been unceremoniously kidnapped by a certain resistance leader's trusted general, used as a hostage bargain for approximately the majority of your life. in the worst moments in your dreary cell, there's only one thought in your mind.

....kunikuzushi's face, devastated when he tries to reach for you, before slipping away from him like sand— face morphing into an unbridled state of rage that's too natural, too familiar. when did he learn to make a face like that?

(they say the kingdom was wracked with thunderstorms all night that day.)

afterwards, fate doesn't make it kind for you.

years go by in the blink of an eye, with your capture fervently forgotten in the midst of the growing animosity of the two conflicting forces.

although you did hear that yae sent out a search party for you while at the resistance's base, the shogun's forces never reached you.

eventually, you got released secretly by sympathy of kokomi, the leader of the resistance, who felt pity for you getting caught in the crossfire. letting you go under the condition that you'd likely never meet any of the precious characters you've gotten to know and change was a heavy price to pay, but you didn't have any choice.

indeed, no matter how much you tried to divert the plot, your duty as an extra has ended, and you were even lucky to even be alive. you could only hope that your fiancé—ex-fiancé—took note of your lessons well, bidding farewell to inazuma as you hop on the boat to mondsdat.

by now, you at least hoped that scaramouche and the protagonist met, his true chance at happiness starting now that you were basically dead.

(even if your heart felt like breaking into a million pieces.)

....is what you thought would happen, but why is it that after three years from your supposed capture, inazuma was still at war?

“that crazy prince... he's still working to find his former fiancée... and he's razing almost every village apart looking for them!”

“—didn't the shogunate say that whoever finds her would receive almost 3 million mora?”

“the entire lot of them are lunatics, i tell you. all because of a missing person, too!”

what's more, why was it still going because of you?!

( 艾尔海森 ) AL-HAITHAM: the information guild master

to be fair, normal people don't really run into one of their favorite characters often after transmigrating.

but to be fair, again, you certainly didn't think you'd actually be in your favorite video game franchise caged in bed with essentially one of its main love interests.

eyes wide and unceremoniously looking—definitely not ogling— at the toned body that's currently enveloping you in its arms, the soft tuft of ashy gray hair caressing the crook of your neck, murmuring incoherent mumbles of—is that another language?

???????

you blink, looking down at the bare body currently embracing you. oh. oh.

you're an extra.

you're just an extra, but why are you in bed, currently being served breakfast by the most gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes on, with a pretty view of the rainforests' canopy?

“you should lie down. if i recall, sufficient sleep is required in order for the human body to perform its basic bodily functions. although our partnership is temporary, to let you fall to harm is a situation i'd like to avoid as much as possible.”

“....what?”

“...?”

the guild master, al-haitham, is a character in Teyvat's Seven Stars that is heavily debated on whether he's technically a villain or not. in the game, he's the right hand of sumeru's leader, nahida, working as the overseer of the AKASHA, a guild that gathers information to the nation's leader. he's a pretty shady character—always working behind the scenes and very unfalteringly blunt—and a ‘villain’ for crown prince scaramouche's route, helping the protagonist escape his clutches.

he's often the subject of comedic ire, his banters with a certain broke architect always the highlight of any bonafide al-haitham fan.

“we're expected to work together by lord kusanali's decree in the duration of investigating the hivemind project the lord suspects the baron siraj is partaking in.”

right, that one scene in the game where al-haitham needed to go undercover to infiltrate a coup de etat staged by one of the factions against nahida... right... what.

you were that extra! the one that fell in love with him and pined for his affection!

(“well, i get that part, but does sleeping together really have to play a part in this...?”

al-haitham gives you a mere quirk of the lip, tilting his head. “we do have to play the part of a married couple in dire straights, do we not? this cover is more efficient.

...besides, i don't have anything to complain about. you're certainly better company than kaveh.” )

in truth, al-haitham wasn't bad company. far from it. aside from the internal giggling and fangirling (you) and the incredible stack of books (alhaitham) that you have to see more than the grey haired man on a daily basis, the two of you work out a rapport that stems from memories of the body you transmigrated in.

he's nice to be around, surprisingly considerate when he wants to be—he tells you about the books he always reads....

(who even reads ‘20 Tongues Language Memorization Guidebook: A Basic Overview of Vocabulary and Terms’ for enjoyment?

the content makes your head run in circles because of how complicated it is; but who wouldn't like to listen to an extremely attractive man overexplain to you with a calm and pretty voice?)

...is generous enough to provide meals and cook dinners that have you crying tears of gratitude because you know how awful yours compares (it was either too bland or too seasoned; al-haitham is surprisingly picky when he wants to be)

(you assigned al-haitham the title of “absolute s-tier husband material”— his capabilities are out of this world!)

by chance, you once gave al-haitham a little tidbit of information that proved to be valuable later in the investigation—courtesy of your avid game knowledge—when you two had been lost to the psychological illusion magic cast by siraj when you two finally broke in his estate.

(“whatever happens, if siraj messes with your mind, just make sure to think of me instead of anything else.” al-haitham lets his hand find yours.

“you once asked me if i trusted you, [name].”

“....” you're treated to one of al-haitham's rare smiles, one that warms you up from within. “i do. so don't let yourself get hurt.”)

however, your temporary partner had faltered for once, flinching when siraj took the form of his old grandmother who'd passed to exploit al-haitham's mind, hesitating and frozen in place while siraj inched ever closer to finding out his weakness.

and you couldn't stand it, the character you cared for—the al-haitham that always had a plan, always knew how to stay calm, had looked so unsure and hopeless.

(“wake up, al-haitham!”

with you cradling his face, al-haitham stares back at the only constant in the memories of his grief, eyes meeting yours. “you don't have to do it all alone. i'm right here, aren't i? believe in me.”)

your (fake) husband snaps back to reality, finally allowing enough time to apprehend siraj and put a stop to his malicious project.

(“thank you.” al-haitham tells you solemnly. it hits you that this may be the last time you may ever see him. “i'm grateful that you brought me back to y— to my senses.”

there's a sincerity in your voice that rings from your heart. “anytime, al-haitham.”)

you thought that was the end of it.

defeating siraj meant you two no longer had to associate with each other, but somehow, to your great surprise, al-haitham doesn't stick to the plot at all. you were sure you didn't interfere with the game, though?

for some reason, al-haitham doesn't erase himself from your life, unlike the original route's flow.

in fact, he's become... easy to run into, a constant in your otherwise mundane life. he takes you out to lambad's tavern for an occasional drink, says he's lending you his headphones when you find yourself overwhelmed by the city (you were never good with noises) and even helps you out as you vent your problems to him.

(the day after, said problem conveniently disappears. how strange....)

and most of all, allowing you to enter his personal space... leaving kaveh's jaw dropping when he accuses al-haitham of having a lover.

“you're always going who knows where with them! what else is there to figure out?”

“...we are merely friends.”

“a friend that you let into your personal library? do they know that you still keep the ‘fake’ ring in a box inside the closet?” kaveh laughs. “nice try, al-haitham.”

(after all, kaveh could never unsee the way al-haitham's eyes softened at the feeling of the head on his shoulder lean onto him, with you no doubt asleep. he even took his headphones off! kaveh has never seen him actually take them off in order to keep the person who's sleeping on his shoulder as undisturbed as possible.

in fact, kaveh doesn't think he's ever seen al-haitham be this touchy or considerate with anyone this much before.

.....and most importantly, kaveh would never forget the way al-haitham, a man who found no merit in politeness and preferred bluntness, a man who preferred solitude rather than company—deliberately getting close to someone—pressing a fleeting kiss on the crown of your head.

kaveh blinks. it seems even the throes of love can reach even the most unconquerable of peaks....)

( 莱欧斯利 ) WRIOTHESLEY — the monster duke of the north

“—i need you to gather information on duke wriothesley. serve him undercover as one of the prisoners of the fortress.”

the duke of meropide—a man swamped with terrible rumors. they say he was exiled from the nation due to murdering his entire family. they say he possessed a face worthy of the title of a beast— grotesque, littered in scars. they say that any who end up in his estate, the iron prison of the north, meropide, never saw the light of day again.

(“only criminals of the worst kind are fated to be sentenced there. nobody returns, so we've stopped questioning it...” )

so to say you're not fearing for your life that bad right now is a massive understatement.

“now, mind telling me how you were able to sneak into the most impenetrable prison in all the land, miss prisoner?”

how did it end up like this?

so you wake up and find yourself in jail. lovely.

seriously, of all the places you can transmigrate into, why did it have to be fontaine?! Teyvat's Seven Stars chapter 4's main starting point, the nation of justice is littered with dark themes and high difficulty capture targets.

.... such is the case with the man in front of you. unlike what the rumors of him say, duke wriothesley paints a rugged yet dashing picture of a nobleman, even if he was —if you recall— one of the hardest capture targets to conquer in the game.

a villain character who you played once during one game route, acting as the driving force during one of the love events of one of the protagonist's other love interest, lyney. duke wriothesley almost assassinates lyney's younger brother, freminent, leading lyney to rally up a certain group to bring the nobleman down.... a typical side character villain, who's existence was added as late as 3 patches away from lyney's.

(even inazuma would be better than this! at least the tyrant route could be avoided, and let's not mention the easy sumeru route as well...)

“well, miss prisoner, cat got your tongue?”

in summary: fortunately for you, the body you transmigrated is in the position to spy on the current affairs of the fortress of meropide, with courtesy and with permission of one of Fontaine's leaders, neuvillette. unfortunately for you, it seems our dear monsieur wasn't able to inform wriothesley beforehand, leading to the current situation.

aka, you're pressed dangerously close to wriothesley's chest, with a knife at his throat and his hands pinning you against the wall, noses almost touching. you're not sure if this is even the kind of tension that two people who are trying to kill each other are supposed to have...

(“i'm an ally!” you sputter out. wriothesley raises an eyebrow at you. “monsieur neuvillette sent me.”

“how am i supposed to trust you after i saw you slinking around here, knife at my throat?” he replies, eyes narrowing. “i know that i'm labelled as a beast, but i don't really know what came over that pretty little head of yours when trying to sneak into my chambers.”

what does he take you for?! “...are you accusing me of something indecent?!”

“just saying — i've met lots of prisoners with your excuse, my lady.”

“i'm prepared to use this knife, you know.”

“hah.” wriothesley grins. “how aggressive. more aggressive than most. do you want me that bad?”

“stop twisting my words!”)

in any case, you hate wriothesley. you know he's one of the characters in Teyvat's Seven Stars and is a villain for one of the easy love interest routes in the game, but his personality is... a real piece of work.

you'd rather the protective and kind kazuha, or even the charming and elusive lyney! why did it have to be him?

not only did he not believe you, he even told you to prove your authenticity! you're just glad that his assistant sigewinne had been there to vouch for you — you're not sure if you'd even be on your two feet right now if she didn't.

so now you're stuck constantly on your feet, running to and fro — helping the dark-haired man record new prisoners, establishing trading routes to the main city of Fontaine, and treating other prisoners of the fortress with sigewinne.

your biggest surprise by far, though, is just how... different the duke is from the rumors. his scars were merely battle scars of honor (to which sigewinne rolls her eyes, “your grace, please stop trying to look cool”) he got from various succession fights, not scars to show how he was cursed to turn into a beast. he has a love for tea, but always seems to have a cup of your favorite blend with him when you feel tired after a long day of working (laboring) for him and the estate.

(“your daily report of new convicts, your grace.”

“-this is the tea you like, your grace. i've prepared it in advance.”

“you're very adamant on proving yourself. aren't you sick of such tasks by now, miss prisoner?”

“no.” wriothesley's expression screams 'why not?' on it. “ it's because of my own misjudgement of you.”

“...elaborate.”

“i may have had unnecessary prejudices on your conduct thus far. but you're... not like what the rumors paint you out to be.” you say sincerely. “you're more amazing and incredible than anyone else. i truly do admire you.”

wriothesley's expression; you couldn't decipher it. “i see.”)

he's battered, but caring. sigewinne makes you watch (in horror) as she doodles cartoonish looking characters on his face when he's asleep — wriothesley never fusses, only an exasperated sigh to his assistant. he's harsh with his tasks and duties, but is the first to rush you into sigewinne's infirmary to tend to you after you pass out from overwork.

(“don't worry, [name]. the duke may not look it, but he's very gentle!” sigewinne giggles. humoring the little girl who was the first to show you actual decency in this place, you try to nod. sigewinne doesn't seem convinced.

“i'm serious! after all, compared to other people who've snuck into the fortress, you're the first he's treated this way.” she says cheerily.

“what does that mean?” you can't help but scoff at that. “so he just works someone to the bone from the get go?” you shudder. damn production zone...

sigewinne blinks. “ oh no, not like that. it's just that he's never been so lenient before. in fact, when you fainted, he even gave me the order to prioritize treating you over anything else.”)

well, this wasn't exactly what you thought you would be doing when you transmigrated into your favorite game, but you suppose you can take it.

besides, you'd miss a certain duke otherwise. life truly is full of strange twists....

a/n: thank you for making it this far! if anyone asks why wriothesley's was short, listen, this was completely impulsive and i was out of inspiration LOL, but i do hope you enjoy! look forward to new parts though hehe :3

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

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baeshijima · 10 days ago

Text

— spoils of war

as heir to the throne, you were more than prepared to face the consequences of losing a war. your duty will forever remain for as long as you breathe, and if that meant bearing the weight of countless sacrificed souls and carrying it with you for the rest of your life, or even being forced to watch your land burn before your eyes was the price you had to pay, then so be it.

the last consequence you could have ever expected and were the least prepared for, however, was an offer of marriage from the ruler of the victorious nation.

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 3.5k wc, fluff, slightly suggestive ending, royalty!au, marriage of convenience (kind of), vague mentions of war & blood, mentioned assassination attempt, mentions of having children (very vague and in the "heir to the throne" kind of way), use of "mydeimos" and "mydei", reader is having an existential crisis; mydei is, um, mydei-ing, written pre-3.0

A/N : is this ooc? um... we will find out haha !! (the moment i saw this man i was wondering how i could royal au-ifiy him (outside of him already being a crown prince, that is). i thought of him being a mercenary or personal guard, but @sfznyxio ty for putting the words 'king' and 'mydei' in the same sentence when u showed his drip in the server bc this idea was born and now i am terminally unwell for him 🙏 but also how did this turn into an actual fic when it was literally a 2 para brainrot in discord... where did this plot come from...)

King Mydeimos, present ruler of Kremnos Kingdom, is infamous across the lands. He is a rumoured tyrant thought to have killed his bloodline in order to obtain this position, whose name alone strikes fear into many, and the very same being who just won the war against your own kingdom.

When marching through the capital to reach the steps of the palace after seizing victory and bathed in the lights of glory, his troops following close behind, you thought he would demand for the materialistic spoils such as the kingdom’s trove, maybe choose to seize control over the defeated land and its troops, or perhaps even wreak further havoc within the castle walls. Given the name he has built for himself, it certainly wouldn't surprise you if he decided to forgo all formality and instead brandish his sword like a blood-bathed barbarian.

And so when he appears in the palace entrance, the setting sun giving his rugged appearance a far more... put together look than expected (you refuse to admit the enemy's ruler to be... handsome, of all things), a recitation of prayers hammered into your head throughout the years of etiquette training spring to mind. If you're destined to fall here, you at least wish to perish with thankful thoughts!

...At least, that was the original plan.

So why is it now you're hearing him ask your father and mother, the king and queen of this now defeated kingdom, for your hand in marriage? Where did this sudden formality come from? No, why is he suddenly bowing to his defeated enemies? And— lord almighty above, did he really have to do this here and now? In front of your nation's high council and his own men, no less!

It is safe to assume every jaw except for Mydeimos' dropped into the nether realm, all eyes gawking at his tall, unperturbed figure bowing in respect towards your parents in the centre.

Having probably sensed the rather awkward air bubbling amidst the dumbfounded troops, your parents turn to you in wait for your decision. Despite the apparent pleas in their eyes for you to not agree to such a ludicrous turn of events, what choice do you really have other than to accept? Who knows what this so-called tyrant could do should you refuse this offer when he is being so lenient!

An audible gulp escapes the base of your throat the moment his scalding gaze locks onto you after your hesitant words of approval, searing a trail of where his eyes trails onto your skin.

Seriously, you haven't been on the receiving end of many — if any — wars, but you're almost positive they don't end this... pleasantly, for a lack of better words.

(Who would've thought you would be a spoils of war, as opposed to the national treasure trove...)

Set to depart when the sun rises, there is little time to gather your bearings and your belongings. Servants are bustling while your parents crowd around you, asking if you're really going to go through with this and, “You can say no! If they don't take your rejection well, we can smite them with our army!”

To that, all you have to say is, “...What army? They're all dead.”

They didn't take that very well, if their concerning increase in flowing tears have anything to say about it.

The send-off is nothing too grandiose, save for the entire palace standing at the gates shouting farewells through tear-streaked wails and blowing handkerchiefs. Your parents are at the forefront of it all. Your mother holds your hands as she tells you to return promptly if it gets too much regardless of the consequences (you appreciate the sentiment, but you don't want to burden your family nor your nation because of a dislike), while your father stands before Mydeimos with an order for him to treat you well and respectfully and, “If you damage even a mere hair on my beloved child's head, I will have your head on display!”

...Perhaps that would have been more threatening if not for the slight tremble of his legs and waver in his voice but, again, you appreciate the sentiment. Mydeimos, if anything, takes it in stride with a calm nod of his head and a promise to take care of you. Really, does anything other than the battlefield phase him...?

Soon you're in the carriage and settled opposite your soon-to-be husband, on your way to your new life with a heavy heart. Is this what all your training to take over the throne has surmounted to? Have all your efforts and dedication spent on being the perfect heir for your kingdom simply come down to being wed to an enemy nation's ruler?

Well, perhaps “enemy” is not the right term anymore; not when both your kingdom's are now in a mutually beneficial alliance, along with the promise for one of your heirs becoming next in line for your kingdom's throne.

Ha! What makes him so sure you will have more than one between you?

...Was what you had asked back when he first made the declaration to your parents, only for him to respond in kind with, “If you'd rather adopt, then we can do so.”

(Bastard. Can't he break composure at least a little?)

As the ride drags on, silence permeates. Whether it is the lingering nerves you hid from your parents or this suffocating intimidation confined within the small carriage space, one question still remains at the forefront of your mind: why did he decide to marry you? Truly, it miffs you. He could have just left you to suffer in the downfall of your nation if he wished to do so, or even let you stay as the heir to the now-allianced kingdom.

Upon questioning his motives for your hand in marriage, his response was merely a slow blink before uttering, "The council wouldn't stop pestering me about getting married."

Oh. Was it really that simple of a reason?

Lips pursed, you press a little more. “Then why did you add benefits, such as an alliance with my kingdom? Even if you, King Mydeimos, were to just—”

“Mydei.”

“—just cut down…” trailing off at the sudden interruption, you blink at his cross-armed figure seated across from you. “Oh, um, what?”

“Mydei,” he repeats once more, attention solely focused on you. “No need to bother with formalities. Just refer to me as such.”

“Oh, well, alright... Mydei?” At your uncertain tone, he nods, as though urging for you to carry on. “Right, well, as I was saying... What was I saying...?”

Without missing a beat, he responds, “You were asking why I offered your kingdom a mutually beneficial alliance when I have the means to cut down the nation with brute force and take what I want through violence.”

“Oh, right…” Huh. Did you say all of that? Well, you certainly were thinking of it, but were you that harsh in your wording? Considering how he recited it all without hesitation, you probably did say all of that, with him being a pretty good listener and you perhaps needing to think over your words before you speak them. “So what is your answer to my curiosity?”

“I simply thought you would be happier if I spared your land and made an offer both of us would benefit from.”

“...I see. Well, thank you for your consideration.”

“Think nothing of it.”

And so the ride continues in silence once more, though this time you find yourself more at ease compared to the prior situation. You, however, still have your doubts about the benefits he gave with the alliance proposal, amongst the absurdity of this entire situation.

...Is the man sitting before you really the feared tyrannical ruler people made him out to be? Surely he is being far too merciful for someone of such reputation. There has been no threats, no coercion (well, if you don’t count the whole marriage fiasco as such, but you did willingly agree to it…), no usage of violence — did people perhaps badmouth the wrong monarch?

Then again, the majority of his prowess and achievements stem from the battlefield. Was all this information just mere hearsay from those jealous of his noteworthy feats, or do their words truly hold some merit in their claim? And really, what do you know about Mydei? From his thoughts, to his motives, to the reasoning behind each action… you know nothing.

Well, considering how he has entertained each of your whims thus far, he has the ability to entertain one more, right?

“Mydei, if I may,” you start, looking to him for approval to continue. When he nods encouragingly, you continue. “You said you made an offer we would both benefit from. While I acknowledge the military and protection we receive from you, what benefit do you reap from us?”

Had you not been eyeing him so intently, perhaps the subtle stiffening of his muscles or twitch of his fingers would have remained unnoticed.

“Apart from the high quality agricultural and material trade, I have obtained one more thing. Rather than a benefit, however,” he trails off, gaze shifting to the carriage floor. His voice tapers slightly, subtleties of fondness seeping into his tone. When his eyes move to meet your own once more, your mouth runs dry at the undeniable warmth which swirls within his gaze, the rapid pounding of your heart betraying your thoughts. “I consider meeting and having the privilege of marrying you to be the most priceless of rewards I could have obtained.”

(...Who knew a subtle smile could be so beautiful.)

Settling into your new role as the co-ruler of Kremnos was a far easier transition than you’d anticipated. Despite some initial apprehension at your sudden intrusion into the citizen’s lives and you being from another nation, the reactions you were greeted with upon arrival were well-within your expectations.

Apprehension? Sure. Skepticism? Great. Concern over your abilities? Fantastic! Immediate, wholehearted acceptance with preparations already made for your arrival? Um… Come again?

Yes. Compared to the civilian’s very normal, completely expected doubt and uncertainty about you being thrust into the role of their new co-ruler, the same cannot be said about the palace staff. The moment Mydei helped you out of the carriage, a line of servants were at the ready, lined up with the necessary preparations already made to look after you. Your dumbfoundedness must have been quite obvious for Mydei to take note, squeezing your hand with enough pressure and warmth to anchor you down and fill you with comfort before guiding you through the tunnel of awaiting servants ready to receive his orders.

While a little unnerving the palace staff’s ready acceptance and preparation for your arrival may have been, you cannot deny the flicker of warmth which surges when spotting something that reminds you of home.

That particular fruit you enjoy only found in your homeland? An abundance has been procured with the palace gardener equipped with all the necessities used to grow it, alongside a bed of your favourite assortment of flowers already beginning to show signs of blooming.

There was a certain dessert you enjoyed partaking in? Look no further, for the palace patissier has already mastered all the techniques needed to make it the most delicious version you have ever tasted!

Oh, you’re used to having a certain textile in each of your fabrics and certain colours are more to your preference? Don’t worry, the temporary bedroom used until your wedding is made to your liking, and once the wedding is complete your shared bedroom will have all the necessary arrangements!

Truly, the experience of having practically everything needed for your stay to be comfortable already prepared was an… interesting one, to say the least.

It doesn’t escape you, however, the manner in which everyone is rigid in demeanour and stiff with etiquette when in the presence of Mydei. Ducking their heads to avoid eye contact, tensing their bodies as though afraid one subtle movement will trigger his wrath, rushing away as quickly as possible once given their respective orders.

He doesn’t appear bothered; if anything, matters outside of you and battle don’t seem to move him at all. He merely regards everything as a duty to be carried out, an honour to uphold and see through so long as he bears the weight of his title.

Despite his admitted nonchalance for most matters, you have seen him be expressive on several accounts.

Like that time you were both strolling through the extensive garden holding pleasant conversation about each other’s day, stopping to admire the roses and ready to sing the gardener’s praises, only to catch the smile and unfairly soft expression directed towards you. (Seriously, the difference a smile and relaxed expression can make on his features should be criminal.)

Or the days you choose to visit the training ground and catch the battle-hardened fervour of a warrior which radiate so starkly within his typically stoic demeanour, easily parrying and holding his own against even a large number of his knights rushing to best him, only to hastily avert your eyes when he takes note of your presence and amble his way towards you with a towel in hand. (Well, his torso is practically on full-display all day, but somehow seeing him entirely shirtless after a particularly gruelling training is a little… different.)

Not to mention that one night during your third month in Kremnos wherein an assassin managed to slip through surveillance and sneak into your room, only to be thwarted mere moments before the fatal strike as a sword pierced their torso, their cries of agony quickly silencing and the flecks of warmth clinging to your skin promptly discarded as the deafening hammering of your heart drowned out everything in the vicinity. You weren’t sure how long you were out of it for, but the image of Mydei’s distraught expression and uncharacteristic loss of composure is a sight you’re certain will never leave, much like the rare vulnerability found in his fragile, broken whispers of, “Not again... I thought I’d lost you again. Why must fate be so cruel? Please… Just this once, stay with me until the end.”

(You never really questioned how Mydei caught wind of the attempt or what he meant by his whispered words, too caught up in your near-death experience to properly process anything, but the immeasurable relief upon being embraced within his familiarity was undeniable as you melted into him, allowing him to stay by your side for the night and then the following nights soon after as his attentiveness only grew.)

The time from your first arrival has flown, and now, five months later, the long-awaited wedding is finally being held.

The ceremony itself was nothing too grand. Despite Mydei asking for your thoughts and preferences on how the ceremony should be held, the ideas he’d suggested aligned perfectly with your own preferences: a simple ceremony with the necessary guests in attendance for privacy, a ceremonial carriage ride through the capital to honour the matrimonial bond between you alongside quelling any uncertainties the citizens may have, and to end it all off with a banquet to diminish the doubt brewing from within the nobility of high society.

Thankfully, everything went off without a hitch. Your parents attended the ceremony and greeted you with a tearful embrace upon seeing you in your wedding attire. As it turns out, they will be staying as guests within the palace for about a week, all thanks to Mydei’s preparations. Apparently.

(Upon asking your parents who is taking care of the kingdom’s affairs in their place, you probably should have suspected it to be the trusted, overworked aide who has been by your father’s side since young. Despite his already cushy salary, he should get a raise for having to deal with all this.)

And as you stand here now, chatting idly with some of the knights in attendance who were present in the whole proposal fiasco, you find yourself believing that perhaps your new life here will not be as bad as you feared.

You have to admit, letting loose every now and then is rather rewarding. After all those mental and passive aggressive battles with some of the nobles before eventually gaining their respect and approval (you didn’t have strict heir training just to have nothing to show for it!), you can now relax and let the night pass by. With the knights talking joyfully amongst themselves, you’re sure the night will fly by.

Their topic of conversation shifts constantly, ranging from battle tactics to which is the best amongst savoury, sweet, or spicy to debates about whether that one maid and apprentice chef are secretly dating.

Eventually, the topic of conversation loops back around to your newly sealed marriage; you know, the whole premise for the current celebration. One of the knights, tickled a light pink in the face from the warmth of the venue and the drink half-emptied in hand, turns to you with a jovial grin.

“Y’know, until you came into the picture, I’ve never seen our king so happy and expressive. It’s a nice change.”

Another chimes, “Yeah! I’ve definitely seen him smile a few times when you visit the training grounds! Though he still glares daggers into my soul when we spar…”

“That’s because you suck and His Majesty gets a migraine just from the sight of your sloppy footwork.”

“Wha— hey! You’re the one with a weak swing and can’t even break the training dummy in one strike!”

“I’m telling you the material is tougher on the ones I’m given!”

A breathy laugh escapes you at their back and forth. Sometimes you forget how playful the knights can be outside of their intimidating demeanour, though you suppose their leader is similar in his own right.

Taking a light sip from your drink, the chatter of the knights slowly die down. Just as you’re about to ask if everything is alright, a warmth you have become able to identify looms over your back. It doesn’t take a genius to know why they stopped their bickering.

“What were you all discussing?” Mydei asks, moving to stand beside you with a drink of his own in hand. You weren’t expecting to see him until later, what with how swamped he appeared with greetings and talks of his own.

His knights seemed to have thought the same as you, if their apparent dumbfounded reactions were anything to go by.

“Oh, um, well…”

“We were, uh…”

“We were just chatting like good ole pals, haha…”

Stifling a laugh at their poor attempts, you decide it would be best to give them a helping hand. Mydei’s curious gaze certainly isn’t helping their case.

With an amused sigh you begin, “Nothing much. Just how much they admire and look up to you—”

“We were discussing how your dear spouse thoroughly enjoys the sight of your body at the training grounds!”

A deafening silence.

…You take back every nice thing you said about them. You hope Mydei exchanges all the training dummies except for his own for super-ultra-mega tough ones, just so they can feel the embarrassment you currently do when they are unable to break a mere training dummy.

First off, how did they even know this highly confidential information?! You most certainly were not openly ogling at your now-husband! (At least, you hope you weren’t…)

Second of all, here you were trying to help them save face from all their bickering, and what do you get in return? A loss of your own!

And third of all, that is blatant slander! In front Mydei, their king and commander, and your spouse, no less!

Ha ha. You don't know whether to laugh or cry at this turn of events.

In hopes of salvaging what remains of your thoroughly battered and bruised image, And there it appears, you quickly turn towards Mydei, a myriad of retorts ready to fire on the tip of your tongue. It fizzles out just as quickly as it appears upon what you find yourself gazing at. Though barely noticeable, the lingering remnants of his laughter which spill from that wretched curve of his lips never fails to speed up this traitorous heart of yours. And when his unabashedly amused gaze meets your own mortified one, your mind regains its former desperation.

Before you can think up a retort in a last-ditch effort to save face, he swiftly leans into your ear and whispers, “I would like to hear more about this. Perhaps you can enlighten me when we return to our quarters later.”

…Nevermind. Perhaps it is Mydei who should be getting the super-ultra-mega tough training dummy so he can taste humiliation for the first time in his life.

(However, despite the horrendously dizzying flush you are currently victim to, if it meant seeing his warm gaze and heart-melting smile more often then, perhaps, you wouldn’t mind embarrassing yourself in front of him every now and then.)

(Not too often, of course. That would be too much.)

if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33

trivia !!

wanted to add this section in case some might be wondering why i went with the timeloop trope yet again (if u did not figure that out from the bits and pieces throughout the fic + mainly the assassination attempt scene then, um, oops. haha.) BUT !! i actually decided to do a spin of his lore for it.

so in his drip market post, it says:

Kremnos, swallowed by mist! City riven between chaos and war! The blood of patricide flows through its royal line, and its god bears the title of calamity.

The undying Mydeimos, the lion apart from the rest. O Chrysos Heir that seeks the Coreflame of Strife, you must suffer a thousand deaths, be bathed in blood on the path home, and bear the madness of fate alone, for one was must slay a god to become one. Iron-hooves pound across the wilderness for the campaign, and must eventually soak in the blood of their homeland.

and mydei is also known by the following aliases "the last prince" and "the undying". now all of this info is more than likely referring to his ability to survive torturous pain, as opposed to dying and and resurrecting a thousand times (or maybe i am right... who knows...), but my first thoughts went to how he had the ability to come back to a certain point in this past after the so-called fate drove him to madness which he alone must bear.

in this context, i wanted for him to be a king who suffered a thousand deaths, but lived through a thousand lives of the same never-ending fate, doomed to watch the fall and bear the madness and watch as you in each and every lifetime suffer at the hands of a fate he cannot save you from. and that is why he marries you because he knows you even if you do not know him and will always choose to lead the same path if it means he has you by his side once more.

...does this make sense? maybe it does, maybe it does not, but what matters is it made sense to me ;w;

oops got a little carried away there with lore and theories um !! haha !! anywho that is enough from me ,,, if u read this trivia then hi !! ty for sitting through and reading my deep dive into the crumbs of lore and how i put my own spin on it :'D

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #mydei x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #mydei x you #i need him. carnally. gnaws on his arm and bare torso like sir who are u showing all that for? (me.)#no but seriously. how did this get so long.#i really thought phainon would be the first amphoreus man i would write for but ofc mydei overtakes him with the drip ....#is this happening bc i liked kalpas before i liked kevin........

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riboism · 1 month ago

Text

me and my husband

》 pairing: emperor! k.hj x (f) empress! reader

》 wc: 5k

》 plot: In a cold and ruthless empire, the neglected Empress is trapped in a loveless marriage to a possessive and tyrannical Emperor. When he encourages her to take a lover to occupy her loneliness, she begins a forbidden affair with a kind-hearted gardener, discovering a tenderness she’s never known. But when the Emperor learns of her growing feelings for the gardener, he becomes consumed with jealousy, rage, and betrayal, prompting him to realize his conflicted feelings and take matters into his own hands.

》 content: royalty au, possessive! hongjoong, lots of plot before smut, affair, low key angry sex, cunnilingus, backshots, breeding, creampie, verrryyyy toxic ;)

》 a/n: this is heavily inspired by the Hulu drama, ‘The Great’, and that goddamn hongjoong mv…

🎧 me and my husband by mitski, all mine by brent faiyaz, heartless by the weekend, closer by nine inch nails, why do you love by hongjoong

You paced back and forth in your large bedroom, the quiet ticking from the grand clock slowly maddening you until your patience evaporated. Mingi is exactly eight minutes late. You wouldn’t have noticed his short delay if it was any other night, but tonight you were particularly desperate. It was only a couple of days before you’d start bleeding again, and your body craved to be taken care of. The frustration made you so hot and flushed to the point that you felt it unnecessary to apply any color to your cheeks.

Exasperated, you fell back into the softness of your bed. Despite his occasional lateness, you had to admit—having a lover had its perks. At first, the idea felt like a betrayal of everything you stood for, a compromise of your values. But Mingi had been nothing short of a blessing. The loneliness of the palace had once felt suffocating, but his presence brought a much-needed light. He listened when no one else would, his warm gaze making you feel seen in a way the Emperor never had. And when words failed, he used his skilled fingers to help ease away your tensions.

It was the Emperor’s idea for you to take a lover. Yes, you and your husband had sort of a dysfunctional marriage. When you first learned that the young Emperor was going to ask for your hand, you were quickly consumed with giddy daydreams of romance and devotion, the kinds you read about in books when you were just a little girl. You were ecstatic to have his companionship until reality struck you hard and fast. The hastily arranged wedding had barely concluded when you finally met him—a man who was far from the Prince Charming you had imagined. The dreams of a happily-ever-after faded quickly, replaced by the cold, bitter truth. You were merely another pawn in his political game, and he was far too absorbed in his own indulgences to care about yours.

Emperor Kim Hongjoong was a tyrant draped in silk and gold, a man whose cruelty knew no bounds. He ruled with a reckless disregard for his people. While his subjects froze to death in yet another senseless war, he surrounded himself with decadence—hosting opulent feasts that spilled into debauchery and indulging in nights of ecstasy with his concubines. The Court tread lightly around him, knowing full well he was a volatile storm, ready to unleash fury over the slightest inconvenience. Beheadings became as common as whispers in the palace halls, his wrath fueled by whims and dulled by the haze of opium that clouded his mind. Rational decisions—military or otherwise—were a rarity, yet the Court still pushed him toward one expectation: securing heirs to continue his blood-soaked legacy.

You quickly came to understand your place within the palace walls. Though you bore the title of Empress, in his eyes, you were nothing more than a vessel for producing heirs to secure the bloodline and strengthen the Empire.

Intimacy with the Emperor felt like a cold and mechanical ritual devoid of any tenderness or affection. During your ovulation, he would visit your chambers to complete the act, barely sparing you a glance as he did. There was no care or affection—just the unceremonious deposit of his seed before he rose and left without a word. More often than not, you were left lying on your back, alone in the dark, listening to his footsteps echo down the hall as he sought solace in the arms of his concubines. Whatever happened between you two during those nights was never meant to bring any joy or passion; it was simply a transaction, a duty to the Empire.

What stung most was how he never saw you as he did those other women. To them, he gave smiles, laughter, and sometimes even whispers of affection—crumbs of humanity that you yearned for but never received. And yet, despite his cold indifference, you couldn’t help but crave his attention. You told yourself that if you waited, and if you worked hard enough, he might one day change. Maybe, just maybe, he would soften, hold you, and love you the way you had once dreamed.

But with each passing day, the hope grew dimmer. He only seemed to drift further away, leaving you to grapple with the emptiness he left behind.

“I don’t have time,” the Emperor said curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument. He shoved the last of his rice into his mouth and rose swiftly from the table. He always ate with such haste in the mornings, as though the very act of sitting with you was a burden he couldn’t wait to escape.

“All I’m asking for is a short walk in the garden. Please, I’m so lonely here. Can’t you spare even a moment for your wife?” you pleaded, your voice trembling with the weight of your desperation.

He adjusted his trousers with a practiced indifference, striding toward the tall, imposing doors without so much as a glance in your direction. Just as he reached them, he let out a dismissive scoff.

“If you’re so bored, find yourself a lover.”

The Emperor had said many cruel things to you before, but this? To suggest such a thing as an affair to his wife? It was beyond comprehension. That very day, you found yourself pacing the palace garden, his vile words echoing endlessly in your mind.

Was he truly that done with you? you wondered bitterly. Did he care so little for you that the thought of you lying with another man didn’t stir even the faintest flicker of jealousy? No, he had encouraged it. Not out of love, but because your presence was a little more than an inconvenience to him. The realization gnawed at you. He treated you with less regard than his concubines, women he showered with affection, attention, and gifts—things you had only ever dared to dream of.

Your sadness was written across your face, too raw to hide, even when the tall, unassuming gardener approached with cautious concern. His voice was soft as he asked if you were alright, his eyes kind in a way you hadn’t experienced in ages.

And it was in that moment, standing before Mingi, that you decided. If the Emperor’s cruelty extended so far as to push you into the arms of another, then so be it. You would take his advice.

—

A loud thud at the door jolted you upright. That must be Mingi, you thought, heart racing as you leapt out of bed. Hastily, you grabbed the bottle of floral perfume on your nightstand, spritzing a delicate mist onto your neck. You smoothed your lacy nightgown and approached the door on light feet, careful to keep your movements discreet—though you knew the palace walls were full of watchful eyes, and rumors of your midnight visitor were no secret.

But the giddy flutter of butterflies in your stomach twisted into a cold, heavy weight the moment you opened the door.

Standing there, framed by the dim hallway light, was not Mingi.

“Emperor,” you murmured, quickly bowing to mask your shock.

Hongjoong’s gaze slid over you like a blade, lingering far too long on the delicate lace of your nightgown. His lips quirked upward in a faint smirk, amusement glinting in his dark eyes. You flushed under his scrutiny, the sheer fabric suddenly feeling like a cruel betrayal.

"All dolled up," he remarked, voice low and taunting. "Quite the effort for someone who isn't me."

You widened the door hesitantly, feeling cornered, as though you had no choice but to let him in. The Emperor stepped inside with an air of entitlement, his presence suffocating in the small space. As he moved further into the room, you instinctively leaned out into the hallway, glancing left and right, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mingi—wanting to warn him somehow.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about the gardener,” Hongjoong said casually as if reading your thoughts. “I sent him away.”

You froze mid-step, the blood draining from your face. “S-sent him away?” you stammered, dread pooling in your chest.

Hongjoong threw his head back and laughed, a sharp, grating sound that only deepened your unease. “Relax,” he said, waving his hands in mock reassurance. “I didn’t kill him. Tempting, sure, but no. I figured that might upset you.” His words were flippant, but there was a gleam in his eyes that made your stomach twist. The reassurance didn’t land—it only left you more anxious.

Without invitation, Hongjoong strolled further into your chambers and collapsed onto your bed with an exaggerated sigh, as though he owned every inch of the space—and, of course, he did. His dark eyes roamed over you unabashedly, lingering on your bare, glistening legs and then rising to your barely covered chest.

“You look nice,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in that nightgown before. Did I buy that?”

You didn’t respond, refusing to acknowledge his comments. Your thoughts were racing, consumed with worry for Mingi. Where was he? Was he safe? What did Hongjoong do to him?

The Emperor sat up, his expression shifting into something more serious. “I didn’t kill your boy toy,” he said bluntly. “I’m simply relocating him. He no longer works at the palace.” He patted the mattress beside him. “Now, sit down.”

Your heart plummeted to your stomach. The room felt colder, heavier. You wanted to scream, to hurl every ornate wedding gift he had ever given you in his face, to demand answers at the top of your lungs. But you swallowed it all—the anger, the fear—and silently moved to sit beside him. It had been so long since you were this close to him, and you needed a moment to size him up before doing anything rash.

“Why did you send him away?” you asked quietly, the tremor in your voice betraying your attempt at calm.

“Because I decided I don’t want to share pussy with a lowborn. You couldn’t have at least gone for the Chancellor? He’s always ogling at your breasts. Doesn’t carry much in length, but at least he has status.” He answered offhandedly.

“What?” You flustered.

Hongjoong threw his head back in exasperation before turning sharply toward you, his expression a mixture of annoyance and condescension. “Everyone in the Palace knows about you two,” he began, his tone dripping with disdain. “The Court has been whispering that your little gardener was falling in love and planning to run away with you. He made a mockery of me. Me. So yes, I had to get rid of him. You should be grateful I didn’t have him beheaded. That imbecile.”

His words left you reeling. Was he telling the truth, or weaving lies to justify his cruelty? It didn’t make sense. He had ignored you for so long, humiliated you at every turn, yet now he took offense when you sought solace elsewhere? And with his permission, no less?

“I don’t understand,” you said, your voice trembling with both anger and confusion. “You told me I could have a lover.”

Hongjoong chuckled darkly, the sound grating against your nerves. “I meant a fuck buddy,” he corrected, his smirk widening. “Not a boyfriend. But anyway, I take it back. You can’t have either.”

Hot anger coursed through your veins, lighting every nerve on fire. How dare he? Who was he to take the one shred of happiness you had and discard it on a whim? You rose to your feet, fists clenched, jaw tight. “Bring him back. Now,” you demanded, your voice firm despite the trembling in your chest.

His smirk deepened, his gaze alight with a maddening amusement. He leaned back leisurely, resting his weight on one arm as if your anger were nothing more than entertainment to him. “No,” he said flatly, his arrogance palpable.

The sheer audacity made your head spin. You had always tempered your tone around him, swallowed your words out of respect—or fear—but this was too much. “If you don’t bring him back to me,” you said, your voice rising, “I will leave. And I will never come back.”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed, though his smirk remained intact. “If you leave,” he said with maddening calm, “I’ll send my men to every corner of this Earth to find you and bring you back to me.”

“Then I’ll jump to my death!” you spat, your voice trembling with both fury and desperation.

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head mockingly. “Do you need my assistance opening the window? They’re awfully heavy,” he said, his tone laced with derision.

It hit you then—the futility of it all. There was no winning with him. Every word he uttered, every action he took, was final. Your defiance crumbled as hopelessness set in. Your knees buckled, and you sank to the floor, staring blankly at the carpet.

My Mingi, you thought, your heart aching in the hollow silence that followed. If he had truly loved you, if he had asked you sooner, you wouldn’t have hesitated to run away with him. But now…

A sudden touch startled you. Hongjoong’s thumb brushed away a stray tear from your cheek before gently gripping your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. He studied your face with an almost detached curiosity, sighing as if your sorrow was an inconvenience.

“Oh, cheer up, dear,” he said, his tone mockingly light. “You don’t need that filthy cock to sit on. You have me.”

The sheer calmness in his voice, the audacious cheerfulness of his words, was infuriating. It gnawed at you, his willful ignorance of your pain more provoking than all his cruelty combined.

You pushed his hand away. “At least that filthy cock could make me cum.”

You braced yourself for the sting of his hand against your cheek, but it never came. Instead, the Emperor’s lips curled into an amused smirk, as though your defiance was nothing more than a child’s tantrum to him. “Well, If you’d dropped that attitude and let me into your chambers from time to time,” he said with a gleam in his eye, “you might have seen my full potential.”

His words dripped with arrogance, and your stomach churned in disgust. The memories of the handful of nights you had spent with him were distant and cold, fleeting instances of duty you had long since abandoned. After meeting Mingi, you had shut your doors to the Emperor completely, forsaking the obligations of producing an heir as you allowed yourself to be swept away in the warmth of another’s embrace.

“Just get out,” you snapped, your voice brittle with anger and exhaustion.

Hongjoong tilted his head, studying you as though you were a puzzle he was just now beginning to solve. He hadn’t expected this level of fury—at least, not from you. A flicker of realization crossed his face.

“Oh,” he said, a note of amusement creeping into his tone. “Don’t tell me you loved him.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The truth sat heavy in your chest, threatening to burst free. It wasn’t just lust that had drawn you to Mingi; it was the way he saw you, the way he listened, the way he made you feel alive. You cared for him deeply, even when it terrified you, even when the impossibility of your circumstances loomed over you like a storm. There were nights when you dreamed of a life with him, though, they were only dreams, you had to remind yourself.

Hongjoong sighed, a long, dramatic exhale as he leaned forward, his movements slow and deliberate. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, his voice low and venomous. “Oh, you don’t get it, do you, honey?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “You can’t be with anyone else. You belong to me. Your mind, your voice, your lips, your breasts, your legs...”

His fingers brushed against the softness of your thigh, a teasing touch that made your skin crawl. His hand lingered there for a moment, as though threatening to move closer, before retreating entirely. “...The very essence of you is mine,” he said, his tone as cold as it was possessive. “And the next time you foolishly find another hard cock to bounce on, remember this: I graciously spared your beloved lowborn this time. I let him walk out of here with all his limbs intact. But next time?” His voice darkened, a shadow falling over his words. “I won’t be so kind.”

The silence that followed was deafening, his threat hanging heavy in the air.

Without another word, the Emperor rose to his feet, smoothing out his clothes with maddening calm. He strode to the door with the same regal air he always carried, pausing only to glance back at you with a mocking bow. “Goodnight, my dear,” he said lightly, as though he hadn’t just shattered your world.

Then he was gone, leaving you trembling on the floor, a hollow shell of anger, fear, and heartbreak.

—

It had been months since your last encounter with the Emperor. Tonight, he was returning from a diplomatic trip overseas. All morning, Courtesans and nursemaids visited to remind you of your wifely duties. They whispered about your dwindling fertility window, urging you to try for a child before it was too late.

You prayed he’d be too exhausted from his journey to come to your chambers. But you knew better. Time away from the Palace always left him restless.

You hadn’t forgiven him for sending Mingi away. Of course, he hadn’t apologized—he never did. Hongjoong likely believed that with time and distance, you’d forget. That you’d fall back into your role, returning to him as if nothing had happened. But the lack of replies from the letters he’d sent you during his absence told him otherwise.

Resigned to your fate, you lay on the grand bed in your best nightgown, the silk clinging to your skin. Waiting. At least it would be quick. The Emperor never lasted long anyway.

The heavy doors swung open, and Hongjoong entered, still wearing his elaborate robe. You didn’t look at him, your gaze fixed on the ceiling as he began to undress. You braced yourself, mentally preparing for yet another empty, soulless night.

Hongjoong broke the silence. “I take it you’re still angry I took your toy away?”

The arrogance in his voice made your skin crawl. You hated how he spoke of Mingi, reducing him to an object. A plaything. As if you hadn’t cared for him deeply. As if Hongjoong’s own heart wasn’t capable of understanding such feelings.

“Are you going to talk at all tonight?”

You stayed calm, swallowing the retort burning in your throat. “I’m not here to talk, remember? We have a duty to fulfill.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, you make it sound so dull. Like we’re here to do paperwork or something.”

You didn’t answer. He busied himself removing his rings, laying them on the table beside you. His gaze landed on a pile of familiar envelopes, all sealed, untouched, and forgotten.

“You didn’t even bother opening these?” he asked, his voice tighter than before.

You sighed, unmoved. “Were they urgent?”

Hongjoong clenched his jaw, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face. “No,” he admitted, quieter now, “but…”

He trailed off, his confidence suddenly faltering. You had no idea how much those letters meant to him. Each word, each line, was an attempt to ease the guilt that haunted him during his travels. He had replayed the memory of your tears over and over, trying to drown his regret in ink and sentiment. Yet now, staring at the unopened letters, he realized it had all been for nothing.

“You know, you hurt me too,” he blurted.

That caught your attention. You sat up, furrowing your brows. “Me?” you echoed, incredulous. “How? By doing the very thing you told me to do?”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

Your laugh was sharp and bitter. “Why? Because only you get to sleep with other people?”

Hongjoong scoffed, brushing off your words with a wave of his hand. “What I do is different from what you did.”

“Different?” you snapped. “How? How is it any different?”

He stopped pacing, turning to face you fully. His voice dropped, quieter but seething with rage. “Because I don’t fall in love with them!”

The room fell silent, his words ringing in your ears.

Your mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. Was he more hurt over the possibility that you had feelings for Mingi than the fact that you’d shared nights with him? The absurdity of it made your head spin.

But then he said something that chilled you to the core.

“Seeing you cry over that bastard…” He paused, his voice tight with unspoken pain. “It enraged me. I wondered—would you ever cry for me like that?”

His admission hung heavy in the air. For the first time, you saw something raw in his eyes.

“You must be drunk,” you said quietly, hoping to diffuse the tension. “Come, lay down—”

“I’m as clear-headed as I’ve ever been,” he interrupted, his tone sharp but slightly slurred, betraying the truth. You noticed his steps wavered as he began pacing the room again, the hem of his robe brushing unevenly against the floor.

His words came faster now, laced with frustration and desperation, his worries of masking his inebriation quickly dissolving. “When you married me, you promised me your loyalty. It didn’t matter who you spent your nights with, as long as you returned to me. But instead, you gave him your heart.”

You stared at him, stunned. His jealousy, his possessiveness—it was suffocating. Yet there was something almost pitiable in the way he looked at you, as if your betrayal had cracked something deep within him.

He stopped pacing, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “You belong to me,” he said through his wine-stained lips, his voice low and firm. “Your mind. Your body. Your soul. Your loyalty. Your love. All of it. And I’ll be damned if I ever let another man take what’s mine.”

Before you could even digest all of what he said, Hongjoong climbed up on the bed, nestling himself between your legs. Your breath hitched upon feeling the softness of his lips trace over your inner thigh, planting slow and messy kisses all over your soft skin.

“W-what are you doing?” You asked flabbergasted, not used to seeing him in this position.

His arms wrapped from under your legs, locking you in place. “Showing you my full potential.”

—

Your body tensed with each flick of his tongue. You held back your moans, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but your sweat coated breasts and your shaky, quiet breaths betrayed you. He held onto your thighs as he tasted you, gliding his tongue in tortuously long and slow strokes.

When you looked down, you were in awe at his focus, his brows furrowed in concentration, and saliva running down his chin as he savored you like a long-awaited meal. You felt trapped under him. Each time you got closer, he could sense it in the way your body braced itself, and he’d slow down again, ghosting his tongue over your parted folds, making you mentally curse him for stealing yet another rush of relief from you.

You had reached your breaking point, and although you remained utterly mute, Hongjoong understood your frustration. Like an answered prayer, his tongue swirled briefly around your throbbing nub, before finally wrapping his wine-stained lips over your aching bud.

As he suckled at your clit, you had no choice but to gasp out loud, your dry voice cracking as he consumed you. He purred into your cunt, smug with himself for finally breaking you. His craving for you grew even stronger, and he pulled you closer to him, his hips now rutting against the mattress.

“You taste exquisite, Empress,” he breathed into your cunt, which didn’t fail to send goosebumps all over your exposed flesh, “Need to taste your cum next.”

What felt like hours of edging had finally caught up with you, and your breathing started to get shaky again. Your hands slipped into his dark strands, holding onto them tightly as your hips jerked up, the fire in your abdomen finally snapping as you cried out, your milky white essence dripping onto Hongjoong’s tongue just as he desired.

You collapsed back into the mattress, your vision blurring as he continued lapping at your sensitive cunt. He drank up every drop from your puffy, tender lips, his hand resting at your stomach to help bring you down from your high. You melted into the mattress as his lips shifted from your dripping cunt to your inner thigh, kissing and biting at your soft skin while he waited for you to steady your breathing.

You looked down and met his deep, velvety gaze, his glassy eyes and slick-coated lips hitching your breath. In this moment, you took each other in. His once neatly top-knotted hair now loosely hung over his forehead, all roughed up from when you tugged and pulled at it earlier. You were disheveled yourself, your pretty lilac nightdress now sweat-drenched, the loose strands of your hair stuck to your rosy-red cheeks. He watched silently as your breasts which were barely covered by the hem of your dress, most likely hiked up from your convulsions, heaved up and down.

You were a vision unlike anything he’d ever encountered. He had just returned from a journey that took him across vast snowy peaks and through valleys kissed by the first blush of cherry blossoms. Yet, the sight of you lying here, draped in soft shadows and the moonlight shining in from the window, surpassed the beauty of every natural wonder he’d seen. You were alluring—a temptation so profound it made the grandeur of the world seem pale in comparison.

"So foolish," he murmured, his voice low and thick as he hovered over you now, the heat of his breath brushing against your skin. His face lingered just a breath away, his eyes drinking you in. What he wanted to say—how foolish he’d been to neglect you, to waste time when he should have been losing himself in you—caught in his throat, heavy and unsaid.

Instead, he let his actions speak. His head dipped slowly and his lips found yours, claiming them with a hunger that had been simmering for far too long. You met him with equal fervor, surrendering completely to the kiss and tasting your sweetness on his lips, pulling him closer, tighter, as though you could make up for all the lost time in that single, stolen moment.

“Get on your knees,” He instructed after pulling away from the kiss, a tinge of impatience and restlessness painted in his voice. You obeyed his order, pivoting yourself from your back to your hands and knees.

His hands gripped your hips eagerly, securing you in place as he lined himself up with you, giving his throbbing shaft a few pumps before sliding into your wet walls. You inhaled sharply as he entered you, his hard cock stuffing you so deliciously that you were forced to make a strangled moan, grasping at the silky sheets from under you to brace yourself.

You had never been in this position with him before. It was always missionary as it was the best option for ensuring a successful pregnancy, but from this angle, his cock hit you so deep, his balls swinging and smacking into your aching clit as he thrust into you harshly.

Your loud and lewd screams left Hongjoong teeming with ecstasy. He smirked as he watched you from behind, her royal highness, who was always so primmed and polished, so graceful in the way she walked and spoke, now babbling sinful moans, her makeup running, her hair tousled, covering him with her sticky juices as she cried and begged him to go faster, harder. He felt honored to see you like this.

The wine made Hongjoong fatigued, and he slowed down his pace, which was a little too slow for your liking. Your brain had already turned to mush, and your hips started to have a mind of its own, forcing you to fuck yourself on his cock to reach your high faster. Hongjoong cooed as he watched you, his cock throbbing at the sight of you taking matters into your own hands.

“You forget yourself, Empress,” He teased, placing a hand on your mid-back. He caressed your skin, watching your stretched-out pussy take him whole.

“Just shut up and cum inside me already,” You huffed, your composure crumbling, giving way to raw frustration.

A spark ignited in his eyes, a glimmer of something untamed and primal seeping through. His weariness evaporated and a renewed vitality coursed through him. He lifted you and pulled you into his chest, his hand sliding around your neck, fingers tracing your pulse before tightening just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Want my cum?” He rasped into your ear, lips smashed against your hot skin, his hips never letting go of that rough pace, “you want it?”

“Yes, p-please!” You choked, your salty tears falling onto your reddened lips, “Want it all!”

His grasp tightened around your neck, fucking into you so raggedly now that there was a moment he thought he could break you. “Gonna take it all?” He growled, “All of me in that little pussy? Who’s fucking pussy is this?”

Your head swam, a dizzying mix of exhilaration and the sharp, intoxicating absence of air. The rush of excitement left you lightheaded and entirely consumed by the moment.

“Yours!” You cried out, “It’s all yours!”

With a satisfied smirk, he watched you dissolve in pleasure, finally letting go of your throat as he shot his load into you, a mixture of your wetness and his creamy white dripping out of your cunt. You felt all your strength leave you as you came down, letting yourself be held up by Hongjoong, your head nestled between his chin and shoulder.

“That’s right baby,” he pressed a few gentle kisses on your sweaty temple as he pumped his cum back into you, pushing deeper and deeper to make sure you don’t waste a single drop of him, “Your mine, all mine…”

a/n: feedback is appreciated

#hoongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #kim hongjoong smut #kim hongjoong x reader #ateez smut #hongjoong hard thoughts #hongjoong hard hours

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vegalocity · 3 months ago

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I dunno about mk brainblasting Li Jing into being a mindless “helper.“ yes, Li Jing isnt gikd, but the main reason he did that to the spiders was cuz they fought against him PERSOANLLY. (Also cuz spiders are ick yo him so y’know- bias.)

I feel like he would make Li Jing aware of being the “perfect parent”, and Li Jing seeing just how much… happier Nezha is while under. It could turn into another situation where he may go physically lucid, but ultimately decide to stay for Nezha. This proving that people can be “redeemed” through the oblivion in MK’s mind.

This could even feed into MK’s mindset, assuring him again and again that yes, this is what’s best.

Okay so- here's the thing-

Me and @unseelie-robynx aren't being all that purist on the show's canon, we feel like if the actual myths and stories tell a more interesting narrative we'll go with that

and one of those was the conflict between Li Jing and Nezha- in the actual stories there was a lot more hostility on either end than just 'distant dad and son trying to prove himself' there was mutual murder attempts in the MULTIPLE, you know?

and sometimes we don't agree with a direction the show takes, and find a more interesting story to alter it for us as we see fit, So our idea for how the Li Jing and Nezha situation goes is much more 'guys they literally tried to kill eachother multiple times before nezha was twelve Li Jing becoming the pagoda bearer and Nezha being TOLD to put away his vengance quest isn't gonna make things GOOD between them' (I mean i would absolutely say trying multiple times to kill your infant age child counts as making a toxic environment, right?)

We do that a few times, Tang Sanzang is a separate person entirely from Tang bc we thought that Tang not being a reincarnation and in fact just being Some Dude both made more sense on a worldbuilding level (its practically a joke in the discord server we first cooked this up in that Tang being a reincarnation of someone that shouldn't be reincarnating anymore is mythologically incoherent and it pisses both of us off to think about) and makes Tang's arc stronger anyway.

But for the way we specifically have settled on how we preferred their relationship it would make more sense for Xiaotian to have an axe to grind against His Buddy Nezha's shitty dad

especially since we have it with other characters, such as Shuyin (an oc we accidentally got too attached to and is now Xiaojiao's main love interest) whom he decided 'nah your parents suck we're gonna rehome you and do something humiliating to them so they can 'repent' they'll be happier you'll be happier i promise it'll all be better like this'

And by the time He'd have either Nezha or Li Jing in his claws on a more permanent basis he'd have gone FULL god complex and took on a more Azure-like 'nah the celestial court sucks' view he'd feel a lot more fine with fucking with people's full lives.

#Also dude i get that you have opinions #but this is mine and Robynx's Au #we get final say #Letters to vega #oblivion series #Tyrant Prince AU

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saintobio · 10 months ago

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LONG LIVE THE VILLAINESS !

amidst the tale of sweetest love and bitterest revenge, the fallen empress is cast back ten years into the past to correct her sins and avoid eternal damnation, even at the price of betraying her once husband, the very cause of her downfall.

♱ pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader

♱ genre. enemies-to-lovers, period piece, medieval au

♱ tags. ooc, regression, crown prince!gojo, noble lady!reader, politics, classism, clan wars, religion (catholicism), misogyny, violence, war, rebellion, suggestive, smut, gore, double life, explicit language, more to be added

♱ notes. this fic draws heavy inspirations from the webnovel ‘sister, i am the queen in this life’ and manhwa of the same name. it’s basically a fanfic of that series bc i am obsessed with it :’D

♱ status. on-going (slow updates)

♱ SECOND TIMELINE TO AS YOU LIKE IT ♱

PROLOGUE.

ACT I. THE LADY

ACT II. THE CROWN PRINCE

ACT III. THE KNIGHT

ACT IV. THE STAR CROSSED LOVERS

ACT V. THE BLESSED

ACT VI. THE SIN

ACT VII. THE REVELATION

ACT VIII. THE ENEMY

ACT IX. THE LOVER

ACT X. THE EMPRESS

EPILOGUE.

PROLOGUE

Like plunging beneath the surface of water and then, abruptly, breaking through to the air above—your body jolted as if awakening in a new world altogether. You drew in a long breath, your eyes fluttering open to reveal the ceiling, both familiar yet unfamiliar in its greeting. Swiftly, you surveyed your surroundings, noting with growing recognition the confines of your old room within the De Roma estate. The estate!

You were not in the palace of Caelum, but in the estate of House De Roma. A surge of realization flooded through you as you dashed towards the nearest mirror, confronting your reflection with wide, startled eyes.

No... could it be... that you have returned to your body, ten years prior?!

In the mirror, the reflection staring back at you was not that of the notorious wife of the tyrant Emperor Satoru, but of a 20-year-old maiden, the eldest daughter of Duke de Roma, with fuller cheeks and a more youthful appearance. You could not shake the feeling of disbelief, wondering if this was all just a dream, so you reached out to touch your arms and felt the flesh beneath your fingers, trying to convince yourself that this was an unexpected reality.

Oh, you were back. You found yourself returned to your former self, a decade younger, but now armed with the knowledge of your past life's actions and their consequences. Alongside this newfound understanding, the gift of clairvoyance had also been bestowed upon you.

And for what? Why had the heavens above returned you to your body? Was it for revenge, a second chance, or perhaps punishment?

Suddenly, a loud, deafening sound pierced your ears, and a blinding white light enveloped your vision. Your body became as still as a statue, and it felt as though your soul was transported to a fourth dimension where divine intervention seemed a lot more plausible to exist.

As your soul hovered in the liminal space between life and death, you found yourself standing before a figure cloaked in billowing robes, her presence commanding and her gaze piercing. This figure was Fortuna, the ancient Caelan goddess of fortune and fate, her visage austere and unforgiving.

“Are you aware of the sins that stain your soul?”

“Have you felt the weight of your transgressions, the consequences of your actions that have wrought suffering upon your people and brought ruin to your empire?”

Her voice echoed through the realm with the divine judgment that weighed upon your conscience, while her gaze penetrated to the core of your being and demanded honesty and accountability in the face of your past misdeeds.

“Will you atone for your sins?”

“Will you seize this opportunity for redemption, or will you squander it in self-pity and remorse?”

As you stood in the presence of the ancient goddess, grappling with the heaviness of your sins and the daunting task ahead, a brilliant light had all of a sudden illuminated the space around you. From the heart of this radiant glow emerged the figure of Archangel Raphael, his presence heralded by a chorus of angelical voices and the stirring of celestial winds.

Clad in robes that seemed to shimmer with the intensity of celestial light, Archangel Raphael's presence commanded attention, his wings unfurled behind him in a display of resolute authority. If Goddess Fortuna was intimidating, the archangel was fearsome all the more. His gaze, intense and penetrating, swept over you with a gravity that left no room for evasion or deceit.

“Empress of Caelum,” he spoke, his tone firm and unyielding, and his voice carrying a billion years of heavenly existence, “You stand accused of grievous sins, crimes that have shaken the very foundations of your empire and brought suffering upon your people.”

There was no trace of softness in Archangel Raphael's demeanor, no room for mercy in the face of wrongdoing. His presence was a testament to the uncompromising nature of divine justice, his strictness a reflection of the solemn duty entrusted to him as an Archangel of the Almighty. This, no doubt, was the face of a true and formidable executor of justice.

And you, the subject, had angered the divine beings that guarded the Caelan Empire, so much so that God himself sent the goddess of the land and one of his archangels to mitigate your rightful punishment.

“By the decree of the Almighty, you are granted a second chance to amend your sins and redeem your soul. You shall return to the mortal realm, to live your life anew and correct the sins that have stained your soul.”

“Should you fail to rectify your past transgressions, should you stray from the path of righteousness and succumb once more to the temptations of darkness, know that the consequences shall be severe and eternal.”

“For those who squander the gift of divine mercy shall be cast into the deepest depths of hell, where they shall endure a punishment of unending torment and suffering.”

In the presence of Archangel Raphael and Goddess Fortuna’s equally stern gazes, you were keenly aware of the magnitude of your transgressions and the severity of the judgment that awaited you. But even as you trembled beneath the weight of their scrutiny, you knew that their presence also offered you the opportunity for redemption, with your only task to prove yourself worthy of divine mercy.

Indeed, it was by your very hands that hundreds and thousands of Christian souls shed their blood. Innocent lives, both young and old, were cruelly taken at your command. The citizens of Caelum who fell sick from the spread of the plague. The esteemed Caelan advisors of your husband’s primogenitors, skinned alive and speared in pikes by the Tiber River. The wrongly accused maid who suffered the indignity of serving your husband, paraded unclothed through the streets and subjected to the brutality of the pear of anguish. The gallant and dignified knight, tortured mentally and physically in the atrocious dungeon. Now, you find yourself thrust back into the horrors of your former life ten years hence. A life of a noble lady who ought not to be blinded by her destructive love for the empire’s crown prince.

Yet, could you truly navigate this life without ascending to the position as his empress?

As you tried to commune with the divine beings afore you, a haze in your vision transported you away from the heavenly space, realizing that you were already drawn back into the reality of your chamber, inhabiting the youthful frame of a twenty-year-old daughter of a duke. You found yourself too astonished to move, too shaken to speak, and too afraid to take any action in this new lease of life blessed upon you. At that very moment, your state of reverie was disrupted at the arrival of your maid, who entered your chamber in a humble servant garb.

Milena. The maid whose life was cut short by your hand in your past existence due to petty thievery. “My lady,” she spoke with a hint of respect and urgency, unaware of the ill-fate you had given her in your past life, “A visitor has arrived at the gates and requests an audience with you. Shall I show them in?”

Too soon? Need it truly be so soon to engage with the people from your past life immediately after awakening to your old, yet younger body? Gazing upon your maid through the mirror, you asked, “Who is that intruder you speak of?”

She bowed her head, her stance shifting into one of apologetic deference. The way she firmly stood by your door was a message to you that the intruder was not someone you could easily reject the presence of.

“The visitor is His Highness, Crown Prince Satoru.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

#series: lltv #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk royal au #slow updates bc sy is prio #i will not write this in archaic english anymore ITS HARD AF #but i had to put this out there so i can remind myself to write it *sobs*#might just write this on the side

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benjinotes · 4 months ago

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𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐗𝐘 — jacaerys velaryon

PAIRING. jacaerys velaryon x fem reader SUMMARY. while trying to escape the arranged marriage, you meet your betrothed, who turns out not to be as terrifying as your father suggest. WARNINGS. spicy but no actual smut. family issues. mostly daddy issues. fluff. no war au. rhaenyra is the queen. kissing. arranged marriage. jace and reader are in their 20s. N/A. after 2 weeks, i finally finished this! english is not my first language so be understanding. 8K+ words.

requested! -> masterlist

The fierce late spring sun blazed through the narrow gaps in the heavy curtains, its relentless rays searing your skin with persistent, vexing heat. You drummed your fingers impatiently on the rough wooden table in the meeting hall, trying to hide your frustration and nervousness as you listened to the whispered conversations among the gathered people drifting through the room.

Still, the serenity of Casterly Rock, though comforting, did little to ease your anxiety. The constant whispering of those around you seeped irritatingly into your ears, while their watchful eyes remained fixed on you. Not only were you subjected to relentless scrutiny, but you had your future laid bare for everyone to judge and comment on as they wished, which was frustrating to say the least.

What was most exasperating was the fact that no one dared to speak to you directly. Instead, all you received were discreet nods and brief looks of pity and some form of solidarity, as if these gestures were carefully calculated not to deepen the anguish you already felt at the prospect of marrying the eldest son of the Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The name of that woman was met with reverence. As a queen who openly defied patriarchal traditions, her strength and ambition embodied the very essence of legends. She was known for making tough decisions without hesitation, placing duty and power above all else. To some, she was a visionary; to others, a tyrant. Yet no one, not even your father, could deny her cunning and ability to manipulate the political landscape to her advantage, always steering her destiny with unyielding control.

Marrying the son of the queen Rhaenyra meant joining a lineage forged in fire and blood, a dynasty accustomed to winning at any cost. The thought sent a chill down your spine, knowing you were about to become part of something so vast and merciless.

The air in the room grew heavier as the whispers faded into silence, and although there was plenty of air around you, it felt as though you were drowning. Your fists were clenched in your lap as reality slowly seeped through your body, tightening its grip on your heart. Across the table, your father, Lord Lannister, sat silently, his eyes fixed on you with a cold, relentless gaze. The barely perceptible warmth that had once lingered in his stare was now completely replaced by a biting chill, making you lower your head and shift your eyes to your hands in an attempt to escape the penetrating judgment that surrounded you.

You felt sullied, but more than that, you felt utterly lost.

You couldn't understand why your father was looking at you with such severity, especially when he was the one who had arranged your betrothal to the crown prince. It was even more perplexing to realize that he had made this arrangement behind your back, fully aware of the ominous rumors circulating through the stone corridors of Casterly Rock-rumors depicting Jacaerys Velaryon as a man of ruthless ambition, a volatile temperament, and a sense of duty that often bordered on cruelty.

The rumors your father shared about the crown prince were disturbing, to say the least. Though you had never met him personally, you had heard from your father and the other lords about his boundless ambition and unpredictable temperament. It was said that he was a man whose sense of duty often veered into harshness, driven by a calculated pursuit of power that sacrificed compassion and humanity for his goals, exactly like his mother, and the idea of marrying someone so dedicated to conquest and control only heightened your apprehension.

Nevertheless, the decision your father made left you stunned. How could he, who always claimed to act in your best interest, force you into such a cruel and desperate position? How could he send you to face someone whose reputation for cruelty he himself had helped to spread?

You couldn’t understand how the father you had trusted so deeply could impose such a harsh and merciless future on you. He wasn’t perfect, but you had hoped he would at least fulfill his role and be a good father. Yet, he proved you wrong.

The weight of betrayal and helplessness was overwhelming. The silence that enveloped the room seemed to amplify your sense of being trapped in a situation not of your making. Every distant whisper and glance now felt like a direct assault, heightening your feeling of isolation.

The reality of your predicament pressed down on you, making the silence almost unbearable. You could feel the tension in the room, thick and suffocating, as if the very walls were closing in, leaving you nowhere to turn.

When one of the lords shifted in his seat, the sound startled you, causing you to flinch. Unable to meet his questioning gaze, you kept your eyes on your lap, trying to memorize the gold and red patterns on your dress, struggling to ignore the constant, gnawing presence of scrutiny.

And even without the whispers, the weight of every gaze felt tangible, as if silent condemnations hung in the air. Your father's unwavering, cold stare only deepened your sense of betrayal, making you feel small and insignificant in an atmosphere that already felt suffocating and heavy.

After a few minutes, as if finally sensing that the moment—or perhaps you—had reached its limit, your father moved abruptly in his chair, letting the sun beam shine into his eyes, making him complain slightly. This small disturbance was enough to shift the attention of everyone in the room, who turned their gazes from you to Lord Lannister with a mix of curiosity and subtle apprehension.

"Leave us." He ordered after a few seconds, cutting through the oppressive silence that had settled in with a sharp, commanding tone. He didn't even spare a glance at the others in the room; his furrowed brows and the rigid, unyielding posture made it abundantly clear that he wasn't about to entertain any questions or objections. His mere presence commanded immediate obedience, and no one dared to challenge him. No one would be foolish enough to challenge Lord Lannister in his own home.

Biting your lip anxiously, you kept your gaze fixed on your lap, tracing your finger over the small lions in the dress’s pattern. As the lords began to rise, their footsteps echoed off the stone floor, their murmurs—now almost audible—starting up again as they moved toward the exit. Yet, you kept your head lowered, focusing on steadying your breath and straining to catch the distant sounds of the wind outside, desperately trying to fend off the anxiety gripping your insides.

As the lords' footsteps faded, the weight of the moment seemed to grow heavier with each passing second. The sense of being on the brink of a life-altering decision was overwhelming. You felt isolated, powerless to change the course of events, and faced with an almost tangible sense of the unknown pressing against your chest.

When the last lord left and the heavy doors shut, their echo reverberated through the stone walls like a warning. With only you and your father left, the room felt like it was closing in. The air was thick with the tension that hadn't faded with the others' departure. The silence that followed wasn't comforting; it was a suffocating weight, pressing on your chest and making it harder to breathe, pushing you to steady yourself in a struggle to regain control.

Looking up, you met your father's unyielding gaze. He watched you with cold, judgmental detachment as you anxiously bit your lip, and the icy intensity of his stare on your nervous behavior made you release your lower lip as a shiver ran down your spine. His rigid posture, assessing you with merciless precision, made it seem as though he didn't see his daughter but merely a pawn in a ruthless game of power, to be moved regardless of what it meant for you.

The feeling of betrayal cut deep, though you had long stopped expecting anything different.

Then, shattering the oppressive silence in the room, your father rose from his seat and began to walk toward you. Each step echoed with a weight that seemed to reverberate through the very walls, his boots hitting the floor with such force that they nearly drowned out the frantic beating of your heart.

Stopping in front of you, your dad scratched his throat lightly, prompting you to take a deep, pouty breath. You turned to him, your expression a mix of confusion and hurt, causing him to wrinkle his nose slightly. He lifted his chin with a smug air, his cold gaze unwavering.

"If you are awaiting an apology," he began, his voice edged with disdain, "you may as well abandon the expectation now." You struggled to maintain your composure, fighting the urge to glance at the opulent decorations on the wall for any distraction from the harshness of his stare.

Of course, an apology would never come from him; you hadn’t held any hope for it.

Fixing his gaze on your fingers, nervously tracing patterns on the fabric of your red dress, your father rubbed his forehead in irritation. For a brief moment, a flicker of doubt seemed to soften his stern expression.

"I did what was necessary," he spoke again, his voice carrying a rare touch of gentleness, aware that your silence was unyielding, but despite his softer tone, the firmness and gravity in his words remained unchanged. "You are a woman, and above all, a Lannister; marrying into greatness or being part of it is in your blood.”

His declaration felt like a crushing defeat, and the bitterness in your mouth made it hard to tell whether the weight of his words or your own desolation was more oppressive. Noticing your head once again bow in defeat, his gaze grew even colder. His eyes, which had offered a hint of softness, briefly fixed on the golden paintings on the walls of the room, as if seeking distraction from the sentimental conversations he disliked. However, the coldness in his gaze remained unchanged, almost as if he wanted to reinforce the possibly unhappy future he had laid out for you.

Lord Lannister took a step back and lightly adjusted his clothes, noting that you were clearly not going to speak. You nearly sighed with relief as you saw his shadow move slightly away from the table.

“You may find this difficult now, daughter,” he said again, the sound of his boots echoing as they entered your ears along with his sharp voice. Yet, your heart seemed to skip a beat when he called you "daughter." “But in time, you will understand that this was for the best. What you are about to do is part of something much greater, something beyond what you can see right now.” He continued, and you bit your lip once more, unable to lift your gaze from the fabric of your dress.

The marriage, your father’s indifferent treatment of it, and the daunting reality of becoming the future queen consort and mother to the future ruler of Westeros felt like a weight too great to bear. For a fleeting instant, you wondered if your betrothed had faced a similar turmoil when he first heard the news. But you swiftly dismissed such thoughts, haunted by the tales of his ruthless nature. Too afraid to have a second thought.

Lord Lannister took another step toward the door, his cloak trailing like a dark shadow over the cold stone floor. “Make your preparations,” he instructed, and you glanced up just enough to see him open the door, his back resolute, his gaze unfeeling. “In a few days, you will depart for Dragonstone.” With a final, authoritative word, he closed the door behind him, the sound resonating through the walls and making your heart ache.

Finally left alone in the room, you curled into yourself, drawing your knees tightly to your chest. With your head bowed, the tears you had kept at bay for so long finally began to fall.

The weather was not pleasant in Kings Landing.

For three interminable weeks since your arrival at the Red Keep, the skies had remained perpetually overcast, and the relentless rain had not ceased for even a moment.

Wish as you might, it was peculiar to say the least—despite this being your first visit to the Capital, you had always been told by merchants and villagers that the Capital’s weather was milder than that of the Westerlands, though its people were more arrogant and petty. Yet, to your chagrin, you found both claims to be mistaken.

You had not had the opportunity to meet many people within the Red Keep. Your interactions were limited to a few servants who, unlike those in your own household, extended a measure of respect towards you. You also encountered some nobles who, despite their aloof demeanor and occasional condescension, chose to withhold their judgments and refrain from speaking of you in whispers.

On the other side , your betrothed's family proved to be a pleasantly unexpected surprise. Although you had met them, their treatment of you was surprising. Despite your initial reservations, you found yourself genuinely appreciating their demeanor more than you had anticipated.

His younger brothers were charming and exhibited a genuine warmth towards you. Whenever you exchanged words with them, your heart would quicken at the thought of having such affectionate and adorable siblings like Lucerys, Joffrey, and, of course, the little twins, who, despite their tender age and limited speech, were always eager to play with you.

In contrast, when you arrived at the fortress, his cousins, Rhaena and Baela, made a strong impression. They were the first to greet you, guiding you through the stone corridors with ease and engaging you in lighthearted gossip. Their linked arms and gentle smiles created a welcoming atmosphere, helping you to feel more at ease amidst the grandeur of the fortress.

The impression left by the Queen and King consort was notably different. Their presence conveyed undeniable authority, and their demeanor naturally inspired a sense of apprehension. This reflected some of the rumors you had heard about them. Despite this, their treatment of you was unexpectedly kind, providing a surprising degree of comfort amidst the formality and gravity of their status.

Yet you had not had the opportunity to meet your future husband. Despite your attempts to learn about him, the family that had welcomed you so warmly consistently avoided any discussion of his person. Whenever his name arose, they quickly changed the subject, a practice that only heightened your unease. This persistent evasion led you to ponder whether the rumors of his alleged cruelty might indeed have some truth to them.

You hoped that this was the reason you now stood before the towering wall, your wedding cross firmly clutched in your hand, after hastening through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep. It seemed as though the cross might offer the comfort and strength that your heart so desperately yearned for.

However, though the cross afforded you a measure of solace, the imposing wall before you offered nothing but a stark contrast. With a deep breath, you resolved to go ahead, turning with determination toward the tree beside you, intent on scaling it to reach the other side.

And even though doubts about your decision were increasingly overtaking your thoughts, your pride would not permit you to retreat. Not in that moment.

Taking tentative steps toward the tree, you hesitated, adjusting the cross around your neck one last time. With a deep breath, you lifted your dress and began to climb the tree awkwardly, nervously watching your feet as you ascended.

Truth be told, you had never engaged in anything of the sort before. While you had observed your older brothers undertaking various daring exploits, your own experiences were vastly different. Forever engrossed in books or strolling through the gardens of your home, you had never ventured into their adventurous pursuits, and even despite your yearning to join them, they consistently excluded you, insisting that girls lacked the courage for such undertakings.

Yet here you were, clambering up the tree with hasty but clumsy efforts, striving to escape a grim destiny after being sold as a mere pawn by your own father. So absorbed were you in your plight that you failed to perceive a pair of brown eyes drawing near, observing you with a hint of quiet amusement.

You could already see the sea on the other side of the wall and feel the sudden wind hit your flushed face gently. For a moment, you were so distracted that you barely noticed your foot that was now stepping lightly on the back of your dress, and before you could realize anything, you lost your balance.

Just as you began to fall, strong arms seized you mid-descent, pulling you back before calamity could strike. The stranger had moved with startling swiftness, and before you could fully grasp what had transpired, you found yourself securely held in his embrace, your feet barely brushing the ground.

His hold was firm yet gentle, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to still, as did your breath. You looked up, startled, and met a pair of amused yet strangely beguiling brown eyes, close enough for you to discern an indescribable color within them. A faint smile played upon his lips as he aided you in regaining your balance, watching intently as you dusted the hem of your red skirt; his expression still touched with quiet amusement.

Still, you couldn’t help but notice how strikingly handsome the young man was.

You opened your mouth to offer your thanks, but the stranger interjected with smooth courtesy. “It seems the tree bears you no favor, my lady,” he remarked, his voice tinged with refined irony. As you took a step back, his gaze remained unwavering, and he continued with an air of gentle provocation, “May I inquire what grand quest compelled you to seek what lies beyond the wall?”

You blinked in embarrassment, your fingers instinctively gripping the cross around your neck, unwilling to disclose the harsh reality of your future. Meanwhile, the stranger's lips curled into a subtle smile as he noted your reaction, though you remained unaware of his quiet amusement.

It was a rare sight to see a lady in such haste, particularly when she was his betrothed.

“So?” He inquired with a casual tone, a hint of mockery in his voice as he observed the flush of annoyance rising to your cheeks.

Raising your chin, you tried to meet his gaze with composure, though you faltered slightly when he remained unmoved. “I do not see how this is any of your concern, my lord,” you finally said, irritation clear in your voice as you tightened your grip on the cross. Jacaerys, upon hearing your words, tilted his head back and laughed heartily, leaving you bewildered; his evident satisfaction seemed to grow with the sharpness of your response.

Jacaerys had not anticipated that his betrothed would be so defensive, yet he could not deny that he was intrigued by the tone of your voice. “It appears,” he began, his voice taking on a measured curiosity as he studied your face and felt his own heartbeat quicken while he noticed how the wind gently tousled your hair, “that you possess a spirit I had not expected. This surely bodes well for our future encounters.” He attempted to flirt, clearing his throat slightly to hide a smile when he saw your confused expression directed at him.

You clearly did not grasp the meaning behind his words, nor did you have any desire to understand his intentions. The day had already been fraught with mishaps—first, you had narrowly escaped injury from a fall, and now you found yourself in the garden of your betrothed’s castle, unwittingly admiring the presence of a man you had thought was a stranger.

Sweat dampened your palms, and your heart pounded heavily. For a moment, you thought you were enduring the torment of sinners, and a wave of shame overtook you.

Perhaps this was a divine punishment from the Seven for daring to flee the fate that had been decreed for you.

"What do you intend by that?" you inquired, releasing your wedding cross and lightly folding your arms in front of your chest. Jacaerys had to exercise considerable self-discipline to refrain from briefly casting his gaze upon your bosom. You’re too pretty, too hot to be true. You are far too beautiful, too captivating, for reality to bear.

“Me? Nothing at all, my lady. Save for the fact that I had not expected to meet my betrothed under such... curious circumstances,” the prince replied with a casual air, his voice tinged with wry amusement, as though the matter were of no import. The moment his words reached your ears, your breath stilled, a sudden wave of disbelief washing over you—he must surely be toying with you.

Your hand rose once more to the cross at your neck, fingers trembling as your gaze fell upon him, and there, hanging from his throat, gleamed a matching cross. Your heart, before steady, now raced with a force that echoed through your very being.

Before you stood none other than the crowned prince, a man whose reputation, stained by dark tales and bloodshed, echoed throughout the Westerlands, and even worse, the man destined to become your future lord and husband. To deepen your dismay, you had made a spectacle of yourself in a vain attempt to escape the impending marriage set for the following week. It felt as though some celestial force took cruel delight in your misfortune.

Jacaerys let out a soft chuckle, his gaze still filled with amusement as it lingered upon you. His eyes drifted to your neck, now flushed with embarrassment, yet he remained silent, merely folding his arms across his chest and waiting for you to break the silence.

You blinked slowly, striving to fully grasp the weight of the revelation you had just received. As the truth settled within you, your eyes widened in surprise. Releasing the cross from around your neck, you performed a courteous bow, murmuring, “I—I deeply apologize, my prince.” You shut your eyes tightly, bracing yourself for the anticipated reprimand or punishment. Instead, you felt a gentle touch on your hand, and when you finally dared to look up, you met your betrothed’s gaze, now softened with unexpected tenderness. He drew you gently to your feet and brought you close to him.

“Apologies are not needed, my lady,” he said with sincere warmth, drawing closer in a way that might have seemed improper were it not for your betrothal. Yet he cared little for such formalities, his heart quickening as the soft scent of you reached his nostrils.

"Besides, I must confess that this first encounter was quite unexpected." He paused, his gaze softening as he regarded your startled expression and parted lips. "Yet, it is most gratifying," he concluded with a sincere smile. Noting your visible discomfort, his smile softened into a tender frown, and he took a step back to afford you more space.

Jacaerys was well aware of Lord Lannister’s disdain for him, and he had no illusions about the sentiment being mutual. He knew of the cruel rumors Lord Lannister spread about his true nature—rumors that, though largely unfounded, were completely absurd and far from the truth of his character. It was no secret, despite Lord Lannister’s attempts at discretion, that the man harbored a deep-seated loathing for the Westerlands.

The fact that you had been sent to him, despite your evident fear, only served to deepen the prince’s dislike for the man. What sort of father would cast his daughter away when he had spent a lifetime cultivating her fears?

He was aware of your fear; upon his return from travels, his first action was to inquire about your well-being from his mother and cousins. Their accounts were unwavering: you feared the union and, indeed, feared him. This knowledge weighed heavily on him. He had been pledged to you not as a source of dread but as your protector, meant to soothe your anxieties, not to heighten them. The thought of causing you such discomfort was nearly unbearable to him.

“So you vow you will not harm me?” You asked after a few moments, your voice trembling with uncertainty. Seeing him shake his head in denial, you took a hesitant step toward your bethrothed.

The prince did not seem so cruel up close; indeed, he appeared rather charming—too charming.

Jacaerys moved closer to you as he saw your posture visibly relax, his cold hand quickly resting on the curve of your neck while his thumb gently caressed your throat. This made your cheeks flush furiously, and you instinctively leaned into his touch. “I am prepared to offer you all my love” he confessed, his voice low yet gentle, sending a shiver through you and deepening your blush. “And I hope you will do the same.” He admitted, and without realizing it, you took another step toward him.

“What if I cannot?” you dared to ask in a hushed tone, feeling his fingers gently trace the cross upon your neck.

He smiled, lowering his head close to your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he placed a soft kiss, causing you to bite your lip in response. “If you cannot bring yourself to love me, even just a little,” he murmured against your skin, his cool breath stirring a shiver within you, “then I suggest you hate me entirely.” He concluded with one final, lingering kiss near your wedding cross.

Stepping back with deliberate grace, Jacaerys turned away, casting one final glance over his shoulder. He left you standing alone in the midst of the garden, your heart racing.

And though you might not yet admit it, the urge to flee had waned, and in its place, a budding resolve to love him began to grow within you.

The next few days passed quickly.

Amidst the whirlwind of preparations for your union with Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and the steady arrival of lords from across Westeros, time slipped away like sand through your fingers. So absorbed were you in the endless tasks and the moments shared with your betrothed and his family that you barely noticed a full week had passed since that fateful, improper encounter, and the thought of fleeing King's Landing had quietly drifted from your mind.

In truth, thoughts of home were the furthest from your mind. Since that inescapable encounter with your betrothed, he had made it a point and effort to be by your side in every spare moment both of you had.

Jacaerys proved ever thoughtful, ever watchful, always a step ahead to anticipate your every need; his hand extended before you could even ask. Though his temper seemed quick in the few council meetings you had witnessed, the patience he reserved for you was a tenderness unlike any other, a quiet devotion that made your heart soften with each passing day.

Now, as his gentle hand held yours and he led you through the halls, you couldn't help but feel silly for believing your father's harsh words. Nothing your father had said seemed true. How could he be the monster you'd feared when his every glance was so full of tenderness, making your heart flutter and warmth spread through your chest?

He was kind, and none who genuinely knew him could contest that.

“Do not be so fearful,” he encouraged, casting a reassuring glance over his shoulder as you nervously bit your lower lip. “Come now, Vermax means you no harm,” he promised, his gaze softening as it fell upon the small cross hanging from your neck.

“Jace, I am quite uncertain about this,” you murmured softly, your heart pounding with a fervor you could not wholly place—whether due to the warmth of his touch upon your hand or the prospect of meeting a dragon. Either way, a flush of heat crept upon you, warming your cheeks with apprehension.

Your future lord husband halted suddenly, causing you to stumble and lightly press against his chest, the wedding cross grazing gently against your forehead. As you looked up, you found yourself caught in the depths of his warm, hazel eyes, which regarded you with their usual blend of tenderness and amusement.

“There is no need for fear,” Jacaerys said softly, his voice laced with gentle charm as he spoke your name. His hand cupped your face, and his thumb caressed your cheek soothingly. “Vermax is loyal to me and tends to favor those I hold dear.” He added, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his touch and his endearing words made a rosy blush rise to your cheeks.

With a tremulous sigh, you acquiesced, unaware of the pleased glint in his eyes. “Very well, I place my trust on you,” you declared with earnest and apprehensive commit. Before further words could be spoken, Jacaerys gently took your arm, guiding you towards the dragon pit, where soon the majestic form of Vermax appeared.

The dragon lay majestically upon a bed of straw and scattered bones, and you instinctively grasped the prince’s arm, a gesture that seemed to please him. The dragon’s emerald scales gleamed softly in the dim light, and as its eyes opened, they fixed upon you and Jacaerys. The heir greeted the beast with a small smile, which prompted the dragon to respond with a gentle, approving rumble, causing Jacaerys’s smile to broaden even further.

You observed Jacaerys reluctantly extricate himself from your embrace, casting you an apologetic glance as he approached the great beast. He murmured softly in an unfamiliar tongue, his voice a soothing murmur against the backdrop of the dragon’s deep, rumbling breaths. The massive creature turned its head to regard you with a curious gaze, causing you to hold your breath in trepidation.

He was too big for a young dragon.

“Wait a moment,” Jacaerys said gently, stepping closer as he beckoned Vermax to advance. The dragon’s enormous head lowered in response, yet Jacaerys’s gaze, filled with warmth and reassurance, remained steadily upon you. You instinctively touched the cross around your neck, striving to steady your breath as Vermax approached. Jacaerys’s hand gave your arm a brief, reassuring squeeze. “He possesses a loyalty grand as his size.” He murmured softly, his voice imbued with a calming reassurance.

As Vermax drew closer, you instinctively sought out Jacaery’s hand, finding solace in his steadfast presence. He tightened his grip reassuringly, his own heart echoing the intensity of the moment, and his touch provided a grounding comfort amid the dragon’s grandeur. “There is no need for fear,” he murmured in a quiet tone, his gaze tender as he observed you. “He's gentle, despite his appearance.” You took a hesitant step forward, your heart racing as Vermax’s large, watchful eyes met yours.

You swallowed hard at the sight.

Your betrothed’s thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, offering silent encouragement. Yet he could not help but cast a quick glance at the neckline of your dress and the way you clutched the small cross, shaking his head to clear the indecent thoughts that had entered his mind. “He is not so different from me,” he said almost abruptly, trying to dispel the images from his mind while meeting your apprehensive and fearful gaze. “Gentler than the tales might suggest.” Hearing this, you let out a soft laugh despite the situation, recognizing the subtle hint in his sentence.

Jace couldn’t help but feel relieved when he heard your small laughter.

He let out a soft, reassuring chuckle, his grip on your hand tightening to anchor you to the moment, and you instinctively returned the squeeze. Vermax, now only a few steps away, lowered his massive head, his watchful eyes observing you once again both with a serene curiosity as though acknowledging the connection forming between you and his rider. He seemed too smart for a giant beast.

Jacaerys stepped closer to the dragon, gently drawing you by his side. His voice, steady and tinged with pride, broke the silence. “See? He is at ease with you.” His gaze shifted back to you, a warm smile playing on his lips. “You have nothing to fear.” He said softly, his eyes never leaving yours as you once again focused on the young dragon.

As you drew nearer, the warm breath of the dragon stirred the air, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Yet, with Jace by your side, you felt a sense of calm. His hand, still holding yours, provided constant reassurance, and you could feel his thumb tracing gentle, reassuring circles on your skin.

As you approach the dragon, its warm breath stirred a gentle, soothing breeze against your face, heightening your anticipation. Drawing a deep breath, you extended your trembling hand towards the dragon, your fingers brushing against the cool, smooth scales of its vast snout. The texture is both unfamiliar and captivating, the dragon’s scales feeling like a blend of polished stone and supple leather beneath your touch.

You could almost hear Jacaerys holding his breath behind you.

Vermax remained still, his large eyes half-closing as if acknowledging your gesture, his steady, rhythmic breath resonating through the chamber. When he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, you widened your own eyes in wonder, your mouth slightly agape as you glanced back at Jace, who struggled to stifle a chuckle.

“By the Seven!” you exclaimed, blinking slowly. “I did it!” you nearly shouted, gripping your betrothed’s hand tightly, which drew a hearty, amused laugh from him in response to your delight.

“I told you,” he murmured softly amidst his laughter, squeezing your hand reassuringly. His eyes, twinkling with both amusement and something more profound, regarded you with tender warmth.

As you and your betrothed made your way back to the castle, your hands remained intertwined, a detail neither of you seemed to notice amidst the comfort you found in each other's presence. The corridors of the castle, bathed in the soft light of flickering torches, seemed to contract, leaving just the two of you in your own world. The only sounds were the gentle rhythm of your breathing, the passage of time unnoticed, and the cool air that lightly brushed against your faces.

Jacaerys, however, could not help but steal occasional glances at you, as if he were trying to memorize every detail of your face and form. His eyes lingered on the neckline of your dress, the softness of your lips, and the small cross around your neck—the emblem of the union to come tomorrow. For a brief moment, he reached with his free hand to touch the cross, feeling a warm flutter in his chest as his fingers brushed the delicate metal.

The prince blinked slowly, his heart pounding with anticipation at the thought of the wedding to come. He could hardly contain his eagerness.

“I must say,” Jacaerys spoke gently, finding any excuse to linger near you as you stood by your chamber door. “You’ve been a delight in the dragon pit, especially considering it’s your first encounter with dragons.” He chided himself internally for the awkwardness of his words, yet his smile remained tender and sincere, his eyes reflecting genuine admiration.

You blushed and blinked slowly, a touch of bewilderment in your eyes, though your heart raced at his tentative praise.

“I am glad to have shared the experience with you,” you replied sincerely, noticing how he swallowed hard, as if wrestling with an unspoken urgency and desire.

Little did you realize, Jacaerys’s heart ached with a longing as deep as the ancient woods. The thought of waiting until tomorrow to share your first kiss at the altar felt like an eternity of torment. He yearned to taste the sweetness of your lips in a moment that was uniquely yours, far from the prying eyes of the court. Perhaps that was merely seeking any excuse to close the distance between you, his heart aching to turn his longing into a cherished reality.

Regardless, Jacaerys drew closer, his hand gently releasing yours to rest upon your neck. As his thumb softly caressed your throat, a wave of memories from the past week washed over you, bringing a delicate flush to your cheeks. Despite your growing shyness, you stood still, your breath mingling with his as he leaned in. “There is something I have longed to do,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a yearning tenderness. “I need this, I need you.”

Before you could utter a word, his lips met yours in a fervent kiss, tongues entwining and teeth brushing lightly. The world around you seemed to dissolve, leaving only the sensation of his warmth and the pressing desire of the kiss you shared. You felt his fingers pressing firmly against your throat and his hand gently grasping the small cross around your neck, and you swiftly mirrored the action, drawing him closer as the kiss deepened.

Jacaerys's heart beat in unison with yours, the kiss growing more intense, and both of you felt a growing warmth as the passion heightened. Yet neither of you cared, too lost in the taste of each other's mouths to think of anything else.

When at last he pulled away, his breath was heavy, his eyes searching yours with a tender yearning that made your heart race.

“Thank you for another amazing day.” He whispered, his voice soft and full of affection, as though the words themselves were a caress. He lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss to your neck, his lips lingering there, sending a shiver through you. Your breath caught, and you bit your swollen lip, every part of you longing for his touch once more.

“I can hardly wait for being completely yours,” he murmured, stepping back slowly, as though reluctant to part from you. His hand fell from yours only when necessary, and you turned toward your chamber door, heart still fluttering. As you crossed the threshold, you glanced back to see him standing there, a soft, private smile touching his lips.

You could hardly wait to be his, too.

The atmosphere was filled with warmth.

At the great table laid out for both your families, Jacaerys beheld you from across the room, his gaze alight with a tender affection. His smile conveyed the warmth and admiration he felt, as if he were savoring the very sight of you amidst the grandeur of the feast.

The vows of your union had been spoken mere hours past, and though he had already basked in the wondrous sight of you in your bridal attire, Jace could not help but be entranced by you. His eyes roamed over you, captivated by how the gown clung to your form, as if shaped by divine hands. You appeared as if sculpted by the gods themselves.

It took all of Jacaery’s self-control not to kiss you as he had the night before or to press his lips to your neck and savor the softness of your skin. He was also haunted by the countless times he had anxiously clutched that cross, now missing from both of your necks.

Yet, though the cross that once adorned both your necks was no longer present, the crown prince could not stifle his smile. The torchlight danced upon your fingers, casting a radiant gleam on the ring that now symbolized your union. It was a silent proclamation of your bond, mirrored by the way he placed his hand upon the table, a reminder that declared his heart and soul belonged to you.

Jacaerys still recalled the first time he beheld you, some three years past, on the day of his mother’s coronation. He remembered your father’s countenance darkening with displeasure as the crown was set upon his mother’s brow. Yet, more vividly, he recalled you: the timid maiden who sought to retreat from the prying gazes of the court.

He still remembered how, towards the end of the coronation feast, you had quietly slipped away to the garden. He had followed you from a distance, drawn by a curiosity he scarcely understood. From the shadows, he had observed as the moonlight cast a gentle glow upon your face. In that moment, seeing you bathe in such soft radiance, he felt his heart race with fervor he had never known before. However, he was too afraid to speak to you.

When the queen spoke of the union between you and him, Jacaerys had been taken aback too surprise to say a word, yet he was far from opposed. Indeed, his heart had nearly leapt from his chest upon learning that the bond between both of you was to be secured.

He was glad for the marriage, and from the smile his mother, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, bestowed upon him, he could see that she, too, was delighted by his joy.

Turning his gaze away from the gathered company, Jacaerys furrowed his brow in concern. When he looked back and found you missing from view, he felt a pang of worry. Yet his anxiety was swiftly eased when he noticed you slipping through the crowd of lords and saw the door ajar. A soft chuckle escaped him as he ignored the glances, and he followed your retreating form toward the door.

The prince followed after you, his footsteps resounding against the cold stone walls, mingling with the fading echoes of the banquet's revelry. His mind stilled when you glanced back, gifting him a playful smile that stirred something deep within him, urging him to quicken his stride. But before his hand could reach yours, you took off, lifting the delicate fabric of your wedding gown as you ran, leaving Jacaerys momentarily stunned. But it took him only a heartbeat to recover before he surged forward, chasing after you with determination.

Both of your laughs, now distant from the fading echoes of the banquet, echoed through the castle halls. As you and Jacaerys raced through the corridors, your hearts pounded and your breaths came in quick bursts, the joyous sound of your chase reverberating through the echoing stone halls.

You swiftly reached the garden, the cool night air embracing you as you stepped outside. Yet, before you could proceed to the heart of the garden, Jacaerys closed the distance, his hands gently resting on your waist. His touch sent a shiver through you, eliciting one more merry laugh from your lips.

His playful gaze met yours with a mischievous glint, and you placed your hands upon his chest, feeling his heart beat as strongly as, or perhaps even more than, your own. His breath brushed gently against your face.

“Do you intend to run from me all night long, my love?” Jacaerys inquired softly, his voice tender as he sighed deeply, feeling your chest press against his. You merely blinked, slightly surprised by his affectionate term, but a smile still blossomed on your lips.

You tilted your head gently, a faint blush rising to your cheeks, while your eyes shyly averted from his. “Perhaps I enjoy being pursued by you,” you teased, though Jacaerys saw the truth in your words.

He was certain you would be his ruin, but he was ready to embrace it willingly.

“Good for you, because I am willing to follow you everywhere you go,” he whispered softly. Your heart fluttered, and for a moment, you felt foolish for ever believing the tales your father had spun about your lord husband. In his embrace, you discovered warmth and protection unlike anything you had known before.

Jacaerys was all that your father was not: respectful, honest, a man of virtue and loyalty. For a fleeting moment, you were moved to seek forgiveness from the gods for your attempt to flee days earlier. To wed Jacaerys now seemed a divine blessing, and despite the brevity of your time together, you felt assured that the future ahead would be bright with him by your side.

You raised a hand to smooth a stray curl from his brow, feeling him lean into your touch. “I’m not sure I could ever escape you,” you said, meeting his gaze with a playful glimmer. “Even if I tried.”

Jacaerys chuckled softly. “And indeed, you made quite an effort, did you not, lady wife?” His teasing tone brought a delicate blush to your cheeks. As you lowered your hand, his laughter subsided, and he regarded you with a more subdued, yet still playful, expression. “Are you upset with me, my love?” he inquired, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You bit your lip, striving to conceal the flush of embarrassment and the laughter bubbling within you. Yet, despite your best efforts, a laugh escaped, echoing through the garden. Your husband looked upon you with wonder and delight, soon joining in your laughter.

Neither you nor Jacaerys knew how long your laughter had lasted, but when it finally subsided, he pressed his forehead to yours. A smile lingered on his lips, growing even wider as you rubbed your body against his as he gently tightened his embrace around your waist.

You could burn in that moment.

“You cannot fathom how long I have yearned for this union,” he confessed with a soft sigh. You held your breath, reluctant to disturb the moment. “You know not how deeply I wish to continue loving you,” he continued, his eyes still closed, as if he lacked the courage to speak those words while gazing into your eyes.

Your mind seemed to cloud, and your heart pounded against his chest. “Do you love me?” was all that escaped your lips. The moment the words were spoken, you felt a pang of foolishness for your sudden question.

Yet, he just chuckled a little dryly.

“If I do love you?” Jacaerys asked, his eyes opening slowly to reveal a depth of feeling that made it impossible for you to look away. “My heart is yours,” he said, his voice soft. “If you command it to still, it shall obey; if you tell it to depart, it will go. Whatever you ask of it, it shall do. Every part of me belongs to you, for you to guide as you wish.”

He paused, his gaze earnest as he searched for the right words. “To say ‘I love you’ hardly captures it; my soul is wholly and desperately yours.”

You blinked slowly, deeply touched by his words, oblivious to the almost desperate look he wore as he searched your face for any sign of doubt or hesitation.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of his confession, you leaned in and sealed your lips with his. This kiss was unlike the passionate embrace you had shared the previous night; it was imbued with a tender and soft love that transcended mere desire. It was so right, so warm, that Jacaerys felt as though he might dissolve into your embrace, just as you felt you could in his.

He could feel that you were beginning to love him, and he cherished every second of that kiss.

As you slowly withdrew from the embarace, you felt his hands once again gently encircling your throat, his thumb tenderly caressing your neck. His eyes remained fixed upon you, brimming with a love so profound that it quickened the heartbeat of anyone who beheld it.

“I desire that my soul be wholly consumed by yours,” you declared softly, watching as his eyes widened in astonishment and his grip around your throat tightened ever so slightly.

“What are you trying to say?” Jacaerys asked, though he already knew the answer. His voice was rough yet soft, and his eyes darkened as his breath quickened. "Are you certain, my love?" he inquired, even though it was clear that this was his deepest longing in that moment and had been since he first beheld you.

“Lead me to our chambers husband.” you commanded with unwavering certainty, pressing yourself closer to him as if seeking to become one.

Jacaerys leaned in to place a tender, slightly lingering kiss upon your neck, a smile gracing his lips. “What my lady wife desires,” he murmured softly against your delicate skin, “she shall have.”

And you definitely did.

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