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ronibartender · 2 months ago

Text

Out of my control

Summary:

LoA moves to the Day Court after Beron’s death and her and Helion have a baby; Lucien gets a little sister. Lucien meets Y/N when his sister is about 3 yo and he starts courting the her. It quickly becomes clear that the little female does not like Y/N making her gets more and more discouraged, knowing relationships tend not to work if a family doesn’t like the partner. Lucien always brushes it off and tosses it up to his sister being territorial over the brother who used to spend every second he could spare with her but now needs to teach her to share him.

Disclaimer: I give no rights for my work to be replicated, adapted, translated or used for any means. If you have questions please feel free to message me.

A special thanks to @mirandasidefics for beta reading and inspiring me to finally post. Go read her fics on her page, they are amazing!

Lucien POV

“Centuries ago there was a male and a female who fell in love”

“Ewwww!” She giggles.

“Shhhh. This is the story of a female, a spitfire who was carefree and creative and who fell in love with the sun.”

“The sun?”

“The sun. The sun used to sneak into the female’s family estate when all were away and he’d dance with her. He taught her the dances of all the places he had been to and she taught him about the animals that lived near her estate. Her favorite were the birds, she’d take him to the balcony of her estate and they’d feed the birds, sometimes they’d even fly into her hands.”

“They can do that?” Her small voice is full of wonder.

“Yes, but it takes patience. But the sun and the spitfire female had to keep their love a secret.”

“Why?”

“Because the spitfire was betrothed.”

“Beth- betrou- bu- bu- what?”

“Betrothed, she was engaged,” she gasps at that. “But she didn’t want to be. The spitfire’s father had basically sold her to the most powerful male in the land; a king.”

“She didn’t want to be a queen?”

“Maybe she did… but she knew that true love was more important than any crown.”

“Awww” she coos.

“The day for her to wed came and her betrothed- I mean, her new husband, found out about the sun, about how much she loved the sun and how much the sun loved her back. He threatened to-”

“Thhhhh- thhh- teten?”

“Threatened. He promised to do something really bad if she didn’t stop seeing the sun,” she gasps again.

“What did he promise?”

I shrug, “no one knows. But it was scary enough that the spitfire, sad and crying, told the sun they could no longer see one another. And the sun, fearing for her, agreed. And so the sun was gone. And the spitfire’s life became cloudy and colorless. Slowly, her fire didn’t burn as bright. The days dragged on and on and on… she gave that king six sons. One stronger than the last. Taller. Bigger. But… also dumber.” She giggles. “Then a war broke out and all the surrounding kingdoms got together to fight the bad male trying to take away their freedom. Their lives, their cultures and traditions were all at risk… and the sun was there to help them fight, but the spitfire could only watch from a distance. Until one morning, one of the evil males from the bad side of the war, found her taking a walk in the forest. The spitfire, having gone centuries without her training, fled. The male chased her to a cliff and she knew she wasn’t going to make it. No weapons, her powers, out of practice and dull over the years…”

“Oh no…”

“But then, with a burst of blinding light, the sun appeared in front of her again. He drew no weapon but in seconds the bad male was no more. He turned to the spitfire, who watched him in awe and in thanks, who was crying at their mare proximity, and he held her. And they danced again. They danced like they used to. Like no time had passed at all and for a few days, though they met in secret, her world had color again. The fire in her soul burned so violently she couldn’t sit still. But all good things must end, as the bad ones do. And the king found out they’d been dancing,” she gasps yet again. “He promised more bad things… and the sun had to go away again. Months later the spitfire gave birth to another son. He looked much like the others but he was smaller. More delicate. As he grew, he didn’t want to fight, though he learned to defend himself, but he was drawn to the library, he loved to read. So as his brothers were sent to rule parts of their father’s kingdom, the youngest would read, and learn. But he was always treated poorly by his brothers and his father, and he never knew why. They did terrible things to him, took away things that made him happy, took his friends and his books and everything he held dear…” My voice cracks. “So he ran away and went to live with a friend. He made a life for himself, traveling and seeing new places, making new friends. And things were fine… until they weren’t. A mad queen captured all the kings and queens of the neighboring lands and cast a curse on the youngest son, his friend and their kingdoms. They were cursed for 50 years!”

“15 years?!”

I chuckle, “50, 5-0. But a human came and saved them. She beat all the odds and the youngest son was free… for a while. Many bad things kept happening to him but he got through it all and he found his mate!”

“His mate?”

“Yes. They are very rare, but mates are the Mother’s gifts to the fae. They hold the other half of our souls and some say one is never complete until they find their mate. But his mate did not want him. She was hurt and angry at the world and she did not look at him twice. He was hurt, rejected by the one person who was supposed to love him no matter what. But he made it through, little by little, getting stronger with each challenge he faced and conquered. He moved around different kingdoms, fought in a big war and soon he found himself not quite fitting into the places he once did. So he found a new home, with two new friends; a firebird and a misunderstood warrior. Until one day a little bird came to him and told him the story of the spitfire and the sun. And that’s when he knew; he was no prince. The evil king who raised him was not his father… but the sun? The sun was. And the youngest son was light itself.”

“Wow…”

“Yes… it was not easy. The sun didn’t know his love for the spitfire had such an effect. But when he found out the sun shone brighter than he ever had. Taking his offspring, although a grown male, into his kingdom and teaching him things he didn’t even know he was capable of, powers he didn’t know he had. But the young male’s trouble wasn’t over; his mate rejected their bond and he almost died because of it. His parents and his two friends were the ones to keep him alive and helped him. And then the evil king who had raised the male passed away; the spitfire was free too. And she found refuge in the sun’s kingdom. And they danced again, and laughed again and fed the birds again.”

“And they lived happily ever after?” She asks.

“Not yet. Not a decade later, the spitfire was pregnant again, this time with a morning star, Venus.”

“That’s my name!” She claps.

“That’s right. And the lonely boy who finally had the family he always wanted, got a little sister!” She giggles as I blow raspberries on her belly. “Now, go to bed before mom finds out you’re awake.”

“Noooo!” She whines, “I wanna hear it again! I wanna hear it again!” I put her in bed, catching her by the ankle as she tries to crawl away and putting the covers over her.

“You just heard it!” I smile.

“But I want it again!” I kiss her head.

“Tomorrow night,” I exit her room, turning off the lights, the spinning night light casting little suns around her room. I walk to my office, the one Heli- dad gave me a while after I got settled here and started “High Lord training” as he likes to call it. I finish some paperwork before retiring to my chambers, bathing and sleeping.

The next morning, after breakfast I head over to the library. This one is smaller than most of the grand libraries of the Day Court. This is where most of our ancient texts are stored and I’m running an errand for Helion…dad. I walk in and can’t help but notice how it looks so different from most libraries. There are some shelves, yes but the books are covered and bound, protected. There are chests, no doubt filled with parchment and rolls of ancient text. I walk in, looking at the list of texts I’m supposed to retrieve and start searching for the specific books and scrolls he requested so we can go over them this afternoon but many of the covers and titles are covered to keep them protected. I reach for one and…

“Do not touch the books!” A female voice reprimands and I look around to find the source. A female stands, with a stack of books in her arms, at the end of this book shelf. She peaks over her stack of books, “please wait by the front desk and I’ll be with you in a moment,” she walks off and by the time I reach the spot she stood in, looking both ways, she’s gone.

I wait by the “front desk” which consists of a small desk and an uncomfortable looking bench with a few fae lights floating around. Ten minutes go by before the female speed walks behind her desk, “sorry for the wait, how can I help you?”

“I’m looking for these,” I hand her the list. Her eyebrows scrunch in concentration as she reads through and her lips twitch and purse.

“Some of these are very ancient texts…” she asks, definitely searching for something as she looks in my eyes. Pausing on the left side of my face and I see it; the fight between wanting to look over my scar and being polite and keeping eye contact with my natural eye.

“Yeah… I know…”

“Alright, it’ll take me a while to get these from storage. If you want to you can come back in about an hour-”

“It’s alright. I’ll wait.” I nod to her and give her a tight lipped smile. She bites her lip and sets my list down on her desk.

“These texts aren’t just something you can check out like a library book. I’ll need to call my superior to get clearance to let them leave this library. And even if I do, it’ll only be for a day or two.”

I blink. “Clearance?”

She nods. “Yes.”

This is awkward, I don’t want to tell her Helion is my father, it’d sound like I’m throwing my title around, “alright. I’ll… be back in an hour then?” She nods and I go to a café nearby to wait.

When I return she has everything ready for me on a small cart. She’s at her desk writing and I clear my throat as I approach. She jumps, “oh! I- I’m sorry,” she scrambles up, looking into my eyes for only a second before casting them down and going to the cart behind her. “Here. It’s all there, bring them back whenever you can and just…” she wrings her hands, “be gentle, please.”

Her demeanor has completely changed from just an hour ago and I have a good idea why. “Thank you. I’ll have them back as soon as I can.”

She nods but her eyes dart from her shoes to the cart to my shoes and then back to hers again. “Take your time,” she mumbles. I don’t know what else to say so I take the cart and roll it until it’s outside the wards protecting the library and winnow to Day Court Palace. This is the part of being a High Lord that Tamlin always hated; how people changed completely once they realized who stood before them. Either shaking with fear or bowing with respect. It’s lonely. And I feel it more everyday, yes I have Venous and my mother and a father who cares and loves me but I crave friends to go out drinking with, to flirt with females, to go hunting or fishing or do anything at all for pleasure and to share it with someone, a friend or otherwise. With a sigh I enter my father’s office, rolling the cart with all the texts he requested on them.

“That took you a while,” he lifts a brow, not in anger but in curiosity.

“Yeah,” I start to take things off the cart and place them on the large, round table in the middle of his office. “The librarian said she needed to get clearance and then it would take a while for her to get everything together.”

“Clarence?” He sounds surprised.

I chuckle, “that’s what I said.”

“And I’m guessing you didn’t tell her who you were,” it’s not a question.

I sigh, “no. It feels like bragging… it was never like this in Autumn. They knew me but I was no one, here they-”

“Respect you?” He smirks.

I chuckle, “something like that.”

“Maybe if you were honest but humble they’d warm to you on a personal level, hiding who you are to those who don’t know won’t do you any good. Venus is your only friend and though I love my little morning star, that’s sad.”

As if saying her name summoned her, she busts through the office door, surely running away from her governess again, her crimson curls loose from what looks to be the remnants of a braid.

“Papa! Papa!” She runs in and hides behind his legs as her governess comes in after her, out of breath and apologizing. Helion assures her that it’s alright and he’ll look after his daughter for a while. Venus reaches for one of the books I just placed on the table and I pick her up and bring her away from it. I get one of the other, replaceable, books from a shelf and hand it to her. She opens it to a random page before pretending to read, making up her own story.

(Three Days Later)

I roll the cart into the library and the female is nowhere to be seen. “Hello?” Silence. Eerie silence. I leave the cart near her table and start walking through the stacks. When I’m about to give up I spot the female in the very back balancing on the stool that’s supposed to be behind her desk, reaching for something on the top shelf, her tongue peaks out in concentration. As her fingers brush the object and the stool wobbles. “You want help?” Her head turns so fast I’m sure the stool will tip over but she holds onto the shelf in front of her. She looks like she’s about to give me a scolding until her eyes widen as she meets mine and realization dawns on her face. She turns away and starts to get down.

“No, no. It’s alright the ladder was old and it broke a little while ago. It’s not important, just a little extra organizing.” She bites her lip, facing me, back straight, chin high but eyes avoidant. “Do… you need something… sir- Lord?”

“Lucien.”

“Lord Lucien. Do you need anything?”

I chuckle and walk past her to where the stool is. “Just Lucien is fine. And no, I don’t need anything, I just came to drop off the things I came for a few days ago.” I put my knee on the stool for leverage and push myself up, easily grabbing what she needed from the top shelf.

“Thank you… Lucien,” she bows her head slightly and still won’t look me in the eye as she reaches for the box in my hand. I move it out of her reach, and pick up the stool before she can reach for that too. “I’ve got it,” I start walking back To her desk and she follows, eyeing me and the box like she’s expecting me to drop it. I pretend to and she gasps, desperately taking hold of the box and carrying it the rest of the way, setting it gently on her desk.

“You know… I won’t bite if you look at me.”

“Cause if you did, you’d want seconds,” the smirk comes and goes from her face, replaced by mortification as she scrambles for an apology. “I- I- I don’t know where that came from. I’m sorry, it was a reflex, I’m a bit of a jokester at heart, really I mean no offense.” I put both my hands on the table, leaning on it and chuckle at her flushed cheeks, she once again looks down at her table. It’s not a meek gesture, it’s not out of fear but out of respect, for my title, my station… but it is respect, regardless of what it stems from.

I can feel a smirk growing on my face as I concoct my response, “maybe I would,” she whips her head towards me. A hard expression taking over her features, her chin raised just a centimeter higher than humble. She looks me in the eyes for a second. Two. Three. Eyes flickering between russet and gold until her expression softens, her chin lowers and she goes back to looking at her table.

“Thank you for bringing them back. I’m sure you took great care of them…” she gestures to the cart I brought in, looking like she’s about to say more but doesn’t.

Maybe if you were honest but humble they’d warm to you on a personal level…

My father’s words bounce around in my head and I smirk, feeling remnants of my old, rakish self resurfacing for just a moment. She is a beautiful female as far as I can tell, her dress is modest and the library is dark but I'd take a chance, taking her into the sunny streets of the village nearby to see how she looks in that light. “What time do you get out of here? Maybe you can show me a few good places around here.” As if my father hadn’t shown me every nook and cranny of this court.

She blinks, “I don’t think you’d like the village at the time I get off.”

“Why not?”

“Not many fancy restaurants open at 3 am,” I gape slightly.

“3 am?!” She just nods.

“The other girl comes at 2:30 am and stays until 2:30 pm when I come back.”

“12 hour shifts?” She nods, “why so many hours?”

“These are the most ancient texts in the Day Court. This building is protected with every protection spell known to this Court’s High Lord. But they always want someone to look over the books and the artifacts and make sure they’re being taken care of.”

“So what? You don’t have a life?”

She scowls, “I have a life.”

I smirk, enjoying getting under her skin, “oh yeah? What do you do?” I challenge.

“I cook, and I eat, and I read and sleep, and … I…”

“Do everything that has absolutely nothing to do with having a life?” Another scowl. “When’s your day off?”

“Don’t have one,” she takes her stool and pulls it behind her table, sitting.

“Holidays?”

“I work through them.”

“What?!”

“The female who alternates with me has kids. I work holidays so she can be with them.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Mmmm… three years soon. When I first came to the Day Court. They needed someone to fill this position and I was new enough to the Court that I took anything I could get.”

I chuckle, “no wonder you didn’t know who I was, you’ve been living under a rock.”

“Maybe I like my rock,” her eyes narrow again.

“This is the Day Court. When was the last time you went out on a sunny day?”

“I have my lunch outside everyday. We aren’t allowed to eat in here. And I walk to and from work so I see plenty.” There’s no way. She has no idea what she’s missing. Some twisted part of me wants to take this innocent, good little thing and show her every bit of this court, shake up her world and burst this small bubble she’s been living in. To find out what makes her tick…

“I’m picking you up tonight. 3 am sharp.”

“Have you thought that I might have plans?”

“Do you have plans?” I smirk, knowing the answer.

“No, but I could have… had… plans.”

“3 am”

“I’ll be tired.”

“It won’t take long.”

“I’ll be stinky, this place smells of the dead.”

“I’ve stayed here this long, right? Plus, we’ll be outside, I’m sure your stench will be much more tolerable,” I smile and wink. Her hand goes to a mug holding pencils and old ink pens. I’m pretty sure that if we weren’t in such a delicate place and I wasn’t who she knows I am, she’d have thrown it at my head. I smirk and walk out, “see you later!”

I can’t believe I just did that. I haven’t even flirted with a female since the bond snapped with Elain! A weird feeling settles in my chest at the memory of such pain when she outright rejected the bond. I was sure I’d die, and she didn't care, didn’t even seem to feel a fraction of the chest crushing pain I did. I shake the thought away before I chicken out of tonight.

Reader POV

When Marianne walks in I’m ready to bolt out the door, grabbing my bag, hauling it over my shoulder and practically running out the door, hoping to avoid the Day Court heir. Maybe he was right, I have been living under a rock. Maybe I should’ve known who he was. Maybe I should be doing a lot of things. I have a calm, stable job that allows me to work on my own little projects and read my books while on the clock as long as I do everything I need to do for that day. And life is good. I don’t need to get involved with the royalty of this court, especially not for a handsome face. As I’m about to round the building and take the trail to my apartment a body comes into view. “Running away from me, pretty?” He twists a red rose between his fingers.

I roll my eyes, “no. Just a long day.”

“Great. Here,” he hands me the rose with the most feral smirk I’ve ever seen, “to mask your stench.” I bite my tongue to keep my own little come back from making an appearance. Reminding myself that he is Lucien SpellCleaver. He is the High Lord’s son. He is untouchable. “Come,” he speaks softly and extends his elbow for me. I take it, somewhat reluctantly. I take in his clothes; they aren’t usual for the Day Court. People here love wearing loose fitting clothing and as little of it as possible… he wears tight white pants, gold plated boots that raise to his thighs and a loose, cream tunic.

We walk and talk and walk and talk and walk some more. He carries the conversation, quickly catching on that I am not open to sharing. But he is. He tells me about his mother, his father and his sister. He tells me how she’s his world and how she treats him like he hung the moon, the sun and all the stars in the sky. Slowly but surely a smile appears on my face as he talks. Retelling stories of his sister’s shenanigans and how she likes to imitate him. How she is reluctant to go to her lectures and take baths and go to sleep, all because she wants her big brother.

Soon the sound of music fills my ears and I look around, seeing lights ahead. “We’re here,” he says. Earning a grumble from me about how it was about time. We walk closer and see fireflies illuminating the grassy field around a large fire. People are dancing and eating and laughing. Like a little local festival. I smile as kids run around us. “I love this part of the village. They’re not the most well off but the community is so warm and welcoming. They celebrate everything, sometimes nothing at all. I thought someone like you might appreciate it.”

“Someone like me?” I lift a brow.

“You spend your days surrounded by ancient texts that talk about our history. You really want me to believe you’ve never read any of it? It’s an aquired taste… but you learn to find joy in the simple things.”

“So I’m simple?” I say, unimpressed. His eyes narrow, the russet one darkening a shade.

“Stop being a brat and enjoy yourself.” His mechanical eye whirs and the russet one has a fire in it, only for a moment. The demand makes my cheeks heat, a heat that travels down to my core and I clench, hoping to keep the scent from reaching his keen, fae sense of smell. He walks us over to a food stand and they hand us some sort of wrap. I take a bite and moan at the explosion of flavor. “Is that what you sound like in bed?” That smirk again…

Fine. I’ll play along. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would.”

“Hasn’t the High Lord taught you that such flirtations can be looked down upon by your subjects?”

“They aren’t my ‘subjects,’ they’re my Court. And my father is a big believer of seizing the moment and enjoying life.” I ponder that while taking another bite of the delicious cuisine.

When we’re done eating he takes me to the dance floor. I hesitate but he pulls and pulls and ends up picking me up and taking me there despite my protests that I don’t dance, especially not the kind of dance they were doing… ”I’ve never been here, I don’t know how to move like they do,”

“They’re all doing their own thing. Ignore everyone and just dance with me!” He smiles, my body is stiff so he picks me up and places my feet atop his boots, doing all the work for me. We get a drink and keep dancing. I let loose after the second drink, feeling the liquid courage like electricity in my veins. The alcohol in the Day Court is much stronger than any other place I’ve been to, but it’s also the most delicious. There is such a variety! Sweet and bitter, spicy and soothing… I want to try it all but decide against it as Lucien spins me around and the world keeps moving even after he’s stopped. “Lightweight, are we?”

“I’m not lightweight! I’ve had more than you!” I playfully hit his arm. We laugh and eat some more, dance some more, drink some more… he walks me home and kisses my cheek.

From then on, everyday Lucien appears at the library during my shifts. Once he learns my schedule he starts to pop in to have lunch with me. And he’ll walk me home at unholy hours of the night, giving me flowers and taking me somewhere special along the way every once in a while. His sarcasm comes with a charm that I don’t think he can help. His little jabs make me roll my eyes and smile at the same time.

(Two months later)

“Go out with me.” It’s not a question.

I smile, “no.”

Every few days he’ll ask again. And again. And… again.

Come to dinner with me

Let me take you on a date

Come on, go out with me… please?

Always followed by a spicy comment and that sly smirk of his.

I’ll make it worth your while

You know you want me

I would treat you so good

Each and every line sends a tendril of pleasure down my spine. And every time…

What makes you think I’m interested?

Give up

But he doesn’t, he asks and asks until one night, we’re back at the same place he took me that first night. Fire burning, people dancing, music playing and he spins me around like I’m nothing but a feather in his arms. He sets me down gently and I look up at him. His fiery hair, his mismatched eyes, those perfect, possibly, probably tasty lips, parted as he pants slightly from all the dancing. My eyes land on the scars on the left side of his face. I lift my right hand to it, the other clutching his bicep. “How?” It’s barely a whisper, but he hears it and cringes, realizing what I’m touching, what I’m asking. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”

“Who?”

“An evil queen,” he smirks.

“Oh… and you’re the knight in shining armor, are you?”

“At the time I was more of the silver tongued best friend of the knight in shining armor,” he smiles down at me, pulling me closer, only slightly. “But I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

Fuuuuuckkkk! Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuckidy fuck fuck…

Fuck it.

I kiss him. hard and deep and full of passion. Would I say the two and a half drinks I had gave me enough courage? Yes. But he’s here, and I’m here and his lips are on mine and it’s heaven. It’s silk and it’s velvet and honey and cinnamon, it’s hot but gentle, firm but oh so sweet. And then he lifts me, wrapping his arms around my thighs, hugging them, not giving me a chance to wrap them around his waist and I’m in heaven, my head is higher than his and I’m in control. He gave me control. I could pull away and be out of his reach but I lean down and move my lips against his. I part my lips for him but he makes to move besides slightly nudging my nose with his. Refusing to take a step he’s not sure I’ll regret. So I take it, I snake my tongue past his parted lips and taste him. And there it is. His appearance screams Autumn Court and even though his scent has the softest hint of aloe vera among the pine and cinnamon and oak, Lucien tastes like Day. It’s inexplicable. He tastes like light. He tastes like all the best things in the world combined, like the land of milk and honey that they pray to the Mother about.

We part and I kiss his scar. I kiss over the marred eyelid and down his cheek, onto his jaw. He lets out a breath. Of arousal? Relief? I don’t know. But the way he says my name…

“(Y/N)”

The sound that comes from me is not appropriate for the current setting so he puts me down and scrambles for my bag, the rose he gave me earlier today poking out the opening. He throws me over his shoulder and runs to my apartment, climbing the stairs until we’re at my door and he puts me down, kissing me again. He doesn’t ask me to open my door. Doesn’t ask me for the keys. He makes no move to go inside and it only makes me want him more.

He pulls away, “go out with me? On a date. A real date.” He presses his forehead to mine. He’s never quite asked those sorts of questions, he’s more so told me to go on a date with him, firm, confident but tonight his voice is borderline begging and through my daze I smirk.

“Will you make it worth my while?”

He smiles and nods, “every second.” He kisses me again but soon we both realize it needs to end. I go into my apartment and he goes back to his palace. I ponder over my night as I bathe and get ready for bed. I can’t do this. The heir of Day? I facepalm and fall down onto my bed, cursing my horny self until I fall asleep.

For our first date Lucien pays the owner of his favorite restaurant to stay open until 4 am. It’s perfect. The soft string music, the food, the bottle of wine he chose and the fae light illuminating the only table occupied. Then he takes me to the observatory and shows me the stars up close.

Dating Lucien is as easy as breathing. He puts great amounts of effort into everything he does and never misses a chance to reassure me and make sure I know that my arms are the ones he wants around his neck, that it’s my lips he wants against his. He never hesitates to kiss me, no matter where we are. He’s playful and lighthearted but also ready and willing to open up and be vulnerable, as hard as it is. Which, in turn, encourages me to do the same.

The first time I let Lucien stay the night I make him promise to behave. Which he does. He showers and changes into sweats and then I shower and change into some modest sleepwear. Besides a few kisses and his hand around my waist, Lucien is the perfect gentlemale. So, in the morning, I decide to surprise him with waffles… wearing his tunic from the night before. I make everything from scratch and as I pour the batter on the hot metal over the fire, warm hands come around my waist.

“It smells delicious,” he kisses my head. Then my temple. Then my cheek and my jaw. Then down my neck and ooohhh… gods.

“You behaved so well last night I thought you deserved a treat!” I smirk.

“Mhmm,” he mumbles as he continues his assault on my neck. He takes one of the cooking waffles and bites into it. “These are amazing!”

“I wasn’t talking about the waffles,” I smirk.

He leans down to my ear and I put away the rest of the batter. “(Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t joke like that.”

“Who said it was a jo-ahhhhh!” He slings me over his shoulder and marches to the bedroom like a male on a mission.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes!”

“Are you sure?” The desperation in his voice is prominent and only makes me want him more.

“Yes!” I chuckle. He worships my body, feeling for it like a blind male trying to memorize a line of text. “You… oh! You can be rougher if you want.”

“How rough?” He nips at my ear.

I smirk, “how ever rough you wanna be.” With a growl he only holds back enough to have me pick a safe word before ravaging me in the most delicious ways.

Sex with Lucien is… it simply is. There’s no feeling like it. The fluidity in it. The way he can so effortlessly go from making love with slow, deep strokes to flipping me over and practically breeding me is mind boggling. He’s not afraid to share his kinks and explore my own. And I can never tell what he’ll be in the mood for. Sometimes he’ll want to do nothing but torture and tease me half the night. Others, he’s feral, wanting nothing but to fill me as many times as he can. And some nights, all he wants is to hold my hips tightly as I ride him and call him ‘my good boy.’

Four months into our relationship and I’ve been putting off meeting his family for weeks. I can tell he doesn’t want to push but also doesn’t understand my hesitation. Meeting the parents is a big deal and I’m not ready for the pressure… though putting it off has proven to be more stressful than getting it over with lately. So, here I stand, 8 am, with enchanted flowers in one hand and a book in the other and Lucien’s hand on the small of my back. He refused to let me bring food, stating that his family was hosting breakfast, so I've spent the past week wracking my brain for gifts for his parents. “I can’t.”

“You can!”

“I’m gonna throw up…” and he kisses me.

“You’ll be fine. I’ve got you,” his smile is reassuring and his eyes hold no lies. But my mind, my heart, knows that after everything he’s been through. All the things he was willing to share. He would never choose me over his family, at least… not this one. So his attempt at reassurance, for once, falls flat.

His parents come to meet us at the front steps and my legs shake as I curtsy. His mother clicks her tongue, “oh none of that!” She pulls me into a hug that I hesitate to reciprocate due to the suddenness of it. The High Lord laughs at his High Lady’s excitement and kisses my hand once she lets me go. Now I see where Lucien gets his charm…

“Come,” the High Lord’s voice is warm and inviting, “breakfast is being served on the veranda.” He wraps an arm around his lady’s waist and Lucien does the same to me and guides me around the palace. His parents are incredibly welcoming and I notice neither of them wear their crowns or any other marker that would separate them from the common folk.

“Here…” I hand the enchanted flowers to the High Lady, “they’ll stay in bloom for several years.” Then I turn to the High Lord and offer him the hardcover book, “Lucien mentioned you liked his works and I got my hands on an advanced copy of the next book in the series. It’s yours to keep.” He examines the book, the 15th in a fantasy series that had put many readers in a chokehold. The High Lord lets out an excited chuckle before putting an arm around me and whispering to Lucien something about me ‘being a keeper.’ I smile at the compliment and he leads me the rest of the way to the breakfast table, covered in all kinds of dough and jams and juices… everything looks delicious!

It takes a few minutes but I relax, the High Lady not hesitating to ask me every question that pops into her mind. But I’m happy to oblige until…

“Mommy?” A high pitched, clearly sleepy voice asks from the door. All our heads turn to see the newcomer, “why are you having breakfast so early?!” She whines and rubs her eyes. The Day Court is known for late mornings. The High Lord and Lady, being aware of my schedule, offered an earlier breakfast since they were so eager to meet me.

Lady Day picks up her daughter and explains, “we’re meeting Lucien’s girlfriend today, dear. She has to be at work in a few hours so we wanted to meet her while accommodating her schedule.” Her sleepy eyes follow her mother’s finger that’s outstretched towards me. The small female’s eyebrows furrow and before I can fully raise my hand to wave she turns her head and places it on her mother’s shoulder. “Oh come, Vena! Be nice,” the High Lady looks to me then, “she’s… shy. And grumpy in the morning” I nod, even though that sounded nothing like the little girl Lucien has so often described to me.

“You know, Vena… (Y/N) and I were thinking we could take you for ice cream this afternoon during her lunch break.”

“No, thank you,” the little female mumbles into her mother’s shoulder. The slight sting of rejection reaches my body and I fidget, no longer feeling at ease here. Breakfast goes on and the small female doesn’t eat anything, opting to keep her head hidden in her mother’s neck and away from me.

As Lucien and I start to make our way out of the palace, his hand around my waist when we reach footsteps and his arm is yanked from my waist as Venus tugs him back. “Lushy, come play!”

He crouches down to her level and ruffles her hair, “I’ll walk (Y/N) to work and then we can play! Dad and I only have meetings in the evening. And maybe you can rethink that ice cream with me and (Y/N)?” His back is to me but I see the slight nod he gives in my direction. The female simply folds her arms, furrows her eyebrows and pouts.

“It’s ok, Loosh…” I cautiously interrupt, “I can walk to work.” I give him a smile as he turns his head to me, still crouching down.

“No, I want to walk you, her and I have all afternoon,” that million dollar smile appears again and he kisses his sister’s chubby cheeks before standing. I want him to stay. Maybe if I can prove to Venus that I’m not stealing Lucien away she’ll warm to me.

He takes my hands and I squeeze his, “you should stay,” I look down at the pouting female who doesn’t meet my eye. “Maybe you can convince her to get ice cream later,” I smile encouragingly and rise on the balls of my feet to kiss his cheek. He sighs but complies. “Bye Venus!” I smile at her and wave but she doesn’t look, I bite my lip and walk towards the large open doors of the Palace. I don’t look back, but I can hear Lucien quietly scolding her for being rude and her lively changing the subject to what she wants to play.

Around 3 pm Lucien shows up, alone, with two ice creams obviously enchanted not to melt. “Couldn’t convince her, huh?”

He sighs and hands me my ice cream, “no.” He doesn’t say anything else because there is nothing to say. A few minutes pass before I ask the question that’s been bouncing around in my head since I left the palace.

“Do you think there’s anything I can do?”

“She’s… territorial.”

“I’m not stealing you away.” A part of me fears he may believe that’s what I’m trying to do.

“I know that,” he kisses my head with a chuckle, scooching closer. “But she’s little and she’s a bit used to having her way. And I’ll say it; I’m partially responsible. I’ve never had a sibling I was close to and she loves me so much I- I can’t tell her ‘no.’”

I kiss his cheek, remembering all he told me about growing up in Autumn, “I know.”

Lucien smoothly changes the subject to a lighter topic and exerts his power of putting me at ease.

By our 8th month together I’m a somewhat regular visitor to the Day Court Palace. I’ve stayed the night once or twice and the High Lady braided my hair each of those mornings, much to Venus’ distress. Her crimson curls are still too short to braid like mine and her mother tries to appease her with bows and clips but to no avail. I’ve tried and tried to gain her approval but it’s quite clear the small female never wants to be in my company. Soon enough I start to believe there’s something wrong with me… kids can sense those thighs, right? When someone isn’t a good person? Maybe she can sense something the others can’t. And it seems like she will do anything to make me go away at every chance she gets.

Like the time I came looking for Lucien one morning only to find him in the palace’s library with Venus on his shoulder holding a book for her big brother;

“Hey there you two!” I greet.

“Hey!” He greets me with a kiss, “I wasn’t expecting you this morning.”

“I had some time and I wanted to bring you these,” I hand him a tray of cupcakes, “my friend had the amazing idea of making cupcakes last night after a few glasses of wine but they didn’t turn out half bad!”

He laughs and looks at the cupcakes, “I hope they taste better than they look?”

“Trust me they - ow!” A hard object comes crashing down on my head and my hand flies to the point of impact.

A soft giggle and a sang out, “sowy,” has Lucien pulling his sister off his shoulders and reprimanding her. She pouts but looks disinterested in his lecture. He puts her down to examine the bump forming on my hairline and she tugs at his pants in protest.

“No, Vena! You could’ve really hurt her!” At his reprimand she huffs and pushes my leg before running out of the library. Lucien fusses over me but the sting on my head is nothing compared to the fire in my veins.

“Go after her.”

“She’s fine.” He tries to move my hand that’s covering the spot the book hit.

“No. I’m fine. Just go after her, I need to go to work anyway.” I take a deep breath and set the cupcake down on a nearby table. He follows, hovering behind me.

“You’re angry?” He’s confused?!

“No.” Yes, “she needs you more than I do,” she does. I turn to kiss his cheek and he goes to kiss my lips. I kiss back but it’s half assed and I kick myself for it. She’s 3, almost 4 years old! How am I letting a child get under my skin like this?

I walk out of the library in a rush, leaving Lucien there with a slight frown on his perfect lips.

Or the time I got off early from work to join them for dinner;

“It’s so lovely to have you around. Lucien seems so much happier when you’re here, like there’s a lightheartedness only you bring out in him.” The High Lady sips her wine as we sit on the balcony after dinner. Below us, Lucien and Helion are sparring, the sight of his bare, scared chest making it hard not to think about how every single inch of that chest feels under my fingers. How I’ve kissed each scar and the sounds he made when I did….

I need a cold shower.

I seemingly get my wish as cold, freezing water pours on my head. My yelp causing the sparring to cease. The cold night air much more prominent now. We all look up to see a giggling Venus holding an empty glass through the marble pillars that make up the balcony above. Her governess rushes to reprimand her and the High Lady rushes to apologize and gets me something to dry myself with. The High Lord offers me a spare room and bath but I decline and Lucien walks me home even after I tell him several times I want to walk alone.

“You could’ve spent the night…”

“You know I don’t like to.”

He sighs, “I don’t like that you don’t like it,” we reach my door and before I can put the key in the lock he takes my hands. “I’m sorry about tonight. I don’t know why Venus keeps doing these things-”

“Because she doesn’t like me.”

“That’s not true!”

“Yes! It is! And no matter what I do she won’t like me. I’ve tried. I get her gifts and she rolls her eyes or she’ll say she already has that toy. I give her compliments and she acts like I don’t exist! I offer her ice cream, candies, baked goods or even fun activities and she looks at me like I’m a peasant begging for scraps! I can’t even be near you in her presence without getting something thrown, poured or yanked off me!”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“And it’s gonna work this time?” He opens his mouth but ends up biting his lip. And I know this is the beginning of the end. I’d never ask him to choose, that’d be petty and idiotic. And relationships tend not to work if the family doesn’t like one’s partner. “Good night, Loosh.” I kiss him. Deeply, like it’s the last time, before opening my door and heading inside, deciding to take a hot bath.

25 days….

25 days before our one year anniversary and I’m thinking of if I should end it. How I should end it. I sit in the library, having finished all my filing and paperwork early, trying to read my book but I can’t concentrate. My thoughts are too loud.

I know Lucien knows his sister dislikes me but he keeps making excuses!

She’s a prankster

She’s a little jealous, she’s never shared me before

You’re my females, you’ll get along eventually

No. We won’t. We haven’t. And the more time I spend with him, the more time I spend at the palace, the more I realize how this relationship is bound to end. So I sit in my sad little stool and cry.

17 days…

I’m at Day Court Palace early in the morning and I wait for Lucien in his study. I sit there for a moment, I’ve only been in his study a handful of times and never for long. So I leisurely browse the books on his shelves, the maps framed on his walls and after I’ve done about three, slow rounds around the room I allow myself to sit in his chair and look around. I catch a glimpse of a frame on his desk, it’s the letter I wrote him for Solstice, given along with some gift I hated. What do you even give to a male who has it all? So I gave him love and affection. I told him in writing how much he means to me and how much hope I have for us and this relationship.

I frown.

Had. I had hope for it.

I reach for the frame and accidentally knock the trash can under his desk over, “shit.” I push the chair back and get down on my hands and knees to pick up the loose papers. Putting everything back in the bin, a flash of color catches my eye in a crumpled paper. Not a ball but like it was clenched in a fist and tossed aside. I open it up, even though I shouldn’t, in curiosity. The air is taken from me and tears brim my eyes. It’s me. Drawn in crayon, the colorful picture leaves nothing to the imagination regarding how Venus feels about me. The almost 3 year old drew my hair a mess, my clothes in tatters! Sharp teeth, claws, horns and stinky lines above my head. An arrow going from the wrong spelling of my name with a few letters written backwards.

And then there was Lucien, drawn much smaller and with swirls for eyes, like I’m hypnotizing him. I fold the paper, as small as I can and clench it in my hand. I wipe my eyes and take a deep breath. I write Lucien a note and leave it on his desk. Some bull shit about needing to be at the library earlier than expected and I take off, holding myself back from running out of the palace., praying to any gods listening that I don’t bump into any member of the High family.

12 days….

I’ve been putting it off. It’s too hard. Everytime I look at him my heart clenches, begging me to stay, To keep him with me. But then that picture pops into my head and I find myself fighting tears. The drawing lies hidden inside an old book in my nightstand drawer and I think it’s what’s keeping me from sleeping. The day I found the drawing I had been at the palace to tell Lucien that the Library acquired a third person to work there and I now have one day off a week! And I still haven’t told him.

I fooled him two days ago, going to sit at my usual picnic table by the library around my lunch hour but I don’t know if I have the strength to get out of bed today.

But, alas, I do.

I go to the palace, at Lucien’s request from last night, so he can walk me to work. And after two excuses weren’t enough to deter him from walking me, I gave in.

I meet him at the entrance and he kisses me and I go on my tippy toes to deepen it. For a moment everything is ok… it’s moments like these that make me want to stay, makes me want to put up with anything Venus is willing to plan for, to stay here, in this moment, in his arms.

The moment is short lived as I feel a force crash against my leg, causing me to lose my footing and if Lucien wasn’t so fast I’d have hit the floor. I look down to where the impact happened and a pouting Venus stands there, her mother in tow.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N)!” The High Lady apologizes, giving her daughter a dangerous look.

“It’s alright,” I wave off. She’s done worse.

My face might be showing more than I intended because the High Lady’s eyes soften when she meets mine. Offering an apologetic yet understanding expression.

Lucien crouches to her level, “come on Vena… stop this!” He practically begs his sister, tugging at her arms to get her to uncross them but she won’t budge, turning away from him and raising her arms to her mother. My heart aches. I did this. I, somehow, caused this rift between them. I need to do it. Now!

But then he looks at me and I can’t… “I’m sorry about her…” he rubs the back of his neck and I shake my head.

“Don’t worry about it,” he takes my hand, surely ready to walk me to work like everything is fine. “Maybe you should spend some time with her,” I nod to Venus, still clinging to the High Lady.

Lucien shakes his head, “I spent all day with her yesterday and I miss you,” he presses his forehead to mine.

Don’t. Cry. “I missed you too…” I don’t know if I can make it to the library without crying. “But she still needs you. It’s only twenty minutes to the library, I think I’ll survive,” I smile.

“But you walked all the way here! And I want to.”

Before I can respond Venus lets out an unimpressed whine and I want to run out of there. “Maybe she needs more ‘brother time,’” I offer a big smile and force it to reach my eyes.

Lucien deflates a bit but then looks at Venus and sighs, a signal that he’ll comply. “I’ll see you tonight though,” it’s not a question.

I nod, “I’ll see you tonight,” and I back away, letting my hands slip out of his as he stretches out his arms, holding me for as long as he can. As I turn I catch a glimpse of Lady Day, Venus’ face tucked into her neck and that apologetic and understanding expression gaining a hint of sadness.

I was right. I don’t make it to the library without crying.

Lucien comes for lunch and I’m sure he can tell something’s off. I’m quieter through lunch but I tell him it’s a headache and he seems to leave it be.

He picks me up at the end of my shift and takes me to another late night festival. We always have fun at these and I want to cry at how poetic ending this relationship on a night like this feels. I steal every kiss I can. I don’t drink, not a sip. I want this memory untainted. I relish in every last; a last meal, a last laugh, a last hug and dance and whispered words made of honey.

We’re dancing slowly, slightly away form the crowd, my head on his chest, taking in his scent like a female in heat when he speaks up. “You know… we’ve been together almost a year.”

“Yeah.” I look up at him, his eyes are full of something I can’t place.

“And there’s something we need to talk about,” oh gods. He’s gonna do it! I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. If he ends it then I don’t have to, I can have it easy and just cower away once all is said and done. “I know it’s early, but I want you to know…”

Oh no! No, no, no! I read it all wrong! I finally place the emotion on his eyes; love.

No. This can’t be happening. Before he can utter another word, my own come tumbling out of me like word-vomit, “we’re done.”

He chuckles, “We’ll go in a second I need to get this off my chest.”

“No. Lucien…” I back away from his hold slightly, his hand on my biceps and mine on his forearms. “We are done. I-” Be brave. Lift your chin and stay strong. I tell myself. “I’m breaking up with you.” I barely keep my voice from breaking but the silent tears are enough to leave me raw for him to see.

“What?” His question is soft. Innocent.

“I can’t do this-”

“Be with me?”

“Yes.”

A beat. Two. Three… gods. “Why?” I give him a knowing, yet, sad look. He puts a hand on my cheek, “(Y/N)…”

“I’m sorry. But I can’t. It’s never going to work out if she doesn’t like me and I’ve accepted the fact that she doesn’t. She’s your sister and she comes first. I can’t-”

“I’ll talk to her. I’ll make her understand this time. She’ll warm up to you! I swear!” I’ve never heard him so desperate and it breaks my heart. So much so that I can do little more than shake my head. My cheeks are wet with new and old tears alike. And his eyes are shining with unshed tears too, one slides down his cheek as he blinks. “No,” he breathes, urging me to go back on my decision.

“Yes,” I counter.

“No!”

“Lucien… I can’t do it. I can’t. Me. It’s hurting me.” I gesture to myself. “It’s not just the pranks and the pushing and that scowl she gives me. It’s the fact that she doesn’t like me and worse than that she’s made it clear to everyone! I don’t want to be the reason there’s a rift between you.” I take a step back.

He takes a step forward, “you’re not causing a rift.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” I give him a look that says, don’t lie to me.

“(Y/N) please!”

“You can’t say you didn’t see thi-”

“Don’t do this!”

“Lucie-”

“You want me to beg?” He drops to his knees, holding my waist, “I’ll beg!”

“Get up.”

“(Y/N)!”

“Lucien!” I try to get free from his grip but he holds me tight. People look and walk away slightly so we get the illusion of privacy and the band starts to play a notch louder. “Get. Up.”

He shakes his head and looks up into my eyes, “I love you! There. I said it. I love you! That’s what I was going to tell you.”

I cry more, shaking my head. “It doesn’t change the fac-”

“Do you love me?”

“What?”

“Do you love me?! Do you love me back?”

“Lucien…”

“Answer!” He yells. Yes. I want to say. I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you. I love you. I love you. I want to tell him in every way, in every language, twice over for good measure.

“No.”

He deflates. “You’re lying,” he’s sure of himself. I see it in his eyes. There’s no doubt that he knows I love him back and me not saying it doesn’t change the fact that I do.

I finally get out of his hold. He’s on his feet in an instant scrambling to keep a hold of my hands, my wrists, my arms, anything he can grab a hold of to keep me here. I snake my hands away but he keeps chasing them with his own. Every step back for me is just another half step forward for him.

And he begs again, “(Y/N) please! I’ve spent my entire life begging to be loved. Yearning for a love like this! I spent so long thinking I’d never get it, that I don’t deserve it! After my mate rejected me I thought fate had forsaken me and that I was destined to be alone. And when Venus was born I took it as a sign, a sign that I would not be the one to continue my blood line… and then you,” his voice breaks, he still scrambles to catch my avoidant hands. “You give me all I wanted and more… for free. You ask for nothing in return and more than that you make me feel like I actually deserve it! So please, don’t take it away. Stay. Please! Please. Please…”

“You are loved, Lucien. Despite me. You have the loving family you’ve always deserved, you have a sister who loves you to death!”

“That’s not the kind of love I’m talking about and you know it!” He repremends.

I sigh and cup his face, “I am not your person. But she’s out there. And you will find her. And if you truly believe you love me, the wrong person… imagine how much you’ll love the right one when she comes along,” he closes his eyes, leaning into my touch and shaking his head.

“I did find her.” When he opens his eyes I see defeat. I drop my hand form his cheek and try to think of something to say. Something to soothe his aching heart…

But there is nothing.

I back away and he doesn’t follow. I back away again but his feet are planted to his spot. I take a deep breath, taking him in again one last time before the tears blur him to me, allowing my body to turn around and fully walk away from him. I don’t remember getting home or bathing or eating but I wake up with wet hair and dirty dishes the next morning and for the first time since I started working at the library, I send a request to have one of the others fill in for my shift for the next few days.

Lucien’s POV

I cry all the way back to the palace, forcing my breathing to be steady despite how hard my heart is beating against my ribs. I go into a random room, throwing a vase at the wall before crumpling down onto a couch and crying into my hands.

“Darling?” Mom’s soft voice sounds from the door and I can hear her soft, slipper-covered steps making their way to me. “I heard a crash, are you-” a soft gasp leaves her lips as she takes me in. “Oh, dear… I’m so sorry,” she sits beside me and rubs my arms, laying her head on my shoulder. “I didn’t think she’d do it so soon…”

My head whips to her, “what?”

“Well, come now, you must’ve known… or… well… perhaps you didn’t see...”

“See what?”

She bites her lip, “I knew that Venus’ actions bothered her but it wasn’t until this morning that I saw it in her eyes. The resolve, the hurt…”

My blood heats and the fireplace comes to life at my anger, “and you didn’t tell me?” I hiss.

“I was going to warn you tonight. I thought you had more time… I am sorry.”

I cry into her arms, “I love her, mom. I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s everything. I couldn’t wait to spend the rest of my days by her side. I would give her anything! Anything she wanted I’d give… but the one thing she needed… it wasn’t even mine to give.” I lay on her lap as her thin fingers comb through my hair.

I’m almost asleep when the door opens and shuts, a soft, sleepy voice calls out, “mommy? Mommy, I can’t go back to sleep.”

Venus slowly makes her way to us and I pretend to be asleep. My mother answers her, “what woke you up, sweetheart?”

“I needed potty,” I can hear her yawn.

“Oh! At least you woke up this time, that’s good right?”

There’s a pause before she asks, “why’s Lushy here?”

“Lushy had a rough night,”

“Was (Y/N) mean to him?” Her tone is accusatory, only proving (Y/N) right and it takes everything in me to keep my body from shaking with a guttural sob.

My mother sighs, “(Y/N) won’t be coming around anymore, Venus.”

“Really?” She sounds excited…

“Your brother is very upset by it,” my mother reprimands, “please have some sympathy.”

“Sim- siam- sapaty?”

“Sympathy. Please understand that he’s hurting and don’t look too overjoyed at it.”

“Why did she go?”

Mom lets out another sigh, “it’s complicated, sweetheart.”

“Is this grown up stuff again?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Awwweeeee!” I hear her yawn again and I hear shuffling. Probably the sound of her climbing onto the couch on mom’s other side.

About what feels like an hour later mom whispers, “she’s asleep. Go to bed, darling… at least try to rest.”

I don’t move for a few minutes before getting up and wordlessly going to my room. I bathe in scalding water before plopping down in bed and crying myself to sleep.

The next morning I stay in bed until my hunger forces me to scavenge for food. I’d usually ask the servants to prepare something but I’m not looking forward to any fae interactions. I head to the extremely large kitchen and ask one of the kitchen members I know by name for some of last night's left overs. The kitchen makes little portions of what we don’t eat for either them to take home or to be donated the next day. She hands me a box with yesterday's date on it and I thank her, grabbing a fork and eating on the staff’s table in the kitchen. I use my powers to heat up my food, deciding that eating it cold to torture my self is a little much.

On my way back to my room Vena practically runs into me as she runs away from her governess, “Lushy! Come play with me!”

I shake my head, “I’m not feeling well, Vena, maybe some other time?”

She pouts and then lunges for my leg, hugging it, “I hope you feel betta!”

I hold in tears as I pick her up and kiss her chubby cheeks. She holds my face in her tiny hands and says, “I love you Lushy! Best big brodda ever!” She kisses between my eyebrows and I put her down, telling her to behave for her governess. She runs along accepting that I’m in no condition to play.

I wobble back to my room and collapse back on the bed, crying until I’m dehydrated and I fall asleep again. I can’t fix this. I can’t get her back and I can’t make Vena like her. I’m lost… and she’s lost to me.

#lucien vanserra x reader #lucien x you #lucien vanserra #lucien imagine #lucien x reader #acotar #helion #lady of autumn

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sukunasteeth · 10 months ago

Text

The Pleasure's All Mine - Chapter One

Based on this post from @winterrbluess

If Shibuya had a pulse, it would be at the rate of a hummingbird's wings.

The human race operates at a speed that oftentimes seems too quick to catch up with. It had been that way ever since you moved to the city for work about three years ago.

You came for a corporate job made up of ink black suits and pencil skirts, smiles that felt more on the side of uncanny valley than they did of genuine kindness, and handshakes from skin cold with carpal tunnel. You lived a corporate life. Everything is muted tones of tan and relies heavily on the concept of "modernizing". You wake up, go to work, go home, work on what you couldn't finish at the office, fall asleep on your colorless coffee table, and wake up to your alarm going off what feels like hours too soon. It was a cyclical cycle.

And the day you broke it, happened to be the day you met Sukuna.

You noticed the new shop on the end of the street maybe three weeks ago. It was so out of place, after all. The building was the only non-skyscraper to be seen on the block. It was a shriveled up little thing, built out of chipping brick that seemed to teeter on the edge of dilapidation from the inability to meet building codes. Overgrown ivy crawled up the sides of it and it still had plots of dirt in the front for planting as opposed to concrete and metal benches.

When you had first seen the For Sale sign a few months ago, you were sure they were going to tear it down and pave over it- happy to be rid of the only spot of character left in the business district. Then a new sign appeared over the door, one that looked hand carved out of wood and haphazardly painted over so that you could make out the words "Carnation King".

It’s funny, flowers had never been much of an interest to you. You had seen them as just another task to take care of when you returned home after a long day. Even filling a vase with water always sounded like more effort than it was worth. But as the days blend together from monotony, you find yourself desperate for color.

You changed your walking route to work so that you can pass by the shop everyday. You knew nothing about flowers. You could barely tell a rose bud apart from a tulip, but that didn't stop you from ogling at the new bouquets and potted plants that lined the sidewalk every time you passed them. Signs made out of toothpicks and painters tape said words like “Butterfly Ranunculus” and “Brown-Eyed Susan” and learning their names became one of your favorite things to do. You never stepped foot inside, and yet the flower shop was now one of your happy places.

You would meander by on your lunches and watch the butterflies play. You would walk by in the morning and smell freshly watered earth still hanging in the air. On your way home, when the sun was at its fullest shine, you would walk beneath the misters hung under the lip of the roof, and the coolness of the water droplets left behind on your skin saw you all the home.

You hadn’t realized how important the flower shop was to your daily routine until the day it was interrupted.

It happened to be one of the only days you had been forced by your workload to stay past sunset for overtime. You didn’t do it for the money, you did it because your boss had asked you nicely. But as you finally exit the office building for the night, you find yourself regretting staying so late.

You hated walking home in the dark. Even though Japan was notorious for its low crime rates, that didn't mean it was an innocent city. After 9pm, your street was notorious for being a ghost town. The only signs of life were the few work martyrs left in their floor to ceiling window offices- acting as makeshift streetlights. There were only a few lights on the way home, and their solidarity only seemed to pronounce the darkness along the rest of the empty roadside. When you were just an intern, before you got better hours and were finally promoted to the shining 9-5 that everyone dreams about, you used to take your heels off and sprint back to your apartment. Always weary of what you couldn’t see. At the time, you didn’t know that the scariest people don’t have to hide in the dark.

You hadn’t planned on walking past the shop that night. It was closed. It had to be. Normal flower shops closed well before 7 pm let alone 9. But the moment you touch the sidewalk outside your building, you see light glowing against the dense night.

The shop at the end of the street was draped in tiny fairy lights. Every square inch of brick was twinkling slowly, glimmering like resting fireflies. It looked almost otherworldly in comparison to the towering pitch black shadows of corporate offices surrounding it. In fact, the effect of the glowing lights against the mirror windows made it look like the shop was hanging in space.

Outside, the flowers you had walked past in the afternoon had been replaced with new pots, overflowing with buds you had never seen before. The usual delicate smell of Honeysuckle and Roses was now one of the sweetest scents you had ever experienced, so sweet, you could almost taste it on your tongue. Warm golden light floods out of the shop's window and the numerous white and yellow petals seem to gather and hold onto its dull shine.

You didn’t even realize you had completely abandoned your original plan of taking the shortcut home until you were standing in front of the Carnation King with your eyes entranced on the display before you. One flower in particular had caught your eye, a huge luscious display of delicate tow-colored petals, tall with endless growth and reaching towards the moonlight as though it’s been waiting all day to see it. You can’t help but reach out to touch, and yet just before your fingertips make it, you feel coolness trickling onto your hand, breaking the spell that the lights and colors had placed on you.

"Evening Primrose."

The suddenness of a voice beside you should have put you in fight or flight mode. It should have been a cold bucket of water to the face. Adrenaline spiking, you should be sprinting in the opposite direction. Instead, you found the tranquil trance that the flowers had put you in to have a lasting effect.

You blink at the man who seemed to appear out of thin air standing next to you, and the first thing you notice are his eyes. Such a dark shade of golden rich hazel-brown, they were nearly shining like two cuts of Cat’s-Eye. They gleamed suspicion.

He was much taller than you, but where most are lanky you can see strong muscles and broad shoulders. Collared sleeves rolled halfway up his arms revealed skin kissed rich and deep by prolonged sunshine. Tattoos slithered around his wrists and had made their way to his sculptured face, meticulously drawn black lines frame an annoyed expression. When you see the rest of him, you’re certainly not expecting to notice tufts from a head of true strawberry blond hair hang in his frigid gaze.

In one of his hands is a water can, still pouring trickling water onto your momentarily petrified fingertips, and in the other hand is a cigarette, only a third of the way lit.

The sight of him takes you so far back, if the sound of his voice wasn’t still echoing in your head you might not have remembered that he had even said anything to you.

"I'm sorry?" You pull your hand away from the water spray, drying it on your slacks.

The man takes half a drag of the cigarette before he answers you. Slow and unrushed. "They're called Evening Primrose.” He speaks through a cloud of tobacco smoke, glancing at the flowers that had caught your eye. His lip twitches slightly, "Need full sunlight but only bloom in moonlight. Fickle bastards."

Okay. Owner. Mean owner. Unexpectedly rough-and-tumble looking for being the caretaker of a flower shop. You glance at his apron, but you don’t find a name tag. He takes a step back while you’re searching for it, but he only moves far enough to start watering the next plant on the table.

You look back to the Evening Primrose, and even the smell of the burning cigarettes is nothing in the face of the scent that had pulled you in earlier. The two flavors mix like a tea garden on fire. You caress the petals once more, unthinkingly.

"They smell incredible." You mutter, mostly to yourself.

"Not them.” His voice is colder than his eyes. He flicks a bit of ash onto the cement behind him, and tilts his head in the direction of a different bush, one that’s even bigger than the healthy Primrose, with hundreds of tiny buds that flutter in the nighttime air. “That'd be her."

"”Her”?" You repeat, wondering if you heard the man correctly.

"Night Jasmine." He answers in return.

As standoffish as he was, you still found yourself making mental notes of the names he had given you. When you look at the Night Jasmine directly, it’s clear that the wind was sweeping that delicious smell straight from the direction of its honey-hued petals. You’re not sure you had seen plants like this at even the most expensive hotels and events that you had been invited to. Maybe tiny cuttings, but nothing to this size and level of lush.

"Well she's very pretty." You reply softly, letting out an airy laugh through your nose at his use of pronouns. The man doesn’t even crack a smile in return, his eyes giving you a pointed once over.

“And invasive.” He adds, resting his gaze on yours once again.

There’s a thick silence that follows after, during which you consider apologizing. For what? You were unsure, but somehow standing in his towering shadow and feeling his accusing eyes had you feeling like you were in the wrong for merely existing in his presence.

Before you can think to just turn around, take off your heels, and sprint home like you had years ago, his voice demands your attention again.

"So,” he says, “you gonna tell me why you’re stalking me, then?"

Now, surely, you were hearing things.

"E-Excuse me?"

He seems to take in your shock with some thought while he takes another languid puff, "You come by here every single day,” He lets the smoke go from his lungs, ”but you never buy a thing. In fact, you never even come in." The tone of his voice tilts towards annoyance. “You just stand at the window and pout like some sad puppy.”

"I-I work in the building next door?" You offer, bewildered by the entire situation. Were you dreaming? Had you fallen asleep at your desk and given yourself some sort of stress-induced nightmare?

"Hmm," The man takes you in without breaking your gaze, tilting his head to the side while he takes another drag of his cigarette. "You don't seem like the pencil pusher type to me."

You’re not sure why that comment makes you defensive. In retrospect, it was even a compliment to you. You hated sitting at a desk all day, watching the sun rise and set over a stack of papers. But you had worked hard to get to the position you were in now and it wasn’t the first time a man had told you that you didn’t look like you belonged. Before you can catch yourself in the name of politeness you find yourself scoffing out, "Sorry, but you don't seem like much of a florist to me."

The silence returns. You watch as the disdainful glint to his eyes shatters, and is replaced with a split second of surprise. He blinks and it’s only then that you realize how much larger this man is in comparison to you. If you had seen him walking down the street, you’d probably think to yourself “I wouldn’t want to be on his bad side” and yet here you were, on his bad-getting-worse side from the moment your eyes met.

Or so you had thought. But, as the antithesis of anger crosses his hardened features, and an unexpected bitten-back grin takes the place of his glower, you’re not sure what to think anymore.

He snorts out a laugh, finally releasing you from the cold grasp of his unbreakable gaze. He takes another step back and focuses his attention on watering the flowers again. "Touche."

The cigarette gets flicked from his fingertips and he smears it beneath his boot into a tiny canal of rocks separating the soil of the garden beds from the cement of the sidewalk.

"So, you gonna buy something then? Or just stand there with that strange look on your face all night?" He tilts his head to mirror your stance, but the amused grin remains in place of your confused gape. “I close in five minutes.”

“I have to hand it to you, you’re a fantastic salesman.” You’ve never met a stranger more brash and uncaring, so you were giving it a shot in return. It only serves to further his easy smiles.

“Am I not offering the right thing?” Now apparently after confirming to himself that you weren’t a threat, his tone of voice seems almost playful. It only serves to further your confusion. “Hmm, a lock of my hair maybe?”

“I am not a stalker!”

“Then buy something.”

You take a deep breath through your nose. Feeling the need to save face when you haven’t done anything wrong in the first place. Yet, the thought of turning away empty handed had embarrassment threatening to heat up your neck and cheeks. You didn't care if you had to drop a pretty penny, you just didn't want to boost this man's ego.

"Those." You point to the nearest flower, another pot of proud blossoms sprouting from a stem unseen past the abundant greenery of strong leaves. Soft moon colored petals unfurl at the top, and sprouting from the center are tiny, deep yellow pollen covered buds.

The man follows your pointed finger and graces your choice with all of one second before he turns back to his watering. "Not those." He decides flatly.

You’ve never made a more difficult purchase. "Why not?"

"Casablanca Lilies need constant care. A white-collar like you couldn't keep up. And I don't raise 'em so people can kill 'em."

"I think I can take care of a plant, thank you." You retort, sarcasm oozing off your sentence.

It seems you can only really catch this man’s attention when your tone has a touch of negativity, because suddenly he’s back to watching you.

There’s a pregnant pause before his next words. He searches nothing but your eyes for a moment, as if to gauge.

"Wanna bet?" He cocks a brow.

And it angers you how handsome you find this annoying, pompous, self-entitled stranger.

"Bet?” You repeat incredulously. “Are you making a sale or trying to fight?”

Instantly, as if you were offering the two scenarios as possible options, his smile darkens and he takes a step forward instead of continuing his line of watering.

That was all the reply you needed. You had seen the movies. The documentaries. Handsome men, provoking women, hungry eyes, it never added up to something good. So that was your que to keep walking straight past him and go home.

“Right, I don’t need this.” You scoff.

And yet, just before you're able to step aside him, like a true businessman, he says just the right thing to keep you there.

"So I'm right then?"

The sound of the droplets from the watering can against the cement in place of your footsteps has you cringing in self-disappointment. You force your head to turn and meet his infuriating amusement.

"What's the bet?" You grind out from clenched teeth. His eyes fall to your mouth, and he takes a pointed second to look at your bite before he steps away from you and back to the place where your interaction began. He reaches beside the huge Evening Primrose bush to reveal a small green potted sapling with the same leaf pattern.

He holds it out to you and you reach out to take the little thing like you’re scared for its safety.

"Come back in two weeks. If it's alive, I'll give you the lilies for free." The calmness in his tone of voice doesn't match the excitement glittering in his dark hazel-brown eyes. "And if it's dead, you owe me." He adds, rather nonchalantly.

"Owe you what?" You squint your eyes at him, maybe then you could see the little horns that match his devilish little grin.

He shrugs, almost too innocently, "A favor. Haven't thought of it yet." The stranger gives you one last once over, but this one leaves the strangest chill running down your spine. His eyes seem to follow it, as if he can see it rattling through you. "Should I? You're so confident you'll win, I didn't think I'd have to."

Now it was your turn to look him up and down, tattoos, scars and a face that seemed too comfortable with that murderous look he had first given you.

"...There's no way you're just a florist."

The comment is completely ignored as he leans forward, invading your airspace a little too close for comfort, and murmuring the words "Yes or no?" with a thick sugar coating.

"You're on." You hope your own words convey your complete disdain for him… and not that tiny glimmer of attraction you feel prickling under your skin.

A surprised laugh seems to escape him, as though he didn't expect you to make the deal. "You're either quite confident in yourself or a damn fool."

Like a rabbit bearing tiny teeth in the face of a lion, you mirror him and lean in closer until there's only a small space between the two of you. "Maybe I just like showing up cocky men."

"Oh, and I'm gonna love a favor from such a mouthy brat." You're lucky he pulls away from you after he practically purrs his threat. There's another thoughtful pause before he reaches into his apron pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes again.

"Two weeks. I know where you work too now." He lights another, and examines the cherry after he takes the first drag, smiling like it just told him a joke. “Don’t forget.”

#he loves a challenge #jjk #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #florist!sukuna #modern au #remember when i said halfway done like two thousand words ago?#I guess I lied #hope you enjoy #tuck in it's got chapters #thanks to winterrbluess who inspired this #her florist!sukuna art changed me #love the idea #this one is on a03 now if you're interested #missed you

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sukunasdumbestchef · 1 year ago

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way how i see you.

True form!Sukuna x Blind!Fem!reader

꒰You are the one and only wife of the King of Curses, but you don't just have this peculiarity… you are also blind. And painting is your way of painting and trying to represent what you see, even if it's just a little.꒱

Fluff, but cheesy.

BAD ENGLISJ SORRY😭

It was actually a secret… blindness. No one suspected…not even the King, Sukuna Ryomen. You hid it so well.

For obvious reasons, your life changed drastically after your vision got worse, the world around you lost its colors and beauty every day. Your world became just silhouettes moving around, almost colorless and blurred. But, you were aware of some things, just by looking at the silhouettes, you know how to differentiate an animal from a human, or if someone uses hair accessories. You weren't completely blind, but you were blind enough to be considered blind and have difficulties.

Uraume was the first to suspect, they were going to your room to hand over your newly cleaned kimonos. Uraume pushed the door open with an elbow. It was at the same time that you were combing your hair, your room lacked a little light, the candles had run out at the moment. You placed the comb where you thought the table was, but the comb ended up falling. You crouched down, trying to look for the lost comb on the floor, as the comb was clearly next to you. But they did not talked, nor did they mention this to the king.

Sukuna became suspicious when you two were at the table. In an attempt to get the chopsticks, you put your hand in a completely far place. It wasn't your fault, the chopsticks were the same color as the table! You tried again, nervous and hoping your husband wasn't looking at you. You went wrong again, you swallowed hard. You only realized where the chopsticks were when you turned your head drastically.

"…" Sukuna obviously noticed this. So the dots connected in his cruel head: Didn't she see where they were? Maybe… it makes sense, this woman is "strict" with how Uraume serves her food, she asks that the rice be placed in a light-colored bowl, if possible, in a light yellow bowl… and things like that...

"Wife. Are you blind?" Sukuna asked, without further ado. You felt your heart lock… could it be now? The truth?

"Sukuna…I, yes I am blind, please my king forgive me for keeping it a secret!" You soon explained yourself, standing up and crouching in respect. You thought he was angry, but he was surprised. He realized that you were not a silly woman, you are a very smart woman, no one suspected that you were blind… not even the king!

And that's how your life changed, Sukuna didn't even ask and you already explained your condition. You explained that you weren't completely blind, but you made her life difficult. Sukuna, like a husband who doesn't say 'I love you' but would burn the world for you, did everything he could to help you, Uraume helped you more.

You were an artist too, you painted several pictures. First, Sukuna thought they were cute and that was it. However, upon discovering your lack of vision, he began to see your paintings differently… it was you representing the world… through your eyes, how you imagine the colors, from the memory of when you could still see the colors…

Sukuna was stuck, looking at his painting where you had made him. He remembers saying in the past how different their brands were, but now he understands. "I'm more surprised, woman, you actually almost managed to draw my marks… Did you do what you imagined they would look like?" Sukuna asked, you next to him nodded.

"I could see the spots on your wrist, they stand out against your skin. The ones on your face are harder to see…" you explained. Sukuna took you in his arms, you were confused because you didn't expect this all of a sudden. "Sukuna?"

"Um, give me your finger." He took her index finger. Her heart warmed as she felt him trace his marks with his finger. You got closer to his face, getting a better look.

"Wait… you have a mini eye underneath? I thought you only had 3 eyes…" Sukuna smiles.

"It's small." Sukuna replied, getting her down from his arm.

"Oh, Kuna! I need to paint you again!" She said, looking at him with a cute smile. Sukuna saw her pull out a painting, and sit at her desk. Sukuna sat right next to her, very close to her. "Kuna… this tone looks strange, does this pink look like your hair?"

"Yes? I don't understand anything about this color thing… I don't care." You sighed, but started painting. You approached him very closely, to see his features up close. He gives you a peck, "You're so close." He complained, you laughed.

He pulled you onto his lap, so it was easier for you to see him. He felt her soft hand contouring his sharp features. Analyzing, Sukuna held her closer. It was such a rare moment, so warm…

But Sukuna closed his eyes in pain when she accidentally stuck her finger in his eyes. "Stupid, woman. Do you want to make me like you, you bastard?"

"I didn't think it was funny Sukuna, it was by accident…"

"Whatever, get it over with. My ass is going to hurt if I sit here for so long."

"HUSH!"

I have a version of this same theme with a longer story and angsty in the middle… do you want me to post it?

long story version

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jjk x reader #true form sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen

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hollowed-theory-hall · 12 days ago

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Cleaned up the sequel to this art with the Mauraders + Lily and Snape.

(As before, under the cut are the reference quotes I used as reference, though artistic liberty was taken with everything we don't know)

James:

His general face shape and body build is very similar to Harry's:

Excitement exploded in the pit of his stomach: It was as though he was looking at himself but with deliberate mistakes. James’s eyes were hazel, his nose was slightly longer than Harry’s, and there was no scar on his forehead, but they had the same thin face, same mouth, same eyebrows. James’s hair stuck up at the back exactly as Harry’s did, his hands could have been Harry’s, and Harry could tell that when James stood up, they would be within an inch of each other’s heights.

(OotP)

Same mouth, eyebrows, face shape, similar hair, and the same skin color. The big differences are his nose and hazel eyes.

Lily:

Talked about her here already.

Sirius:

He had short hair when younger:

Sirius, when he still had short hair

(OotP)

The defination of tall, dark and handsome (accordign to Harry):

Sirius was tall and handsome, and younger by far than Harry had seen him in life. He loped with an easy grace, his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face.

(DH)

He was very good-looking; his dark hair fell into his eyes with a sort of casual elegance neither James’s nor Harry’s could ever have achieved

(OotP)

And his short hair is still long enough to fall gracefully into his eyes.

His eyes are grey:

Something was bounding toward them, quiet as a shadow — an enormous, pale-eyed, jet-black dog.

(PoA) - pale eyes means grey in JKR

At the launch of Goblet of Fire at King's Cross, London, I shook hands with a woman who leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, 'Sirius Black is sexy, right?' And yes, of course she was right, as the Immeritus club know. The best-looking, most rebellious, most dangerous of the four marauders... and to answer one burning question on the discussion boards, his eyes are grey.

(from JKR)

Post Azkaban, he is thinner, his hair is longer:

A mass of filthy, matted hair hung to his elbows. If eyes hadn’t been shining out of the deep, dark sockets, he might have been a corpse. The waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull. His yellow teeth were bared in a grin. It was Sirius Black.

(PoA)

But after his time hiding out in the tropics, he looks better:

Sirius looked different from Harry’s memory of him. When they had said good-bye, Sirius’s face had been gaunt and sunken, surrounded by a quantity of long, black, matted hair — but the hair was short and clean now, Sirius’s face was fuller, and he looked younger, much more like the only photograph Harry had of him, which had been taken at the Potters’ wedding.

(PoA)

And even similar to how he looked at 20 in Jily's wedding.

He is tall, not that it's visible here, but I'll note it anyway:

said Sirius, standing up. He was rather taller than Snape

(OotP)

To Sirius’s right stood Pettigrew, more than a head shorter

(DH)

Remus:

Younger Remus's hair is darker than his older self we meet:

Lupin was younger too, and much less shabby, and his hair was thicker and darker.

(DH)

But he always looked pale and sick due to his Lycanthropy:

was Remus Lupin. He looked rather pale and peaky

(OotP)

And he remains pale as an adult:

Everyone’s eyes were now on Lupin, who looked remarkably calm, though rather pale.

(PoA)

We don't get much about his face besides his hair color and that he looks ill:

The stranger was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard’s robes that had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted. Though quite young, his light brown hair was flecked with gray.

(PoA)

I decided on amber-ish eyes due to him being a werewolf.

Peter:

The older Peter is described with a lot of detail:

He was a very short man, hardly taller than Harry and Hermione. His thin, colorless hair was unkempt and there was a large bald patch on top. He had the shrunken appearance of a plump man who has lost a lot of weight in a short time. His skin looked grubby, almost like Scabbers’s fur, and something of the rat lingered around his pointed nose and his very small, watery eyes.

(PoA)

and even when he was younger, we got very specific descriptions:

sitting on either side of a small, watery-eyed man Harry recognized at once as Wormtail

(OotP)

a small, mousy-haired boy with a pointed nose.

(OotP)

Sirius Black blasting Peter Pettigrew (who resembled Neville Longbottom) into a thousand pieces.

(PoA)

I made his eyes blue due to the "watery eyes" line, and his hair is mouse brown towards the blond due to the resemblance to Neville line.

Severus:

Get's a lot of descriptions, honestly, so it wasn't hard to track down, so I copied the few that get the point across:

Snape looked around at him, his face framed between curtains of greasy black hair.

(OotP)

was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

(PS)

There, his black robes rippling in a cold breeze, stood Severus Snape. He was a thin man with sallow skin, a hooked nose, and greasy, shoulder-length black hair

(CoS)

Snape’s sallow skin had gone the color of sour milk.

(PoA)

Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid’s, but they had none of Hagrid’s warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

(PS)

#harry potter #hp #hp fanart #my art #hollowedart #hollowed hp redesign #artists on tumblr #james potter #lily potter #lily evans #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #severus snape #mauraders #mauraders era

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velieditss · 10 months ago

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A life for a life

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!reader

Cw: Explicit description of abuse (Not from Aemond to reader) grief, bad dreams of Lucerys death (I mean I cried at that kid like I had birthed him, raised him, and paid for all his bills)

Summary: Once, you were a betrothed, but now, you are a widow and a prisoner. Yet, it seems the regent prince has set his sights on you, a gaze that, in truth, was always there, watching you from the shadows. But only now, at this crossroads in your life, does he feel empowered to claim you as his own.

You were the only one who stayed behind when your family returned to Dragonstone. Your only desire was to keep Helaena company, the only one among the king and queen's children with whom you had formed a bond, a fragile thread of affection in a court where alliances were often brittle.

But you didn’t heed her warning—or perhaps you simply didn’t understand it.

“Leave, or he will claim you,” she had whispered, her voice trembling with an urgency that you failed to grasp.

You certainly didn’t understand.

That very night, your grandfather, the king, died.

You were asleep when it happened, blissfully unaware, only to awaken to a silence so profound it was deafening. No one came to inform you, and when you tried to leave your chambers, you found the doors barred, locking you inside.

It became clear that only one person had remembered your existence when food and water were delivered to you. Desperate for answers, you questioned the servant, only to learn that your grandfather had passed, Aegon had been crowned king in your mother’s stead, and your betrothed, Prince Lucerys, was dead. How, or why, no one would tell you.

Devastated, the full weight of your captivity settled upon you. You long to stop dreaming. You implore the gods that you could cease to dream. You are so exhausted; all you yearn for is sleep. You want to sleep all day, from dawn until twilight, which every evening arrives a little earlier and with a touch more gloom. During the day, all you do is think about sleeping, about him. But at night, all you do is try to stay awake.

All day you keep your face smiling like a mask, smiling, smiling, your teeth bared, your eyes bright, your skin like stretched parchment, paper-thin. You keep your voice clear and soft, you speak words without meaning, and sometimes, when necessary, you even sing. At night you fall into your bed as if you were plunging into deep waters, as if you were sinking into the depths, as if the water were possessing you, taking you like a mermaid, and for a moment you feel a deep relief, as if, submerged in water, your sorrow could drain away, as if it were the Gods eye river and the currents could bring forgetfulness and carry you into the cave of sleep; but then, the dreams come.

You don’t dream of his dead–it would be the worst of nightmares to see your brother bleeding to death, to see him with the pale face typical of a lifeless body and soulless eyes.

You don’t dream any of this, and you thank the Gods for that mercy at least.

But you understood, that if anything he would have wished, it was that you would not live with grief and regret.

You were born a princess and you are the heir to a long line of courageous women.

Even so, you wept until sleep claimed you, and the days began to blur together, each more colorless than the last. You lost the will to eat, to care, for it seemed that no one cared for you. Only a servant came each day to help you wash, but even she never spoke.

Thoughts of escape flitted through your mind—knocking out the servant, or even throwing yourself from the window, the height be damned. But everything changed one night when they dragged you from your bed, giving you no time to comprehend what was happening.

They hauled you through the corridors with such brutality that your arms bore the bruises of their grip.

“What is happening?” you demanded, your voice quivering with fear. “Where are you taking me?”

The soldiers’ hold tightened painfully, making you wince. “The king wishes to see you, so keep your mouth shut.”

As you were led closer to the chambers that had once belonged to your grandfather, you sensed something was horribly wrong. Soldiers were dragging servants away, forcing them toward what seemed to be the dungeons, while you were marched in the opposite direction.

“I’ve done nothing,” you murmured, dread curling in your stomach. “I am a princess; you have no right to treat me like this!”

But your protests fell on deaf ears.

When you reached the king’s door, a cacophony of crashes and furious shouts echoed from within, as though the very foundations of the room were being torn apart.

“I’ll kill them!” a voice roared. “I’ll kill them all! Traitors and villains! How dare they attack me!”

The doors were flung open, and you were shoved to the floor at the feet of a figure who loomed above you.

“Your Majesty…”

“I am the King!”

You raised your head slightly to see Aegon, wild-eyed, smashing something in his hands—a relic of ancient Valyria that had once belonged to Viserys.

“I am the King!” he repeated, and it took several men to calm him, though his rage only simmered as he turned his gaze upon you.

“We’ve brought the traitor, as you commanded.”

A chill swept through you as your eyes met Aegon’s. The fury and madness in his stare made him unrecognizable, a stranger where once there had been a boy you had known all your life.

He grabbed you by the shoulders and hauled you to your feet, his grip so tight it was as though he wanted to crush you with it. His eyes were wild, almost deranged.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” His voice was more of an accusation than a question.

You instinctively placed a hand on his chest as he backed you against the shattered remains of the sculpture he had destroyed.

“You sought revenge in the name of your bastard betrothed.”

You shook your head as his hand closed around your throat, squeezing until you could barely breathe.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you choked out, struggling to draw air into your lungs.

"Aegon...!" you gasped, but he didn't release you. Your eyes locked with his, desperately trying to convey the truth. You had done nothing, you didn’t even know why he was blaming you. Of all people, he should know that you would be the last to harm them.

But his grip tightened, and as your vision began to blur, you started hitting his arm in a frantic attempt to break free.

With no one stepping in to stop him, you acted out of sheer instinct. You grabbed the nearest object and struck Aegon across the face with all the strength you could muster.

He released you immediately, and you collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath and clutching your chest. Only then did the others move, but not against Aegon—against you.

They seized you by the hair, dragging you to your feet, holding you so tightly that escape was impossible.

You were certain you would die there, but you resolved that you would not go down without a fight.

Aegon waved the others away, and without hesitation, he struck again. The blow was so fierce that it knocked the strength from your legs, leaving your ears ringing and your vision blurred. Warm blood trickled down your lips as you struggled to stay conscious.

Your eyes filled with tears, and you braced yourself for the next strike, but it never came.

Slowly, your hearing returned, and with it, your sight. You could make out distant voices—two at first, then more. You were dropped to the cold floor for a third time.

Raising your head, you saw a blurry figure holding Aegon by the throat. The darkness, combined with the dizziness in your head, made it difficult to identify who it was.

You wanted to take advantage of the distraction, to flee, but you had no idea where to go or what to do. You tried to stand, but the ringing in your head grew louder, preventing you from taking more than a single step.

“She is a traitor, and you dare defend her?” you heard Aegon’s voice, but you no longer cared.

You made a second attempt to stand, but this time you did not feel the ground beneath you. Instead, you felt arms encircling your waist with a surprising gentleness, a touch so unexpected that even he seemed taken aback.

When you looked up, you found yourself gazing into the face of the last person you ever expected.

“Aemond?” you asked, needing confirmation.

In the dim light of the night, through the haze of pain and exhaustion, you clung to the one solid thing you had found.

“Don’t try to move anymore,” he said softly, “you’ll only hurt yourself more.”

He guided your arms around his neck and, with no effort at all, lifted you into his arms. You might have resisted, demanded that he put you down, that you retain some shred of dignity after all you had endured, but you were utterly exhausted. Your head wouldn’t stop spinning, and your spirit was shattered. For now, Aemond seemed to be the only one who showed even a flicker of care for you.

••••

You were the only good thing he remembered from his childhood. The only thing that made him smile, the only thing that made him feel human.

Like him, your dragon egg never hatched, but unlike him, you didn’t mind. And it was this indifference that made him begin to notice you. He admired the kindness, fairness, and awareness you displayed effortlessly.

When Aegon mocked him, you defended him; when your brothers teased him, you scolded them. And when the incident at Driftmark occurred, although you weren’t present, you were the only one who wept upon seeing what had happened to him.

You were also the only one who went to see him afterward, when everyone else walked away without consequence. You gave him something no one else did: a hug.

“You’re still handsome,” you said, gently brushing the spot where the stitches had been.

He couldn’t help but blush at your words. Although he pretended not to care, that wound had affected him deeply, just as so many other things had during his childhood.

“It was a fair trade. I lost an eye, but I gained a dragon,” he repeated, echoing the same words he had said to his mother.

You looked at him with sadness because, even though you couldn’t fully understand what he felt, it seemed to you that he repeated those words to convince himself that he shouldn’t feel pity for what he had lost.

“You’re allowed to be sad, you know?” you said, taking his hand and offering a faint smile. “I don’t really know what happened down there, or why my brothers reacted the way they did, or what you did, but... it’s not as simple as you make it out to be, and that’s okay. You’re human, Aemond.”

He remained silent for a few moments, and for the first time, he thought that if he were to cry in that moment, he wouldn’t feel judged but rather comforted by the love and patience you had always shown him. But he didn’t. Despite the trust he had in you, he didn’t want to seem weak in your eyes.

That was the last time you saw him.

But it wasn’t the last time you had contact with him. You always wrote to him and to Helaena, telling them about your daily life, about what made you happy, like the birth of your younger brothers, Aegon and Viserys, and the joy you felt holding their tiny bodies.

For a while, everything was fine. However, little by little, your letters became less frequent until one day they stopped altogether, which made him nervous. It was a feeling he didn’t understand, and it worsened when he found out that you continued to write to Helaena but not to him.

His confusion turned into fury, especially when, at the beginning of your silence, he sent you letters—initially short, barely a paragraph. But when he received no reply, he started sending longer ones, telling you about his day, trying to regain the attention you had once given him without directly asking why you had gone silent. One letter, two, three… ten. But there was no response.

So he stopped trying.

Then, you returned to King’s Landing to defend your brother’s legitimacy after six long years.

You saw him training and noticed how much he had changed. You felt the fear the servants displayed when he was near, how hard and enigmatic he had become. The boy you knew had disappeared, transformed into a man you no longer recognized.

He caught your gaze from below, and for the first time in his life, you looked away. You had never done that before; you always greeted him with a tender smile and warm eyes.

“Why? Why? Why?” he wondered furiously in his mind, as if you could answer him from a distance.

You were walking towards the throne room to witness Vaemond Velaryon’s petition when someone intercepted you, grabbing your hand and making you turn with a gasp.

You parted your lips slightly upon meeting Aemond’s cold gaze. He was much taller than you now, his face had gained firmer features, and the strength he had acquired was evident, perhaps thanks to his training. Even his skin had taken on a more bronzed tone from all those days outdoors. The patch covering his missing eye made him look even more imposing.

“Do I look like a criminal to you, or why are you running from me?” he asked bluntly, without so much as a greeting or an apology for interrupting you and grabbing you.

“We’re going to be late,” was all you said, trying to free yourself from his grip.

However, he didn’t let go, as if his hand on your wrist was a chain binding you to him.

You looked at him again, silently pleading with him not to persist. He remained silent, watching you with a depth that, for the first time, you couldn’t interpret.

Then he let out a short laugh and released you, causing you to cover your wrist with your other hand.

Your heart ached because, although you had sworn to keep your distance from him, you knew you were being unfair.

You turned your back on him, ready to leave, but you bit your lower lip, feeling the truth gnawing at you inside.

“Did you do it?” you asked in a whisper, turning back to face him.

He looked at you, not understanding.

“Do what?” You nervously fidgeted with your hands, a gesture he hated. He could find satisfaction in everyone else’s fear of him, but in you, and only in you, he despised it.

“Did you try to kill them?” you finally asked. “Did you try to kill my brothers? Is that why Luke attacked you with a knife?”

He clenched his hands into fists, connecting the dots. Was that why you had stopped writing to him? Why you were ignoring him?

You couldn’t bear to see how his face filled with a rage you had never seen in him before, a rage that sent shivers down your spine. You lowered your gaze, waiting for an answer.

However, he grabbed your chin, forcing you to face him.

He expected this from everyone, but not from you.

The only woman he had placed on a pedestal, the only one who had taught him that love could be given willingly, not out of obligation.

“Is that what they told you?” he murmured, struggling with an internal conflict that seemed to hurt him, even make him feel betrayed. “And you believed them?”

You closed your eyes, and seeing him like this made you begin to doubt your convictions.

However, Jace, Luke, even Baela and Rhaena, had sworn it to you on their lives. You knew that, of all people, Jace and Luke would never lie to you. So yes, your judgment was clouded by the oaths of the people you loved most.

“Then tell me, tell me what happened that day, tell me you didn’t break Luke’s nose and try to hit Jace with a rock.”

Silence seemed to flood everything like an overwhelming tide.

“They attacked me,” he asserted in a solemn tone, one that left no room for doubt or questioning. “All four of them came to attack me.”

He didn’t deny it, and that was the first thing you noticed.

“And why? Why would four children come to attack you?” You didn’t accuse him of anything, you simply asked, though you already knew the answer; you wanted to hear it from his lips.

“That doesn’t justify what they did to me,” he said, with an expression that broke your heart. Though you already knew, you had hoped your brothers were mistaken.

“No, it doesn’t justify it,” you responded. “But neither does it justify what you said to them, nor how you insulted them, because the moment that word left your lips, you insulted me too. The moment you struck them, you struck me as well. And when they hurt you, they hurt me too.”

You had to swallow hard to keep your eyes from filling with tears.

“I will never forgive what they did to you, and my heart breaks to see that the boy I once loved… suffered and changed so much, to the point where I no longer recognize him.” Your voice trembled as his eyes pierced through you, reaching the deepest part of your soul. “But I can’t forgive you for what you did to them either.”

You sighed and took his hand.

“And they are my brothers… I had to choose.”

A tear slid down your cheek, one that carried so many emotions, so much meaning.

You let go of him, ready to leave him behind and head for your mother’s arms. You just wanted to reach her.

However, you felt a pull, gentler this time, less abrupt. One that forced you to face him again.

Then, something you thought impossible happened: in his eyes, you once again saw the boy you remembered, that boy with a sad but determined gaze, who tried to be strong, though he had a brave and simple heart. That boy who made your heart race, who made you want to see him day and night, the one who, despite the differences in your lives, always seemed to understand you.

And then, in an unexpected and overwhelming moment, his lips sought yours. There was no hesitation, no moment of doubt. It took you by surprise, but instead of pulling away, you found yourself responding with the same intensity. The air between you seemed to evaporate as the heat of his body enveloped yours.

His kiss was everything you had imagined and more, a blend of unleashed passion and tenderness you hadn’t anticipated. Your hands, which at first had frozen in the air, moved of their own accord—one tangled in his hair, the other gripped his back, feeling the taut

Aemond kissed you with a fervor you had never known, as if each kiss was a confession, a longing, a broken promise he tried to mend with every brush of his lips. The need that enveloped you was so overwhelming that you almost lost sense of everything except him. His lips were soft yet firm, his breath warm as it mingled with yours, evoking in you a visceral reaction you had never expected.

Your lips moved in sync with his, responding with a passion that surprised you, a passion that seemed to come from the deepest part of your being. It was a kiss that spoke not just of desire but of all the unexpressed emotions, all the words that had never been spoken.

Then, almost painfully, you became aware of where you were, of the danger of being discovered. With a tremendous effort, you gently pushed him away, breaking the kiss with a gasp, the echo of his touch still vibrating on your lips.

You brought your hand to your lips, still feeling the ghost of his touch, unable to believe what had just happened. He looked at you, breathing heavily, his eye darkened by a mix of emotions that pierced through you like lightning. For a moment, your heart hesitated, tempted to fall once more into the abyss that had opened between you.

But then, you heard voices approaching, reminding you of where you were and the situation you were in. Aemond seemed to realize it too, and his gaze filled with a mix of frustration and something deeper that you didn’t dare to name. In that instant, he had the impulse to demand, to claim you.

Even so, you knew you had to pull away, that you couldn’t allow yourself to fall deeper into temptation.

Without a word, you turned your back on him, ready to leave, though the truth burned in your chest. You swore to yourself that you wouldn’t let this happen again, that you would turn your feelings for him into a cold, forgotten stone.

And it was all for one reason.

In the audience, when asked about the legitimacy of Princess Rhaenyra's children, King Viserys announced his consent for the marriage between Jacaerys Velaryon, Rhaenyra and Laenor’s eldest son, heir to the throne after his mother, and Baela Targaryen, Daemon and Laena’s eldest daughter. Likewise, following tradition, Lucerys Velaryon, the second son and Corlys’s heir, would marry you.

Aemond’s reaction was immediate and palpable; the fury burning in his eyes was visible in every fiber of his being. It was a fury born not just of frustration, but of disdain and the contempt he felt.

The sky darkened as if aware of the contempt, fury, and slight that the queen’s third son felt. A feeling that clouded his judgment the next day and led him to commit the gravest of sins, unleashing the consequences that would follow.

Masterlist

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #reader #hotd #life for a life #velieditss

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apple-p4int · 6 months ago

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SIMBA 🦁🗣️🔥

#The lion king #Disney #Cas van de pol #Youtube #Parody #Drawing #Colorless #The ultimate recap cartoon

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iiseult · 1 year ago

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𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒: 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒶𝓅𝓅𝒽𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒥𝑒𝓇𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓂

CWs → fluff, angst, suggestive content, historical inaccuracies, slow burn, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, eventual smut (once reader and baldwin are both over 18), leprosy, time-period accurate sexism, one-sided pining

Wordcount: 3.1k

Note: I asked if you guys preferred to have more frequent updates with shorter chapters or slower updates with longer chapters, and the three people that responded wanted more frequent updates so here we are. Please reblog if you enjoy because the second chapter didn’t do very well and I don’t want this series to die off before it even begins! EL OH EL!!

The issue of an heir, or the lack thereof, had been solidly squared away by Baldwin within three months of your marriage, so that you never had to speak a word on the matter. He told his mother that despite “frequent attempts” on both your parts, you could not be made with child on account of his inadequate health. Of course no such attempts were ever made, but that knowledge was something that stayed solely between the two of you. By that point everybody in the royal court had suspected as much anyway, and with the news of his leprosy having recently been confirmed, it was accepted with very little noise. Nobody spoke to you of it, likely afraid to broach the topic, except for Baldwin’s mother, who offered you her sympathies and prayers, which you publicly accepted and privately rejected. Though she had finally relented in her feelings of ill will toward you, they had apparently been replaced with feelings of nothingness, so you continued to resent her until her death the following year.

Meantime, you concerned yourself with adjusting to life as a queen and worked on becoming familiar with the kingdom, and Baldwin left you very much alone. He was a positively mysterious figure, seemingly doing his utmost to stay out of your way and to avoid contact with you altogether. Occasionally you did see him haunting the corridors of the castle like a faceless apparition in his colorless robes and hidden expression, but he never spoke to you, so in turn you did not speak to him. For the most part it did not bother you, but you sometimes childishly wished for his company, though it likely wasn’t his direct company you were wishing for but rather the company of any such equal. However you did miss the fluttery feeling he used to be able to stir in your breast with his charming words and noble actions. Somewhat successfully, you pushed those immature notions away and hoped they wouldn’t return.

Despite your loneliness, you were constantly surrounded by Matilda and Amelia, the latter whom you’d come to rather like and regard as something of a sister. And if she was the sister, Matilda was the mother.

Matilda perpetually accompanied you on your explorations of the city, helping you navigate the narrow alleyways and bustling streets and showing you which unsavory characteristics were the surefire marks of a swindler. That you favored the market streets above all else was immediately evident to her, so teaching you to spot dishonest merchants and avoid giving them your business was one of her top priorities. Most of your time in the city was, in fact, spent shopping. You admired the handmade wares being peddled at every corner and ignored the incessant voices imploring you to come this way or go that way so they could sell you something. It was all very amusing and enticing to you.

Each time you requested it you were allotted certain amounts of money from the king to spend at your whim, collected and delivered to you by various servants, and he was more generous than anyone ever expected. With this allowance, you were able to purchase rolls of richly-colored fabrics to be made into dresses, endless supplies of ink and parchment, pottery covered in artwork so detailed it could have only been done by a single paintbrush hair, any number of books that appealed to you, and numerous tapestries hand-woven with shining threads that depicted biblical scenes or mythical creatures, such as unicorns or dragons. These you hung in your own bedchamber. But perhaps the most magnificent of all your purchases was the very first one you ever made, which occurred during your second week. You had emptied your coin purse for it, quite literally turned it upside down on the merchant’s stand, gold coins rolling here and there for him to chase after. Matilda strongly disapproved and urged you not to make the purchase because she thought the piece too fanciful and mature for such a young lady, but you silenced her with an icy glance and there was henceforth no more talk of the subject.

It was a sapphire ring. The band was thick and gold, adorned by intricate flowing patterns, and the stone was inlaid securely between four strong prongs. For a second you figured it could become a family heirloom and be passed down onto your children, but then you remembered that the prospect of you ever having children was unlikely at best and a small twinge of disappointment tugged at your heart. So you decided it would be best to get as much enjoyment out of the thing as possible and from then on you wore it proudly everywhere and on every occasion, regardless of Matilda’s disapproving glances.

The people of Jerusalem found their new queen just as mysterious and elusive as they had once found their king. Seeing a member of their royal family out in public had become an oddity over the years of Baldwin’s reign, and yet you were there at least twice a week, speaking in some romantic foreign tongue to your servants. Many of your subjects spoke only Arabic or Greek and could not recognize your French when they heard it. But the thing most contributing to the air of mysteriousness surrounding you actually had nothing to do with you personally; it was more so the fact that nobody ever expected the king to marry. Your indisputable beauty only contributed to the confusion. There had been rumors about Baldwin’s illness for years now, and the fact that his face was always covered by a mask led most everyone to believe that he must have suffered some hideous facial disfigurement as a result. This begged the question, how could such a beautiful young woman willingly marry such a horrifying person?

Baldwin took his meals in his bedchamber and also conducted all business out of it. To you he was evasive and sightings of him were rare, limited to perhaps once a month. In the first four weeks after the wedding night, you saw him twice, maybe thrice.

You had been in the chapel, kneeling at the altar and praying with your head bent and a cloth covering it, when he silently slipped into the room completely unbeknownst to you and took up prayer only a few feet away. After a moment you looked up and saw him with a start, having expected to see someone there, but not expecting to see him. His head was bowed, and his blond tresses fell over his face, hiding it from you, but you could still see his lips moving silently in prayer. When he was finished he quickly crossed himself and turned to fix his gaze on you, apparently having decided to go maskless that day. You stared, chest rising and falling heavily as you tried to recover from the shock with a hand clasped over your heart, willing it to stop its wild thumping. His blue eyes twinkled in amusement as your cheeks flushed and you felt a little anger at him for being entertained by you, but if he noticed this, he didn’t show it. He gazed at you for a time, eyes remaining kind but impassible, before he evidently decided he’d had enough and stood, walking out of the chapel without a single word ever passing between the two of you.

Again you saw him one afternoon after returning from the city with Matilda. You had purchased the last remaining volume of a book whose other parts were already in the library, and seeked to put it in its rightful place on the shelf. Baldwin had been in the library playing chess with Raymond at the time, as he had been for the better part of the day, and he muttered something to the man softly when you walked in and hastily curtseyed to them. His eyes followed you across the room to where you stopped in front of a towering bookshelf. You let your head drop back against your shoulders and sighed, seeing that you would have to somehow reach the very top shelf. You’d have to find the ladder, or else find a servant who would replace the book for you. As you turned around, he appeared right behind you, blue eyes twinkling in that same mild-mannered way and holding his gloved hands out.

Without speaking he seemed to say “allow me”, and it was so bewitching that you complied immediately without a thought, dropping the heavy volume into his outstretched hands. You watched, enchanted, in silence as he reached up to the top shelf, straining even at his impressive height, and slid the leather-bound volume into place. Again you curtseyed and bowed your head in thanks, peering up at him through your lashes. He continued smiling and only nodded once before retreating to his chess game, so you followed suit and returned to Matilda’s side.

A strange anxiousness had seemed to overcome you, and you spent the rest of the day lying on your fainting couch drinking wine and trying to keep your mind from conjuring up images of him. How had he known which books the volume belonged with? How could he know? But by the time night fell and Matilda was gathering you against her chest to help walk you to bed, your regular spirited countenance had returned, and the period of brooding had reached its end.

There was one other time in that first month you thought you might have seen him, but for all you knew, it could have been a trick of the candlelight.

After a particularly heavy dinner of lamb, bread, and pudding, you had been dragging yourself wearily to bed when out of the corner of your eye, you saw something white and fluttering behind you. You turned to see what or whom it was, but of course it was gone by then, vanished into thin air. You hadn’t dared peer around the corner, deciding it was better not to know. But the fluttering white thing had almost certainly been his robe, and that notion didn’t leave your mind for the rest of the night, nor did it really ever. It was something you always remembered and often thought of for no particular reason.

In the second month you saw him even less frequently, only catching a few glimpses here and there, and the instances seemed more spaced apart. He was seldom alone, but even if he had been you doubted you’d have the courage to speak to him, and God only knows what you’d speak of. Perhaps some interesting tidbit of news from the city or some morsel of gossip, as it were. However the opportunity never presented itself.

In the third month you saw him but once, on the eve of your fifteenth birthday. He had been returning from the city on his white horse with a retinue of servants, many more than would be necessary for any other royal figure, but perhaps they were worried he’d have a spell of illness.

You had been awaiting his return by the window of the East tower with your embroidery for hours, hoping to discover something interesting about his little trip. Earlier in the day you’d heard a few of your maids murmuring about the king’s sudden decision to visit the city for the first time in almost a year. They wondered what the occasion was and then so did you. As he rode past the great stone wall surrounding the castle and disappeared into the stables beyond your line of sight, you concluded that there was truly nothing remarkable to see and that all your waiting had been in vain, so you promptly went to bed.

On the morning of your fifteenth birthday you awoke to see a package of brown parchment on your bedside table, bound with a shining silken bow of royal blue. The color was a gift in and of itself, for you very well knew how costly blue dye was. A tingle of excitement ran through your veins as you lifted the package onto your lap, carefully pulling the bow loose and setting it aside for later; it would make a lovely accessory. Then, holding your breath, you slid your fingers along the seam of the parchment and unfolded it to reveal an unremarkable wooden box, smooth and cool to the touch. But inside the box, to your utter shock and speechlessness, was a treasure unlike any other you’d ever laid eyes upon.

It was a necklace, made of heavy, sparkling chains of gold, and set in the middle of the large circular pendant was a perfect sapphire. It was cut expertly and you could see your own awestricken reflection, tinted blue in tiny identical rooms on each flat face. The gemstone was heavy and you understood the need for such a substantial chain as you hung it around your neck, barely able to tear your eyes away from it to read the note that was placed underneath it in the box.

“To match your ring,” it simply said.

Though there was no signature, you knew who it was from. Only a king could afford such a thing. And the deep blue color of the jewel was so familiar to you, it must have been the exact same shade as the one in your ring. You held up the ring next to the necklace, which was resting on your bosom, and looked in the mirror for comparison, and sure enough they were identical in color, though the stone in the ring was much smaller. It was only the size of a thumbnail whereas the necklace’s stone was an honest to god rock, a bit smaller than your palm.

While you stared at yourself in the sapphire’s glassy surface, you came to realize two things; one, you didn’t have any idea when Baldwin’s birthday was, and two, both gemstones were very similar in color to that of the eyes of your husband. You thought perhaps that was what drew you to the ring in the first place, that familiar feeling you got when looking at that color.

Later in the morning when Amelia dressed you, you showed her the necklace and her pupils widened so much that you could no longer see the gray of her irises. She carefully placed it around your throat, adding the finishing touch to your appearance. Then you asked her when Baldwin’s birthday was.

“September 16th, Your Majesty. It was a few months before your wedding. He does not celebrate, or at least he hasn’t for very many years. But the parties used to be ever so wonderful…” she trailed off, no doubt reminiscing on the great royal get-togethers of her youth.

Again something clicked in your mind which you found a bit surprising. Though Baldwin had only seen you a handful of times since the wedding and up close only twice, he had apparently noticed your ring and managed to commit to memory nearly its exact shade of blue. You further realized that he had gone out of the palace the day prior for the purpose of procuring this gift. How did he know your birthday, you wondered.

You stared down at your ring, which was glinting ceaselessly against your finger as if it was trying to tell you something. Sapphires, you thought, September. And then it made sense. The stone of September was, in fact, a sapphire. That was Baldwin’s stone. The stone of loyalty and honesty. And the two sapphires you now possessed, both bought with his money, would certainly become heirlooms. Perhaps you would have them pass them onto Baldwin’s young nephew upon your death, for it would be too much a shame to bury them with you and keep them from sparkling in the light of the sun the way they were meant to.

You wanted to thank him but you just didn’t know how.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Baldwin had become something of a private investigator, as it were, and his focus was you. He wanted to keep his distance because he was afraid of upsetting you, so he tried to revert to his original plan of leaving you completely to your own devices and not interfering, but it soon proved impossible for him. Like a fool he had gotten his hopes up, just to have them come crashing down around him on his wedding night. He thought you could have been the perfect person to rule side-by-side with even if you did have a lot to learn. He thought you could have loved him even if it ended up being true that he could not provide you with an heir. He thought that you could have loved him, and that was his mistake, but he had already fallen in love with you.

He could not keep away from you but he could not be with you, so he compromised and went near you only when you did not know. It was not invasive, however, and he never wanted to breach your privacy. It was just little things. He would lurk in corridors he knew you would walk through in hopes of catching snatches of conversations between you and one of your servants. He had Amelia collect pieces of personal information about you and report back to him, which was undoubtedly how he found out your birthday.

One day he followed you into the chapel and made like he was praying so he could sit next to you, if only for a moment. The warmth that spread in his breast in those few moments of closeness with you was enough to sustain him for a few more weeks.

Even more painful than his raw leprous skin was the pain of seeing you smiling and conversing with people who were not him, to see you dressing in fine gowns and jewelry and going to dinner with people who were not him. To not be with you was the most painful thing he knew. For the woman he felt such tender things for to not even know the half of it. So with every month that passed he withdrew more, knowing that every time he left his chambers he risked running into you.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Quietly he opened your bedroom door, knowing you had to be sleeping at such a late hour, and you were. The pale light of the moon made your face look almost mask-like in sleep. Your delicate eyelashes were pressed to your cheeks, those cheeks he wished so badly to kiss. The desire to be near you, he thought as he gently placed the brown parchment package on your bedside table, was one day going to kill him.

#baldwin iv #kingdom of heaven #baldwin iv x reader #king baldwin iv #king baldwin iv x reader #baldwin iv one shot #baldwin of jerusalem #kingdom of heaven fluff #kingdom of heaven fandom #the leper king #koh fandom #koh

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minophus · 2 months ago

Note

Greetings, Mr Minophus Tumblr account. It is with a heavy heart that I send you this letter. For we have never truly shared a place, due to time unfortunate, a border between our worlds. As the soles of my feet first touched this land, once to me unknown, your presence had already begun faltering. The form of a gaping absence. Marvelous it was when I first discovered the ruins that build your legacy. Such devotion, an inspiring diligence, in the art of minophusology... I do not doubt that to others you were as well a muse, but for I specifically, the guarantee is set. Perhaps the contents of this scripture are irrelevant; however the content of one's swelling heart could not be merely denied. Delicately, I ask for you to take it as a reverence, a glance too long at a certain piece in a museum - the way the eyes twitch in the finding of familiarity in the sculptings of oil paint and in the story of the brush strokes - or something subtle, a nod. Must this be a sign of relevancy... that in a meaningless, colorless world, it was through your works that the hues came to be? Or death's solemn, yet comforting words that accompany you as the inevitable void of an ephemeral existence is faced? Who are we to know? We are but wanderers, and this one, has found beauty in the steps you took. Cordially, Cobaltinus Lazuli

(drawing to get your attention)(not beta read)(can you tell i had a blast)

Hello sweet king. Ive seen your minophus stuffs around while i was bored scrolling thru blogs and i would like you to know if i was still sick about minophus i'd be throwing up from Joy at the quality iof your art.I shall cherish this letter And this drawing. This drawing fucks so hard. I luv how you draw facial structure....Now...I return to my quiet...

#asks #niceys #alltime fav

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starryeyedwolves · 3 months ago

Text

The Art of Fussing

The moon hung low, a silver sliver in the inky sky, casting its pale light over the grounds of Hogwarts. The castle stood silent, its towers and turrets shadowed against the night. Somewhere in the distance, the Whomping Willow swayed gently, as if lulled by the whispers of the wind.

Remus sat cross-legged on the rug by the fire, a book balanced precariously on his knees. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his fingers tracing the lines of text as if committing them to memory. His hair, perpetually tousled, fell into his eyes, and he brushed it away with an absent-minded flick of his wrist. He was the picture of calm, of quiet focus—until the door burst open with a bang that made him jump, sending his book tumbling to the floor.

"Moony!" Sirius' voice was a thunderclap in the stillness, his grin wide and wolfish as he strode into the room. His hair was windswept, his cheeks flushed from the cold, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. He carried with him the scent of the night air, of damp grass and something wild and untamed.

Remus sighed, picking up his book and smoothing the crumpled pages. "Padfoot," he said, his voice tinged with exasperation, "must you always make such a dramatic entrance?"

Sirius flopped down onto the couch beside him, sprawling out like a king claiming his throne. "Dramatic? Me? Never." He leaned over, plucking the book from Remus' hands and examining the cover. "Advanced Transfiguration? Really, Moony, it's Friday night. Live a little."

Remus snatched the book back, his lips twitching despite himself. "Some of us have exams to study for, Padfoot. Not all of us can rely on charm and good looks to get by."

Sirius gasped, clutching his chest as if wounded. "You think I'm charming? And good-looking? Moony, I'm blushing."

"You're insufferable," Remus muttered, though there was no real bite to his words. He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Sirius had always had a way of breaking through his defenses, of pulling him out of his shell with nothing more than a grin and a well-timed joke.

Sirius leaned closer, his elbow nudging Remus' side. "Admit it. You love it."

"I love it when you leave me alone to study," Remus said dryly, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed him.

Sirius laughed, a rich, full-bodied sound that filled the room. "Liar. You'd be bored without me."

Remus didn't argue. He couldn't. Because Sirius was right—life without him would be dull, colorless. Sirius was the spark that lit up the room, the storm that swept through and left everything changed in its wake. He was chaos and laughter and reckless abandon, and Remus, for all his quiet reserve, couldn't imagine a world without him.

But that didn't mean he had to admit it.

"You're impossible," Remus said instead, shaking his head. "What do you want, anyway?"

Sirius' grin widened. "Can't I just want to spend time with my favorite werewolf?"

Remus raised an eyebrow. "I'm your only werewolf."

"Exactly. Which makes you my favorite by default." Sirius leaned back, stretching his arms above his head. "Besides, I thought you could use a break. You've been holed up in here all night. Even James and Peter have given up on you."

Remus glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to see how late it was. He hadn't realized how much time had passed. "I lost track of time," he admitted.

"Obviously." Sirius reached over, plucking the book from Remus's hands again and setting it aside. "Come on, Moony. Live a little. You can study tomorrow."

Remus hesitated, torn between his responsibilities and the pull of Sirius' infectious energy. But then Sirius gave him that look—the one that was equal parts pleading and mischievous—and Remus felt his resolve crumble.

"Fine," he said, though he tried to sound reluctant. "But only for a little while."

Sirius' grin was triumphant. "That's the spirit." He jumped to his feet, pulling Remus up with him. "Let's go."

"Go where?" Remus asked, though he already knew the answer. "The kitchens?" Sirius's eyes gleamed. "Where else? I'm starving."

Remus rolled his eyes but allowed himself to be dragged along. They moved through the castle like shadows, their footsteps light and silent. Sirius led the way, his confidence unwavering, while Remus followed, his heart beating a little faster than usual. It wasn't just the thrill of breaking curfew—it was the thrill of being with Sirius, of sharing in his adventures, of feeling alive in a way that only he could make him feel.

When they reached the kitchens, Sirius tickled the pear and the portrait swung open, revealing the warm, inviting space beyond. The house-elves greeted them with smiles and bows, offering up plates of food and mugs of hot chocolate. Sirius piled his plate high with treacle tart and pumpkin pasties, while Remus settled for a single slice of cake and a cup of tea.

They sat at one of the long tables, their shoulders brushing as they ate. Sirius talked animatedly, his hands gesturing wildly as he recounted the latest prank he and James had pulled. Remus listened, his laughter soft and genuine, his eyes never leaving Sirius' face.

And as the night wore on, Remus found himself fussing—over Sirius's messy hair, over the crumbs he was scattering everywhere, over the way he was talking with his mouth full. But it was a fussing born of affection, of a love so deep and unspoken that it could only be expressed in these small, seemingly insignificant ways.

Sirius, for his part, took it all in stride. He grinned and teased and fussed right back, his words laced with a fondness that made Remus's chest ache. They were a pair, the two of them—opposites in so many ways, and yet perfectly matched.

When they finally made their way back to the common room, the fire had burned low and the castle was silent once more. Sirius yawned, stretching his arms above his head, and Remus couldn't help but smile.

"Tired?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Exhausted," Sirius admitted. He flopped down onto the couch, his head resting against the back. "But it was worth it."

Remus sat down beside him, their shoulders touching. "You're ridiculous," he said, though there was no heat in his words.

"And yet, you put up with me," Sirius said, his grin lazy and content.

Remus didn't respond. He didn't need to. Because Sirius already knew the truth—that Remus would put up with him, fuss over him, and love him, no matter what.

And as they sat there, bathed in the warm glow of the fire, Remus couldn't help but think that Sirius felt the same way.

#the marauders #marauders #marauders era #marauders fic #wolfstar #wolfstar fic #wolfstar fanfiction #remus x sirius #hogwarts era #sirius black #sirius orion black #sirius #remus lupin #remus john lupin #remus #dead gay wizards from the 70s #my fic #my fic writing #my writing

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gnocchibabie · 10 months ago

Text

The Realm's Tragedy

Chapter 3 - Wooden Dragons

aemond targaryen x fem!targaryen!oc

previous chapter --- masterlist --- ao3

Summary: Maevys Targaryen is born into a kingdom overshadowed by calamity. With her mother Aemma Arryn gone, King Viserys consumed by grief, and Princess Rhaenyra adrift in sorrow, young Maevys finds herself at the heart of a fractured family. As she emerges from the shadows of tragedy, she must navigate the delicate balance between the remnants of a broken lineage and the impending storm of a new era.

As the dragons dance, the princess must learn to accept an unforgiving truth: All Must Choose.

Wordcount: 3.5k

116 AC – King’s Landing

The floor of King Viserys I Targaryen’s chambers had become a mess of wooden toys and sprawling little children. The chamber, normally a sanctuary of solemnity and regal decorum, had transformed into a lively playground.

His offspring had been sequestered to the confines of the chamber for the time being, free to play as long as they did not touch their father’s beloved replica of King’s Landing. This miniature kingdom, a marvel of intricate craftsmanship, stood on a pedestal away from the bustling chaos, guarded by the vigilant eyes of several of Alicent Hightower’s handmaidens.

Maevys Targaryen sat at the center of the chamber, next to her younger brother Aegon. Encircling the children were about a dozen wooden figurines carved in the shape of elephants, knights, wolves, princesses, and stags. The sibling’s favored toys however, were the little wooden dragons, painted in vivid red and golden and green hues.

Helaena Targaryen, the youngest of the trio, sat just outside the circle of play, her violet eyes twinkling with quiet curiosity. She gently caressed a dragon figurine she had claimed as her own, watching the make-believe of her brother and sister unfold before her.

Maevys’ scrawny hands gripped the carving of a pale, almost colorless dragon, waving the toy around in the air wildly. The dragon’s paint, though simple, seemed to come alive with her imagination.

“Whoosh Aegon! Woooooossshhh.” The little girl mimicked the sound of rushing air as she swept the dragon down over the line of knights that her brother had so carefully set up.

“Ahhhhh!” Aegon wailed dramatically as he knocked over his squad of little knights, seemingly toppled by the gust of wind that his sister’s dragon unleashed.

“You’ll pay for that!” The little prince retorted, taking a golden toy dragon into his hand. Helaena’s giggles floated through the air, mingling with the imaginary roars and fire-breathing sounds as the two dragons clashed in an aerial battle. The room was filled with the symphony of their laughter, their voices blending into a melody of childhood joy and competition.

“Dracarys!” Maevys bellowed, her Valyrian pronunciation still rough but filled with the authority of a battle commander. Her voice rang out with such intensity that it startled the lady servants, who exchanged amused glances.

“It’s over Aegon, you’re dead now.” Her voice a mix of playful pride and unwavering certainty, signaling the end of their play battle and crowning herself as the triumphant victor.

The boy prince looked up to his older sister, eyes wet with tears and lower lip protruding in a pout, “No! You always win!” The beginnings of a tantrum began to bubble within the toddler, threatening to spill over and consume the entire room.

A handmaiden swiftly intervened, dabbing away Aegon’s tears as Maevys fiddled with her dragon. She was about to call her brother a “crybaby” when a knock echoed at the chamber door.

The woman left the three siblings once more to investigate the interruption. Aegon appeared calmer, only sniffling now as he looked to his sisters with wide purple eyes.

Maevys finally gave in, knowing she would earn herself a scolding if she did not make-up with her brother. “...M’sorry Aegon…” she mumbled, offering the little boy her toy dragon.

Aegon’s eyes lit up at that, hastily taking the dragon from her little hand.

Around them, Alicent’s ladies began to speak amongst themselves, seemingly abuzz by whatever the reason had been for the knock upon the door.

One of them, returning from her errand, gathered the children with gentle urgency. “Let’s go, children,” she said, lifting Helaena into her arms with practiced ease. “It’s time to meet your new brother.”

Aegon was on his feet in an instant, his previous discontentment replaced with eager enthusiasm. “Let’s go! Let’s go!” the prince exclaimed, dragging another servant by the hand as she insisted he slow down and wait for his sisters. The prince had been brimming with excitement ever since Alicent told her children they would soon have another little brother or sister. Aegon himself had made it known to anyone who would listen that he was hoping for a brother. He seemed to have his fill of sisters with Helaena, Maevys, and rare appearances from Rhaenyra.

Maevys rose to her feet, secretly pocketing the pale dragon that Aegon had discarded in his excitement. Growing impatient, her brother took one of her hand’s into his remaining free one and pulled her along to the door.

“Come on Mae!” he whined.

The little princess herself would be satisfied with either outcome of a younger brother or sister, so long as they would play with her. Aegon, her favored playmate, was not only imaginative but also unafraid to engage in rough-and-tumble games—something the other children at court were often discouraged from doing. Unbeknownst to Maevys, this was because the lords and ladies had gone out of their way to instruct the children to do so.

Now at 4 years old, Maevys was still a wisp of a child. Smaller than others her age, thinner even more so. The girl was known to be prone to bouts of the illness that followed her into this world, latching onto her as she was pulled from her mother. On several occasions, Maevys had been racing around the winding halls of the Red Keep with Aegon when she would feel a fluttering of her rapid heart. She would stop behind her brother, gasping for breath as her surroundings started to blur.

Other times, the princess would stroll through the castle gardens or the Godswood with her elder sister Rhaenyra, begging her to share stories that ranged from her days as a young princess to moments high in the sky atop Syrax. In the midst of reveling in her sister's memories, Maevys would feel a great wave of fatigue wash over her like heavy rainfall. Rhaenyra could feel Maevys slipping away from her then, and would look down to see the little girl crouched to the ground below, as though walking another step was too great a task. She would carry her sister back to her room, tucking her into bed and ordering her to rest. Oftentimes, Maevys could not even muster the strength to protest, and would drift off into a sleep filled with dreams where she could run and climb and play for as long as she pleased.

“Hurry!” Aegon exclaimed as the parade of Targaryen children, accompanied by their servants, descended down the corridor, with Aegon excitedly leading the charge.

“Prince Aegon, slow down!” A particularly weary looking handmaiden chided.

Her pleas did not slow the boy, who rounded a corner and flew down the flight of stairs leading to his mother’s chambers. Before anyone had the chance to stop him – or even keep up with him – Aegon threw open the door.

“Mummy!” the prince proclaimed, announcing their arrival.

Maevys followed behind, her excitement tempered by a quiet anticipation. Helaena, nestled securely in the arms of her attendant, looked around with wide, curious eyes.

Alicent Hightower lay in bed, a thin sheen of sweat gracing her forehead. Clad in a thin night shift and robe, her auburn hair was neatly woven into a loose braid. Maevys looked at the woman and noticed she looked quite exhausted, though she did not fully understand why.

Viserys was perched next to his wife, his gaze tender as he looked at the swath of cloth nestled in her arms. He looked up a moment to acknowledge Aegon, and then his eyes finally landed on Maevys, a smile breaking across his face.

Upon hearing a small cry, the princess’s attention was redirected to the swath of cloth that was nestled into the Queen’s arms.

Was that it? The baby?

“Come here children, come meet your brother.” The King ushered the siblings over with a wave of the hand.

Aegon, who didn’t need to be told twice, came running over to his mother’s bed. The little boy pushed himself atop the plush covers, crawling up next to Alicent.

“Careful, Aegon,” the Queen's voice was gentle, though tinged with fatigue. “Be gentle. This is Aemond.”

Helaena was placed beside Aegon, her violet eyes peering down with a mixture of wonder and curiosity. The sight of the tiny, sleeping babe seemed to capture the imagination of the two older siblings, who stared in silent awe.

“Aemond,” his brother echoed in a whisper, testing out the name for himself.

Maevys stayed rooted in her spot across the room, unsure if she was truly welcomed into the intimate moment. Aegon and Helaena were her brother and sister, but Alicent was not her mother.

The princess was only a girl of four, but she understood well enough that her true mother was gone – dead. She’d heard it in wistful whispers from her father, when he would tuck her into bed some nights and thinking she was asleep, whisper to a woman called, “Aemma.” When she wandered into her elder sister’s room, seeking solace from boredom, she would ask about this elusive woman. Rhaenyra’s eyes would momentarily cloud over, then clear as she spun tales of their mother’s gentle nature, a woman the princess had never known.

It was hard – being a motherless daughter.

“Come here, my girl.” The voice of her father roused Maevys from her position, small footsteps echoing off of the stone floor until she stopped at the foot of the bed.

Alicent looked over the girl with a surprising softness. Maevys had always been cautious around the Queen. Perceptive as she was, it was not lost on the child how rooms would grow chillier when Alicent and Rhaenyra found themselves in each other’s company. She wondered whether or not this attitude may extend to her, though it did little to separate her from Alicent’s children.

“It’s alright. Say hello, Maevys.” The Queen assured the child.

The princess bounded over to her father, who took her into his arms, granting her a better view of her new brother.

Peering down into the bundle of blankets, Maevys saw what looked to be a small pink doll, eyes closed and snuggled into the cloth. A light covering of white fluff graced the doll’s head.

“He looks..squishy. And funny.” Maevys said – it was all she could make of the babe.

Viserys chuckled at her discernment, “I’m afraid all babes look strange, my dear, when they are first born. Though soon, he will grow big enough to play with you. And Aegon and Helaena.” He added the last two names as though they were an afterthought.

Helaena clumsily climbed over her older brother, eager to get a closer look at the tiny, wrinkled bundle that had everyone’s attention. Aegon held onto his little sister as she leaned into their mother, the babe still in her arms. Helaena reached out and gave a small poke to the babe’s cheek before anyone had the chance to stop her.

“Helaena!” Aegon giggled, amused by his sister’s unabashed curiosity.

“Gentle, Helaena.” Alicent reminded her daughter. She observed as Aemond’s face scrunched up in surprise at the unexpected prod. The baby’s violet eyes blinked open, meeting Helaena’s gaze with a curious stare.

Helaena beamed at her little brother, her excitement barely contained.

“Is that Aemond’s egg?” Aegon outstretched a pointed finger to the hearth on the opposite side of the chamber. Nestled amongst the blazing coals lay a large dragon egg, covered in iridescent pale orange scales. Faint flickering flames danced across the surface of the egg beautifully, reflecting in the eyes of the Targaryen children.

Maevys could not help but be mesmerized at the sight. Maybe if she looked hard enough, she would be able to see under the hard outer shell and glimpse the little dragon cocooned inside, waiting to be awakened.

She felt her throat tighten at the thought and decided to push the nasty feeling away.

“Yes…” Viserys replied, rather cautiously. Aegon had been given a cradle egg, though it never hatched. Helaena had fallen to the same fate. And well, Maevys…she was never given an egg to begin with. And although Maevys’ siblings were as dragonless as her, they were afforded one thing she was not:

A chance to claim one in the future.

There were several riderless dragons, and countless unlaid eggs, waiting for Aegon and Helaena. But for his second born daughter, Viserys had forbidden her from ever claiming a dragon, insisting that she would always be too sick, frail, weak, delicate, and unwell, among other innumerable things, to ever dream of riding one. It was a decision that led the girl to shed enough tears over the years to fill Blackwater Bay.

Maevys felt small, almost weightless in his arms. He could practically feel her heartbeat against him, thumping away far too quickly.

A few more moments of shared wonderment over Aemond Targaryen persisted, with mother and children looking at the little one in quiet awe. But Maevys only watched the babe’s cradle now, picturing how the egg would look when placed inside.

A knock echoed through the room to disturb the peace, with a knight soon entering to deliver a curt announcement. “Princess Rhaenyra, Your Grace.” With a brief nod, the man exited, leaving the heir to the Iron Throne to step into the room.

Maevys' face brightened at the sight of her sister, but her joy was fleeting as she remembered the presence of the woman seated beside her.

Alicent however, seemed largely indifferent to the interruption, perhaps too exhausted to care.

“Father – Queen Alicent,” Rhaenyra gave a strained acknowledgement, “You summoned me? I heard the babe arrived.” She looked over at the bundle of cloth curiously.

“Yes, healthy and with ease.” Alicent assured through tight lips.

Maevys shifted around awkwardly in her father’s grasp.

“Well, come closer, Rhaenyra. Meet Aemond!” Viserys called, moving to meet his daughter halfway and guiding her to the bed.

The elder princess leaned over Alicent, casting her gaze on the newborn. The sight of the peaceful, sleeping babe slightly eased the furrow in her brow.

“A boy,” Rhaenyra breathed, an unknown expression to Maevys hidden in her features.

“Aemond.” Viserys recounted the babe’s name to his daughter.

She politely nodded. “Congratulations, Father. Alicent.”

“And…how are you feeling?” Her sister continued, addressing the Queen now.

“Oh – I am fine. Tired but…I am well. Thank you.” Alicent, seemingly taken aback by the sincere inquiry, stumbled to get her words out.

Rhaenyra nodded, “I am glad to hear it,” turning to her father, her gaze fell on Maevys, “I’ll take Maevys now, Father. We should leave you all to enjoy some privacy with little Aemond.”

“B-but, I want to play with Aemond!” Maevys protested.

“Yeah!” Aegon piped up from beside his mother.

Rhaenyra offered a small smile, “There will be time for that yet. Let’s let Queen Alicent rest now.”

Maevys looked to her father with wide eyes, but found no argument from him. She took another fleeting look at her new brother, warm and peaceful in his mother’s lap. The king deposited his youngest daughter onto the floor, leaving her to reluctantly come to Rhaenyra’s side.

The pouting princess waved goodbye to her siblings. A look of reserved appreciation came over Alicent’s face, “Thank you…Rhaenyra.” Her voice was soft.

Rhaenyra stiffly nodded and began her exit, Maevys following closely behind.

“Daughter,” Viserys called from behind them. Rhaenyra and Maevys both turned, unsure which of them he was referring to.

“I should like to meet with you this evening. We must begin discussing the particulars of your betrothal.” The man’s tone was measured, as it was not a question, but an order.

Alicent stiffened minutely at the exchange, focusing her attention to her newborn once more.

With another strained nod, Rhaenyra quickly took her leave with Maevys bringing up the rear.

Once out in the hallway, the two were closely followed by Ser Harwin Strong, Rhaenyra’s newly named shield. Maevys found his presence comforting enough, as did her sister, though she missed the constant shadow of Ser Criston Cole. The knight had shown her kindness, as she thought he had with Rhaenyra. When she tried to inquire about Cole’s sudden absence, Rhaenyra simply told her sister, “He now has responsibilities elsewhere.”

Maevys quietly observed her older sister as she struggled to keep in step with her pace. Rhaenyra seemed to be making a beeline for her chambers, and Maevys intended to weasel her way into them as well, now deprived of her prior company.

She had heard the word “betrothal” tossed around by their father often as of late, and every mention of the term produced a lingering frown from Rhaenyra.

“Nyra?” the little girl asked aloud. Her voice seemed to rouse Rhaenyra from her thoughts.

“Oh - yes, sweet girl?” The princess looked down to her sister.

“What is…betrothal?” She asked cautiously, tripping over her pronunciation of the unfamiliar word.

Rhaenyra pursed her lips. Ser Harwin cleared his throat from behind the two.

The three of them had finally reached the elder princess’ room before she spoke again. “Come inside Mae,” Rhaenyra held her door open as Maevys ran inside under her arm, grateful for the invitation. The little girl made herself comfortable at a table just inside the chamber, rummaging through one of the pockets of her dress to fish out the toy dragon she had taken.

Rhaenyra nodded to her knight, “Thank you, Ser Harwin.”

“Princess,” Harwin Strong replied gruffly, taking his leave.

The door shut behind Rhaenyra as Maevys trotted her wooden dragon across the length of the table. Her sister took the seat opposite of her, watching the little girl play with the toy, a faint smile gracing her face in the privacy of the room.

“You are quite fond of that dragon, sister. That little gray one.”

Maevys looked up, meeting her sister’s gaze. She absentmindedly hummed in agreement, continuing with her game, “I don’t have a real one…so I like playing with this one.” A hint of restrained sadness intertwined in the child’s words.

Rhaenyra frowned again. She couldn’t even argue with the girl – what she said rang true. It was a slight that gnawed at Maevys constantly. Her little sister would often ask to accompany Rhaenyra to the dragonpit, just to glimpse Syrax.

The elder princess decided to turn to other matters. “Do you remember Laenor – our cousin? He is the son of aunt Rhaenys.”

Maevys had met the young man once, though the memories of children were fickle. “I think so…” she trailed off, waving her dragon in the air.

Rhaenyra sucked in a breath of air, “I am to marry Laenor. That is what a betrothal is. It is what father speaks of.”

The little girl dropped her raised arm, “Oh.”

A funny feeling settled in her stomach. “So…you will leave?”

Rhaenyra’s head shot up, “What? Of course not.” She could not contain her chuckle, amused by her little sister’s concern over something she would never dream of doing to her.

She got up from her seat and planted herself next to Maevys, sitting the girl in her lap. “I would never leave you, understand?”

The little girl nodded, disregarding her toys and looking into her sister’s face.

“Though Laenor will be living here soon enough,” Rhaenyra ran a hand through her sister’s unruly hair, “After we are to wed.”

Maevys nodded and sat there a moment, mulling over her words. “Are you…happy?” She dared to ask. The princess thought marriage was to be a joyful thing, from what little her Septa had told her of it, but Rhaenyra did not seem pleased at all by the mere mention of it.

The elder girl felt a few tears threaten to slip from her sister’s innocent question. She should be happy – yes. That is what marriage was supposed to be. Yet, reality was far more complicated.

“I think…one day I will be.” Rhaenyra told her sister, choosing honesty over pretense. Maevys looked up at her sister, her young eyes reflecting confusion and concern, “Will Laenor be good to you?”

Rhaenyra smiled, a bittersweet expression. “He will be kind, I have no doubt.”

The little girl’s face brightened a little at the reassurance, and she hugged her sister tightly. “I don’t want you to be sad.”

“I’m not very sad, Mae,” Rhaenyra assured her, holding her sister close. “Change is a constant in this world. Yet, come what may, we will always have each other.”

Maevys nodded, feeling a little better, though not fully grasping the weight of her sister’s words. She picked up her wooden dragon again, feeling its weight in her small hand.

“What did you think of Aemond?” She asked Rhaenyra, wishing to move on to a lighter topic.

The elder girl exhaled a weary sigh. “I think…we now have another little brother.” It was a lackluster answer, though Rhaenyra could not fully articulate her feelings to the small girl. It was a strange and unsettling thing, to watch your father have children by another woman. Especially a woman who was your own age. Maevys seemed to embrace and love their new siblings with ease, a grace that Rhaenyra found elusive.

And in that, she envied the little girl for it:

Uncomplicated affection.

A/N: Apologies for the wait, i found this kind of challenging to write in all honesty. I wanted this chapter to focus on mae's relationships with her extremely dysfunctional family, how she perceives it from the eyes of a child, what changes have happened since she was born, and to explore her condition a lil bit more. next chapter will be another larger time skip, which i am looking forward to getting into. but no promises for how soon that will be out! …sorry hehe….

As always, thank you for reading and supporting <3

Tags: @marialikescherries @3-decades-strong

#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #targaryen oc #house of the dragon fanfiction

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