#fate servant sheets | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theonottsbxtch · 1 month ago

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FOR YOU, ALWAYS | CL16

an: this was a request! i loved wiritng it and now i love the idea of historical romance prince!charles, thank you for requesting it 💞 also i listened to experience by ludovico einaudi the entire time i wrote this

summary: charles has always hated his life, he thinks, he doesn’t know really. but then he meets someone, she challenges him, she makes him try and all of a sudden he knows what he wants.

wc: 12k

The grand dining hall of the Château de Monte Carlo was bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through its ornate windows. Prince Charles of Monaco sat at the long mahogany table, his jaw tight as his parents, the Sovereign Prince and Princess, laid out their expectations with the weight of unshakable certainty.

"You must understand, Charles," his mother said, her voice poised yet firm, "a union with Princess Evelyn of England is not merely desirable—it is necessary. The alliance could strengthen our position in ways you cannot yet fully grasp."

His father leaned forward, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the table. "This is not a matter of choice. You are the crown prince. Your duty outweighs any personal hesitation."

Charles’s fingers tightened around the stem of his untouched glass. “And what of my life? Am I to simply be a pawn in your political games?” His voice was calm, but a sharp edge lay beneath the surface.

His mother’s gaze softened slightly, though not enough to dissuade her resolve. “You are the oldest, my son. The weight of the crown has always been yours to bear. This... is part of that burden.”

He didn’t argue further, though every fibre of his being resisted. Instead, he rose, offering a clipped bow. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Moments later, Charles pushed open the heavy doors to his private chambers, stepping into the quiet sanctuary of his room. His temples throbbed with the remnants of the conversation, and he felt the weight of his parents’ expectations settling heavier than the crown he would one day wear.

Inside, the faint rustle of fabric caught his attention. The servant girl—her name unknown to him, as it was meant to be—was smoothing the fresh sheets over his bed. She froze upon seeing him, her hands faltering mid-motion.

“Your Highness,” she said quickly, dipping into a small, practised curtsey. “I didn’t realise you were returning so soon. Shall I leave and return later?”

He waved a hand absently, stepping toward the settee by the window. “No. Stay. Finish your work.”

She hesitated, her eyes flickering to his face, then back to the task at hand. He sank into the settee, his head tilting back against the carved wood as he let out a heavy sigh.

“Do you ever wonder,” he began, his voice soft yet tinged with frustration, “why some of us are given so much freedom, yet chained in ways that others cannot see?”

She paused, her hands gripping the edges of the linen she had just tucked in, unsure if the question was meant for her.

When she did not answer, he looked at her—truly looked at her—for the first time in a long while. Her expression was guarded, her posture poised, as though expecting reproach. “You can speak freely,” he said, a rare hint of gentleness colouring his tone.

Her lips parted slightly, then closed again before she carefully responded, “I think, Your Highness, that even those with freedom often long for something else.”

He smiled faintly, though there was no humour in it. “Something else,” he echoed, the words hanging between them like a challenge to a fate he could not escape.

She quickly turned her attention back to the task at hand, smoothing the sheets in swift, precise movements, as if afraid that lingering would invite trouble. Charles, however, was not done with the conversation.

“And what would you long for?” he asked, his voice quieter now but laced with curiosity. “If you could have… anything?”

Her hands stilled, though she didn’t lift her gaze. “It doesn’t matter, Your Highness. People like me don’t waste time with such thoughts.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The firmness in his tone made her look up briefly, her eyes meeting his for the first time. They were dark, unyielding, yet not unkind. She hesitated, as though weighing the consequences of speaking too openly.

Finally, she murmured, “I suppose… I’d long for choice. To decide my own path, no matter how humble.”

Charles leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he regarded her with an intensity that made her shift slightly under his gaze. “Choice,” he repeated, almost to himself. “The one thing I’ve never had.”

She blinked at his words, her brow furrowing in confusion. He noticed the look and gave a soft, bitter laugh.

“You think I have everything, don’t you?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the opulence surrounding them. “All this, and yet I’m to marry a woman I’ve never met. Smile on command. Produce heirs like some stud horse for the dynasty.”

“Your Highness—”

“Spare me,” he interrupted, raising a hand. “I’m aware I sound insufferable. Poor me, the prince in his gilded cage.”

The corners of her mouth twitched, the faintest shadow of a smile threatening to appear, though she suppressed it quickly. “I wouldn’t dare say so, Your Highness.”

“And yet you’re thinking it,” he said, leaning back against the settee, a faint smirk tugging at his lips now. “Go on. You’ve already said more than most would dare. Speak freely.”

She hesitated, then, emboldened by his unusual mood, offered carefully, “I think… it’s easier to envy a cage when it’s lined with silk.”

Charles let out a bark of laughter, surprising them both. For a moment, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, replaced by something lighter.

“Touché,” he said, shaking his head. “Perhaps I deserve that.”

She resumed her work in silence, and he watched her, his mind turning over her words. There was a simplicity in her presence, a quiet sense of purpose that felt like a reprieve from the endless demands of court life.

As she moved to leave, her task completed, she paused by the door. “Your Highness,” she said, her voice tentative.

He glanced up, his expression expectant.

“Sometimes… cages are only as strong as we believe them to be.”

Before he could respond, she slipped out, leaving him alone with his thoughts—and the echo of her words, which refused to leave him in peace.

The words haunted Charles for days. Cages are only as strong as we believe them to be. They played on a loop in his mind, following him from morning meetings with ministers to the hollow dinners with his parents, where talk of his engagement to Princess Evelyn consumed every conversation.

By the third day, he relented. Not to the sentiment behind her words, but to the reality of his life. Duty, it seemed, would always triumph over desire. He formally agreed to the arrangement in a cold meeting with his father, his voice devoid of emotion as he signed the papers that would announce his betrothal to the world.

That evening, restless and seeking solace, he ventured into the royal gardens. The roses were in full bloom, their scent heavy in the warm air, yet they brought him no comfort. The paths, so meticulously maintained, felt as constricting as the marble walls of the palace.

The crisp evening air offered a solace the grand halls could not. He strolled along the manicured paths, his mind still heavy with the decision he had made, when movement near the servant’s entrance caught his eye.

It was her.

She was dressed simply, carrying a basket as she slipped through the narrow door at the edge of the palace walls. For a moment, he simply watched her, a sudden curiosity flaring to life. Then, before reason could temper him, he followed.

She moved with purpose, her steps quick as she crossed the gravel path leading to the servants’ gate. Charles kept his distance, careful to stay within the shadows. The sound of the gate creaking open carried through the still night, and he quickened his pace.

“Wait,” he called softly as the gate began to swing shut behind her.

She spun, startled, her hand flying to her chest when she saw him. “Your Highness!” she whispered, her tone panicked. She glanced around quickly, as though expecting someone to appear from the darkness. “What are you doing out here?”

“I saw you,” he said simply, his voice low, “and I followed.”

Her expression shifted from shock to alarm. “You shouldn’t have. If anyone sees you out here with me—”

“They won’t,” he said firmly, stepping closer.

“But if they do…” Her voice dropped further, almost a plea. “I’ll be dismissed—worse. Do you know what they’d do to me for leaving the palace grounds with the prince?”

He stared at her, and for the first time in days, he felt a flicker of something other than despair. “Please,” he said, the word escaping him softly but with undeniable weight.

Her eyes widened at his uncharacteristic vulnerability. She shook her head, taking a step back. “No. I can’t. I won’t.”

“I’m not ordering you,” he said quickly. “I’m asking.”

For a moment, she stood frozen, her mind clearly racing. Then, with a frustrated sigh, she pulled the cloak from her shoulders and thrust it toward him.

“Fine,” she said, her tone sharp but her movements careful as she draped it around him. “If anyone asks, you’re my cousin visiting from the countryside. Keep your head down and your mouth shut.”

Charles nodded, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Understood.”

She turned and began walking quickly down the narrow dirt path beyond the gate. He followed, cloaked in her simple, worn garment, the scent of lavender lingering faintly in the fabric.

They walked in silence for what felt like an eternity before the lights of a small village came into view. She turned onto a side lane, leading him to a tiny house at the edge of town, its thatched roof weathered but charming.

“This is it,” she said, her voice clipped as she gestured to the modest dwelling.

He stared at the house, a stark contrast to the palace he called home. “You live here?”

“Yes,” she said, clearly defensive. “It’s small, but it’s mine. No one tells me what to do when I’m here.”

He didn’t respond, too busy taking in the details: the flower boxes beneath the windows, the faint glow of a single candle in the window.

“Now you’ve seen it,” she said, her tone impatient. “You should go back before someone notices you’re missing.”

But Charles shook his head. “No,” he said softly, his eyes still fixed on the little house. “Not yet.”

Her brow furrowed as she crossed her arms. “You shouldn’t have come in the first place.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted, finally looking at her. “But now that I’m here… I can’t imagine wanting to leave.”

She stared at him, her expression unreadable. The quiet stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, she sighed again, softer this time.

“Fine,” she said, stepping toward the door. “But if anyone asks, I don’t know why you’re here, and I definitely didn’t bring you.”

She pushed the door open, stepping inside with a cautious glance behind her. Charles followed, ducking slightly to avoid the low wooden beam over the doorway. Before she could say a word, a voice called from inside.

“Back already? I thought you—”

The voice cut off as a man, younger than Charles but older than the servant girl, appeared from the far corner of the small room. He froze, his sharp blue eyes flicking between her and the prince. “What in God’s name…”

“Damn it!” she hissed, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I thought you were working the late shift at the docks tonight!”

“I was,” her brother said, stepping forward and squaring his shoulders. His rough shirt and patched trousers bore the telltale marks of dock work—salt stains and grime clung to the fabric. “But the shipment was cancelled. Now you tell me why the bloody prince of Monaco is in our house. Did you kidnap him?”

“Kidnap him?” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “Don’t be ridiculous. He followed me!”

Charles, for his part, seemed utterly unconcerned by the commotion. His gaze wandered over the small room with childlike fascination, taking in the chipped table, the cracked ceramic plates stacked neatly in the corner, and the patchwork curtain separating the single sleeping area. He paused to admire a string of dried herbs hanging near the hearth, as though he’d never seen anything so fascinating.

“Your Highness,” the brother said, stepping in front of him with an awkward, hesitant bow. “I mean no disrespect, but do you… do you need me to call someone? Or are you in danger?” He looked over his shoulder at his sister. “Are we in danger?”

“No one is in danger,” Charles replied, his voice calm. He turned to her brother with a polite nod. “Thank you for your concern. I’m here of my own accord.”

The girl pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. Meanwhile, Charles’ eyes landed on a wooden crate near the wall, and before either sibling could stop him, he lowered himself onto it. The crate creaked but held, and he leaned back with a sigh, a serene smile spreading across his face.

The girl spun on him, her exasperation bubbling over. “What are you smiling about?”

He looked up at her, his expression earnest, almost boyish. “It’s beautiful.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Here,” he said, gesturing around the room. “It’s so cosy. Everything has its place. It’s warm, lived-in… peaceful.”

Her brother raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical. “You call this beautiful? Your palace is five hundred times the size, and you think this is—”

“I know what my palace is,” Charles interrupted, though his tone held no irritation. “Cold. Grand. Silent. This… this feels alive.”

She crossed her arms, her brow furrowing as she stared at him. For a moment, she didn’t know whether to laugh or scold him. “It’s a shack,” she said finally, her voice softer but still tinged with disbelief.

“Maybe,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “But it’s your shack. And it’s more honest than anything I’ve ever known.”

Her brother exchanged a glance with her, his expression suggesting that he thought the prince might have lost his mind. She only shook her head, sighing heavily as she walked to the table and placed her basket down.

“This is a mistake,” she muttered to herself.

“Perhaps,” Charles said, still smiling, “but it’s the best mistake I’ve made in a long time.”

She busied herself unpacking the basket, placing a few withered carrots, a handful of potatoes, and some crusty bread onto the table. Her brother leaned against the wall, arms crossed, still watching Charles with wary eyes.

“If you’re staying, Your Highness,” she said, her tone clipped as she focused on the food, “I hope you don’t mind scraps.” She hesitated, then glanced at him. “And you can’t tell anyone at the palace that I take the extras. They’d—”

“Dismiss you,” Charles finished, his voice soft. “I won’t tell. You have my word.”

She gave a small nod, her shoulders relaxing slightly, and began peeling the potatoes. Her hands moved deftly, her brother stepping in to fetch water from the small barrel near the door. Charles sat quietly on his makeshift chair, watching the two of them work in a rhythm.

“Do you need help?” he asked after a moment.

Her brother let out a short laugh, but she only shook her head without looking up. “No, Your Highness, but thank you for the offer. I imagine peeling potatoes is beneath you.”

“Not everything is beneath me,” he replied, and while his voice was carrying a hint of dry humour, there was some seriousness to it.

She didn’t respond, but a faint smile tugged at her lips as she chopped the vegetables and tossed them into a battered pot over the small fire. Soon, the room filled with the simple, comforting aroma of soup.

When the meal was ready, she placed three mismatched bowls on the table and ladled out the steaming broth. She set one in front of Charles without ceremony, then handed one to her brother before sitting down herself.

Charles took a tentative sip, and his eyes widened slightly. “This is excellent.”

Her brother snorted. “It’s boiled scraps, mate. You must really have it rough if you think this is fine dining.”

“Max,” she warned, shooting her brother a glare.

Charles chuckled, dipping a chunk of the crusty bread into the soup. “Maybe it’s not fine dining,” he admitted, “but it tastes real. Honest.”

Her brother rolled his eyes but said nothing more, focusing on his meal. The three of them ate in relative silence, the tension in the room easing slightly as the warmth of the food spread through them.

When the bowls were empty, she cleared the table, stacking the dishes neatly on a small shelf. Charles leaned back, his contented smile returning as he watched her move about the room.

“You should go,” she said finally, her voice breaking the quiet. She didn’t turn to face him.

His smile faltered. “I don’t want to.”

Her hands paused for a moment before she resumed tidying the table. “You’ve seen what you wanted to see. This is my life. And you… you have your own life waiting for you back there.”

Charles stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. “I suppose you’re right,” he said softly.

She walked toward the door, not meeting his eyes as she grabbed her cloak and gestured for him to follow. Her brother gave Charles a long, unreadable look as he rose to leave, but he said nothing, only shaking his head as the prince ducked back out into the cool night air.

They walked in silence down the dirt path, the lights of the palace glowing faintly in the distance. When they reached the servants’ gate, she stopped and turned to him, keeping her eyes on the ground.

“This is where we part ways,” she said firmly.

He took a step closer, and when she looked up, she saw something in his expression—gratitude, yes, but something deeper, too. Without a word, he reached for her hand, his touch gentle. He held it for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over her calloused fingers.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity. “For the soup. For everything.”

Before she could respond, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. The gesture was brief, but it sent a wave of warmth up her arm, leaving her stunned.

He stepped back, releasing her hand, and gave her one last look before slipping through the gate and disappearing into the shadows.

She stood there for a long time, staring at the empty path, her heart racing for reasons she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—name.

The next few days at the palace dragged on in a monotonous blur for Charles. His mornings were filled with tiresome meetings about the engagement, his afternoons with rigid etiquette lessons to prepare for public appearances with Princess Evelyn. Every second felt like a tightening noose around his neck.

Finally, the day came for him to meet her. Princess Evelyn of England arrived with her entourage in an ornate carriage, her entrance every bit as grand as expected. She was perfectly polite, perfectly poised—and, to Charles, perfectly insipid.

They sat across from each other in one of the palace’s many drawing rooms, chaperoned by a small battalion of attendants and his ever-watchful parents. She spoke at length about her family lineage, her charity work, and her plans to modernise court life, but her words washed over him like a stream of lukewarm water.

When it was his turn to speak, he managed only the barest pleasantries. He was certain she noticed his lack of enthusiasm, but if it bothered her, she gave no indication.

By the end of the meeting, he felt more drained than he had in years. As she curtsied and left the room, he caught his mother’s pointed glare, but he ignored it.

Before she could say anything to him, he glanced at the ornate clock on his wall. It was nearly the same time as the day she would be fluffing the pillows on his settee. A peculiar sense of anticipation stirred in his chest.

Without a second thought, he made his way to his bedroom. As he opened the door, his eyes immediately fell on her.

She was there, as if summoned by some unspoken wish. She was standing by the settee, her back to him as she carefully fluffed the pillows. Her movements were deliberate, methodical, and entirely unlike the flurry of maids bustling about elsewhere in the palace.

A slow smile spread across his face.

“Perfect timing,” he said loudly, causing her to jump slightly.

She turned, clutching the pillow to her chest. “Your Highness!” she said, startled. “I— I can come back later if—”

“Don’t bother,” he interrupted dramatically, throwing himself onto the bed with a theatrical sigh.

She froze, unsure whether to be amused or annoyed, as he sprawled across the silk covers, one arm flung over his face.

“Let me tell you about the most dreadful afternoon of my life,” he groaned.

Her brow furrowed as she set the pillow back in place. “The dreadful afternoon where you met the woman you’re going to marry?”

“Precisely,” he said, sitting up slightly to gesture at her. “You understand my plight already.”

“I understand you’re being ridiculous,” she replied, smoothing the cushions on the settee.

“Ridiculous?!” he exclaimed, placing a hand over his heart. “Do you know what she said when I asked her about her favourite pastime?”

“I don’t,” she said flatly, clearly trying to stay focused on her task.

“She said,” he continued, his voice dripping with mock enthusiasm, “Oh, I do adore embroidery. There’s something so meditative about it.”

She stared at him. “That… doesn’t sound terrible.”

He sat up fully now, gesturing emphatically. “Doesn’t sound terrible? It’s horrific! What am I to do with someone who finds stitching flowers onto fabric the height of excitement?”

“You could try embroidery yourself,” she suggested dryly, unable to resist a small smirk.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Very funny. No, what I need is someone who… who challenges me. Someone with fire.”

She arched an eyebrow but said nothing, turning back to the pillows.

“Instead,” he muttered, flopping back onto the bed, “I’m shackled to a walking lesson in decorum.”

The room fell silent for a moment, save for the soft rustle of fabric as she adjusted the settee. Finally, she turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable.

“Maybe,” she said carefully, “you should spend less time thinking about what you don’t like about her and more time figuring out what you’re looking for.”

Charles opened one eye to glance at her. “And if what I’m looking for isn’t an option?”

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. Then, she shook her head and turned back to her work.

“Then you make do,” she said simply.

He watched her for a long moment, his chest tightening inexplicably.

“Is that what you do?” he asked softly.

She paused but didn’t turn around. “Every day, Your Highness.”

Without another word, she grabbed her items and walked out, softly closing the door behind her.

Charles had barely settled back on the bed, still pondering her cryptic answer, when the door to his chambers burst open.

His younger brother, Arthur, strode in, his golden hair slightly dishevelled and a boyish grin plastered across his face. “Charles! I just saw her—the princess of England. She’s… stunning. Gorgeous. A masterpiece, really. You lucky bastard.”

Charles groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Arthur, must you always barge in uninvited?”

Arthur ignored him, plopping himself unceremoniously into one of the velvet chairs near the fireplace. “I mean it. If I were you, I’d have proposed on the spot. Did you see her eyes? Like polished emeralds.”

“She’s… fine,” Charles muttered, his tone flat.

“Fine?” Arthur’s voice rose in mock indignation. “Brother, I’d trade places with you in an instant.” He leaned forward, his grin widening. “What is it? Not enough excitement for you? Too… proper?”

Charles sat up, his expression exasperated. “If you find her so attractive, Arthur, marry her yourself.”

Arthur laughed, clearly amused by the suggestion. “Oh, if only it worked that way. But alas, you are the crown prince. The heir. The one who gets the girl and the throne, while I’m left to look charming at parties.”

Charles shook his head, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He couldn’t help but wonder how different his life might be if the roles were reversed. Could Arthur really be happy living a life of obligation, of gilded cages and loveless arrangements?

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to the servant girl. Her small house, her laughter with her brother over bowls of soup, the way she moved through life with an independence he’d never known.

“What would it be like,” he murmured, almost to himself, “to marry someone who isn’t royalty? Someone who isn’t bound by these ridiculous rules?”

Arthur blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. Then he laughed, loud and incredulous. “Are you out of your mind?”

Charles turned his head sharply, fixing his brother with a challenging look. “I’m serious. What would it be like to marry a commoner? To live a life free of all this… pomp and pretence?”

Arthur’s laughter faded, replaced by a look of disbelief. “You are mad. Do you have any idea what that would mean? The scandal? The uproar? Father would have a fit. Mother would faint on the spot. And the people? They’d riot.”

“Would they?” Charles asked, his tone calm but insistent. “Or would they understand? Would they respect a prince who chose love over duty?”

Arthur shook his head, a faint sneer creeping into his expression. “You don’t know what you’re saying. A prince doesn’t marry a milkmaid or a seamstress. It’s not a fairytale, Charles. We’re not… like them.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp.

“Not like them,” Charles repeated softly, his voice carrying a hint of disdain. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Arthur hesitated, then shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. “It means we have a responsibility. A legacy to uphold. Marrying into royalty isn’t just tradition—it’s survival. You think Father and Mother arranged your engagement for fun?”

Charles didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back against the headboard, his mind churning. Arthur’s words grated against something deep within him, something that longed to push back against the boundaries of their carefully constructed world.

“Maybe,” he said finally, his voice low, “the legacy isn’t worth the cost.”

Arthur stared at him, his disbelief giving way to concern. “Charles… you’ve been spending too much time alone. Or worse—reading poetry again. Get your head out of the clouds, brother. This is your life. Learn to accept it.”

With that, Arthur rose, clapping Charles on the shoulder before striding toward the door. “And if you won’t,” he added with a grin, “I’ll gladly keep the princess company. You’re a fool not to appreciate her.”

The door closed behind him, leaving Charles alone in the echoing silence of his chambers.

But his mind wasn’t silent.

It churned, restless and defiant, filled with images of a life he might never know.

The chill of the autumn night bit at Charles’s skin as he hurried along the winding path toward the small house. A week had passed, and though he told himself repeatedly that it was improper—foolish, even—he couldn’t shake the gnawing thought of her.

He hadn’t seen her since their last conversation in his chambers. Every day without her had stretched longer than the last. No wry comments while she smoothed the wrinkles from his sheets, no gentle jabs at his dramatics.

The house appeared before him, small and humble against the starlit sky. Light peeked through the cracks in the shutters.

He hesitated, his heart pounding. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he knocked.

The door opened a crack, her face appearing in the dim light. The moment she recognised him, her eyes widened in alarm, and she yanked him inside, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Your Highness!” she whispered fiercely, pressing her back against the door as though to block the outside world. “Are you out of your mind? I’ll be hung if they find you at my door!”

He tried to smile, though he knew she was right. “I haven’t seen you all week.”

Her expression turned exasperated. “That’s not a valid reason to sneak out of the palace, Prince Charles.”

“Isn’t it?” he countered lightly, though the heat rising in his cheeks betrayed the truth of how much he’d missed her.

Her sigh was heavy with frustration, but something softened in her gaze. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said again, though her voice lacked its earlier sharpness. She moved away from the door, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders.

It was then that he noticed the redness around her nose, the slight rasp in her voice.

“You’ve been ill,” he said, stepping closer.

“It’s nothing,” she replied, waving him off as she moved toward the small kitchen space. “A cold. Happens every year when the weather turns. I’ll survive.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he said quietly, glancing around the room.

“Life doesn’t wait for the sniffles,” she said with a faint smirk, though her movements were slower than usual as she reached for a bowl.

“Then let me help,” he said, surprising both of them.

She turned, raising an eyebrow. “You? Help? What do you know about cooking?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he admitted, grinning. “But I’m an excellent student.”

She stared at him for a moment, as though deciding whether to humour him. Finally, she handed him a knife and motioned toward a small pile of vegetables. “Fine. Peel those. Try not to cut yourself.”

He took the knife gingerly, studying the carrot as if it were a puzzle. She chuckled softly, the sound warming the small space, and stepped beside him to show him the proper angle for peeling.

The next hour passed in a flurry of quiet laughter and careful instructions. He fumbled with the knife, his first attempts earning teasing remarks from her, but he improved quickly under her guidance. Together, they chopped, stirred, and seasoned until the small pot on the stove began to bubble with a fragrant stew.

As they worked, the conversation drifted.

“You’re better at this than I expected,” she said, handing him a spoon to stir.

He smiled. “Careful. If you keep complimenting me, I might come back for more lessons.”

She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Cooking isn’t glamorous work, Your Highness. It’s just… survival.”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone thoughtful, “but there’s something… grounding about it. It feels real.”

She looked at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “You really hate that palace life, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away, instead focusing on the steady motion of the spoon in the pot. “I don’t hate it,” he said eventually. “It’s just… hollow. Every decision is made for me. Every word is calculated. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be in all of it.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze distant. “You’re lucky, though,” she said softly. “Even if it’s hollow, you have a place. A name. People like me… we’re just the shadows keeping the fire alive.”

He stopped stirring, her words settling heavily in the space between them. “I don’t think that’s true,” he said after a moment.

She tilted her head, her expression sceptical. “No?”

“No,” he said firmly. “You’re more than that. You’re clever. Strong. Independent. You see things I never could.”

She blinked, taken aback by the conviction in his voice.

“That’s what I like about you,” he added softly, almost without thinking.

The words hung in the air, and he froze, realising too late what he’d said.

Her cheeks flushed a deep pink, and she turned away quickly, pretending to adjust the pot on the stove.

His own face burned as he fumbled for something to say, but nothing came. The silence stretched on, heavy and charged, until she finally spoke, her voice quieter than before.

“You should taste the stew,” she said, not looking at him.

He stepped forward, dipping the spoon into the pot and taking a tentative sip.

“It’s perfect,” he said, his voice softer now.

Her lips curved into the faintest smile, though she still didn’t meet his gaze.

The evening deepened, the chill of the autumn air seeping through the thin walls of the small house. Charles noticed her slight shiver as she ladled the stew into two mismatched bowls, the threadbare shawl around her shoulders doing little to shield her from the cold.

He stood abruptly, unfastening the clasp of his heavy cloak. She turned to look at him, startled, as he stepped behind her and draped it gently over her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she asked, pulling the thick fabric around herself instinctively.

“You’re cold,” he said simply, sitting back down and picking up his bowl.

She hesitated, looking at him with a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. “But you’ll freeze without it.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied with a small smile. “I’ve survived colder nights, army and all of that.”

The warmth of the cloak seemed to envelop her, and she relaxed slightly, sitting down across from him. For a moment, they ate in silence, the quiet clinking of their spoons the only sound.

When their bowls were empty, Charles glanced around the modest room, noticing for the first time the lack of a hearthfire.

“Do you light a fire at night?” he asked, though he already suspected the answer.

She shook her head. “Can’t afford firewood,” she said matter-of-factly, collecting their bowls. “It’s not so bad. We manage.”

“Oh,” was all he managed to say, though the thought of her and her brother enduring nights in such cold unsettled him deeply.

She didn’t seem to notice his reaction, busying herself with tidying up.

Later, as he prepared to leave, she hesitated by the door, holding his cloak out to him.

“Take this back,” she said softly.

He pushed her hand gently back toward her. “Keep it,” he insisted. “For tonight.”

She opened her mouth to argue but stopped, the words faltering. Finally, she nodded, her fingers tightening around the fabric.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

He smiled at her one last time before stepping out into the night, the chill biting at him instantly as he made his way back to the palace.

She played with the royal clasp of his cloak as he left and wondered what her life would be like if she wasn’t just a servant and he wasn’t the Crown Prince of Monaco.

No less than a few days later, her brother barged into the small house, his footsteps heavy against the creaking floorboards.

“Why,” he began, his voice loud and incredulous, “is there months’ worth of firewood outside the house?”

She looked up from where she was patching a worn-out scarf, distracted. “What are you talking about?”

“The firewood,” he repeated, gesturing wildly toward the door. “There’s a mountain of it, just sitting there! Did you rob a lumberyard?”

She frowned, setting down her work and walking to the door. When she stepped outside, her eyes widened at the sight of the neatly stacked pile of firewood by the side of the house.

“I… I don’t know,” she stammered, completely bewildered.

It was then that she noticed a small slip of paper tucked into the top of the stack. Pulling it free, she unfolded it to reveal a note written in a familiar, elegant hand.

Keep warm – C

Her cheeks flushed, and a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

Her brother leaned over her shoulder, reading the note. “C?” he asked suspiciously. “Who’s C?”

She folded the note quickly, tucking it into her apron pocket. “No one,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

Her brother narrowed his eyes but didn’t press further, shaking his head as he muttered something about princes and their peculiarities.

She was fluffing the pillows on the freshly made bed when the door to the prince’s chambers swung open. Charles strode in, his expression lighting up the moment he saw her. Without hesitation, he leapt onto the bed, landing with a dramatic bounce that sent a pillow tumbling to the floor.

“You’re back!” he exclaimed, grinning. “And you’re better!”

“And you just ruined the bed I made.” she chided but then moved on to adjusting a vase on the side table. “Well I must say, a lit fire at night changes a whole lot.”

He froze for a fraction of a second, then sat up, feigning ignorance with an exaggerated shrug. “Oh? A fire, you say? That’s… good to hear. Fires are quite helpful, I’m told.”

Her smirk widened. “I’m sure someone told you that.”

“Perhaps,” he said, swinging his legs off the bed and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But we’re not here to discuss firewood logistics, are we?”

She rolled her eyes, walking around the room to dust the mantel. “Then what would you like to discuss, Your Highness?”

He sighed heavily, flopping back onto the bed and throwing an arm over his face. “The princess of England.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing over at him. “Oh?”

“I have to meet her again,” he groaned. “Another tea, another tedious conversation about fabrics or her needlework or some other mind-numbing topic. I swear, I’d rather duel blindfolded than sit through it.”

She snorted, biting back a laugh. “Blindfolded? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“No,” he said, peeking at her from under his arm. “It’s perfectly reasonable.”

“Of course it is,” she said, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Because what’s more reasonable than a prince skewering himself just to avoid small talk?”

He sat up, clutching his chest theatrically. “You wound me, madam. Truly, your lack of sympathy is cruel.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, shaking her head as she set the duster aside. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he replied, grinning.

She turned back to the mantel, but when the silence stretched, she glanced over her shoulder. He was watching her, his expression soft, his eyes warm and intent.

Her brow furrowed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He blinked, snapping out of his reverie, and quickly looked away, running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t looking at you.”

“You absolutely were,” she said, crossing her arms and giving him a suspicious look.

“No, I was… thinking,” he said, his voice a touch too casual.

She arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Thinking about what?”

“About…” He scrambled for an answer, then pointed toward the bed. “About how well you made this bed. Truly impressive. Best I’ve ever seen.”

She rolled her eyes again, but a faint blush crept into her cheeks. “Right,” she said, picking up her duster. “Well, I’ll leave you to your very important thinking, then.”

He watched her go, his chest tightening as the door clicked softly shut behind her.

Over the next few days, Charles found himself increasingly distracted. Whether strolling through the palace gardens or enduring another tiresome tea with the princess, his thoughts invariably drifted to her. The way her wit kept him on his toes. The quiet determination in her movements. The occasional flicker of softness beneath her sharp remarks.

It was maddening.

When he was near her, he found excuses to linger. When she wasn’t around, he searched for her without realising it. And as much as he tried to push the growing ache in his chest aside, he couldn’t deny what was happening.

He’d fallen for her.

It was late afternoon when he returned to his chambers after a gruelling diplomatic meeting. To his delight, she was there, dusting the intricate carvings on the wooden frame of his bed. She didn’t notice him enter, humming softly to herself as she worked.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, watching her for a moment before clearing his throat.

She jumped, spinning around to face him, clutching her duster like a weapon. “Do you have to sneak up on me?”

“It’s my room,” he said, smirking. “I can hardly sneak into my own space.”

She scowled, turning back to her work. “You’re insufferable.”

“So you’ve said,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “But you keep coming back. Perhaps I’m growing on you.”

“I come back because it’s my job,” she retorted, moving to dust a nearby shelf.

He followed her, leaning lazily against the furniture. “A job you seem to excel at. Though I wonder… do you enjoy tormenting me as much as I enjoy tormenting you?”

She shot him a sharp glance, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Someone has to keep your ego in check, Your Highness.”

He chuckled, reaching out to pluck the duster from her hand. “You do it so well,” he murmured, his voice low.

Her breath hitched slightly as he leaned closer, her eyes darting to his before flicking away. “You should stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” he asked, his voice soft and teasing as he leaned closer still, his face mere inches from hers.

“Whatever it is you’re doing,” she said, stepping back slightly, only to find herself against the edge of the shelf.

The tension in the air was palpable, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His gaze was locked on hers, and for a moment, the world outside the room seemed to vanish.

A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

“Charles?” his brother’s voice called from the hallway.

Panic flared in her eyes, and Charles acted on instinct, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward the large wardrobe at the side of the room.

“What are you—” she began, but he pressed a finger to her lips as he opened the wardrobe door and ushered her inside.

The space was small, barely enough for the two of them. She pressed herself against the back wall as he stepped in, closing the door behind them.

The darkness was absolute, and the only sound was the quiet shuffle of their breaths.

“Stay quiet,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.

A beat passed, and she whispered back, her voice laced with frustration, “If we get caught, it’ll be my neck, not yours.”

“No one’s getting caught,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

In the confined space, his hand brushed against hers, and he froze. Slowly, almost hesitantly, his fingers moved to her face. His touch was light, tentative, as though he feared she might vanish at any moment.

His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, brushing against her skin with agonising slowness. Her breath hitched, and in the silence, it felt deafening.

“Why are you…” she began, but her voice faltered as his fingers brushed the line of her jaw, lingering there for a moment before sliding to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“You’re too close,” she replied, though her tone lacked conviction.

The faintest smile curved his lips, though she couldn’t see it in the dark. “You’re not stopping me,” he said softly.

Before she could respond, his brother’s voice echoed from the other side of the room. “Charles, where are you?”

He leaned closer, his forehead nearly brushing hers. “Stay still,” he murmured, his hand still cradling her cheek.

She closed her eyes, the tension in the small space suffocating and electric all at once.

Footsteps receded as his brother left the room, grumbling something about missing him.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, Charles let out a slow breath, his hand dropping from her face. He opened the wardrobe door slightly, letting in the dim light of the room.

“Safe,” he said quietly, stepping back to let her out.

She stepped past him, her cheeks flushed and her breaths uneven. “You’re reckless,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze as she hurried to gather her duster.

He smirked, leaning against the wardrobe door. “And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

She shot him a glare over her shoulder, but the pink in her cheeks betrayed her.

“Get back to work, Your Highness,” she said, her tone sharp but her voice unsteady.

He chuckled softly, watching her go.

The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Charles’s chambers, painting golden streaks across the plush rug. She was there again, this time at his desk, meticulously polishing the brass handles of the drawers. She worked with the same quiet efficiency she always did, her movements steady, purposeful.

Charles, reclining lazily on the settee, had been pretending to read a book for the past ten minutes. In truth, he’d barely turned a page. His attention was drawn, as it so often was these days, to her.

He cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “Have you ever taken a moment to rest?”

She glanced at him briefly before returning to her task. “I rest when my work is done.”

“And when is it done?” he pressed, setting the book down and rising to his feet.

She didn’t answer immediately, her focus still on the brass handle in her hand. “When your chambers sparkle, Your Highness.”

He chuckled, stepping closer. “It already sparkles. You’ve polished this desk so many times I can see my reflection.”

She huffed softly, clearly unimpressed. “There’s still dust.”

He reached out, his hand gently brushing hers as she gripped the cloth. She stilled, her breath catching as his fingers lingered over hers.

“You’re relentless,” he murmured, his voice low.

Her eyes flicked to his, wide and uncertain. “And you’re in my way.”

He smiled, his expression teasing but his gaze intent. “I’m rarely in anyone’s way. It’s a novelty.”

She tried to step back, but he moved with her, closing the distance between them. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Observing,” he said, his voice soft, warm, as if he were sharing a secret. “You’re endlessly fascinating to watch, you know.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, but he reached out, gently tilting her chin so she’d meet his eyes again.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said, her voice shaky.

“Why not?”

“Because…” She faltered, her lips parting as she searched for words. “Because you shouldn’t.”

He leaned in slightly, his hand still holding her chin. The air between them was heavy, charged with something neither of them dared name.

“You’re trembling again,” he said softly, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest of smiles.

“I’m not,” she said quickly, but her voice betrayed her.

“You are,” he whispered, his thumb brushing her jaw in the lightest of touches.

Her breath hitched, and her hands tightened around the cloth she still held. “This is dangerous,” she managed, though her tone was weak.

“For you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Or for me?”

She couldn’t answer, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

His hand moved, the backs of his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek, then down to her neck, where his thumb rested lightly against her pulse. He felt it hammering beneath his touch and smiled softly, almost as if he were marvelling at it.

“You feel it too,” he said, his voice low and intimate, as if the world beyond this moment didn’t exist.

She swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she finally pushed lightly at his chest. “You… need to stop.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his gaze locked on hers. Then, slowly, he stepped back, though the tension in the air lingered like a storm about to break.

She turned away quickly, grabbing her cloth and pretending to busy herself with the desk again, though her hands shook so much she nearly dropped it.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice stopping her in her tracks.

She didn’t turn back to him, but she nodded slightly, her voice quiet. “Don’t do it again.”

But neither of them believed that.

That night the crackle of the fire in the grand drawing room filled the silence as Charles poured himself another glass of brandy. His younger brother lounged in the chair across from him, a glass already in hand.

“You’ve been distracted lately,” Arthur said, swirling his drink. “Even more so than usual.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. “Have I?”

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “You spent half of tea with the English delegation yesterday staring at the window. I’m pretty sure they could have declared war, and you wouldn’t have noticed.”

Charles chuckled, though it lacked his usual mirth. He stared into his glass, the amber liquid catching the firelight.

“Arthur,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

His brother tilted his head, curious. “What?”

“What would you think of… being the next heir to the throne?”

Arthur blinked, then laughed, loud and incredulous. “What, you’re not planning on dying anytime soon, are you?”

“No,” Charles said, shaking his head, his lips twitching into a faint smile.

Arthur leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Then why would you ask that?”

Charles swirled his drink, his gaze distant. “Just… wondering.”

Arthur snorted, leaning back again. “Abdicating is social suicide. If you’re even entertaining the thought, I’d advise you to stop immediately.”

Charles stayed silent, his thumb brushing idly along the rim of his glass.

The quiet stretched, and Arthur froze mid-drink, lowering his glass to the table with a sharp clink. His eyes widened, and his voice dropped. “You’re not thinking of abdicating… are you?”

Charles didn’t respond right away, his jaw tightening as he stared into the fire.

“Cha,” Arthur pressed, his voice rising slightly. “What the hell is going on with you? Who’s put this absurd idea in your head?”

Charles glanced at him, his expression inscrutable. “It’s not absurd.”

“It is when you’re the crown prince of Monaco,” Arthur snapped, sitting up straighter. “You’d give up everything—power, privilege, our family’s legacy—for what? A whim? A fleeting fancy?”

“It’s not a fancy,” Charles said sharply, his voice cutting through the room.

Arthur blinked, taken aback by his brother’s rare flash of anger. “Then what is it?”

Charles leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and staring hard at his brother. “What if I told you it’s something real? That I’ve found something—someone—who makes me feel more alive than anything this throne ever could?”

Arthur’s jaw dropped slightly, his expression caught between shock and disbelief. “You’re serious.”

“Deadly serious,” Charles said, his tone firm.

Arthur exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t just about a servant, is it?”

Charles’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing. “How—”

“Please,” Arthur said, waving a hand. “You think I haven’t noticed? The way you’ve been sneaking out, the looks you give when you think no one’s watching? The firewood? You’re an open book.”

Charles leaned back, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I underestimated you.”

“And you’re underestimating the chaos you’d cause,” Arthur shot back. “Do you have any idea what this would mean for the family? For Monaco?”

Charles’s expression hardened. “For once, I’m thinking about what it would mean for me.”

Arthur stared at him, the firelight casting shadows across his face. “You’d walk away from all of this?”

“If it meant being with her?” Charles said, his voice soft but resolute. “Yes. I would.”

The weight of his words settled over them, and for once, Arthur didn’t have a quick retort.

The next few days were torturous for Charles. Each moment stretched longer than the last, his thoughts dominated by her. Every step he took through the palace halls felt meaningless without catching sight of her—her quick smile, her quiet resolve, the way she challenged him without fear.

He thought of her words, her laughter, the way her cheeks flushed when he teased her. More than that, he thought of the way she made him feel—seen, understood, even cherished in a way that no title or crown could replicate.

His heart ached with the weight of it, with the need to tell her, to unburden himself of the truth that had taken root so deeply he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

But how? How could he look her in the eye and admit what he was so sure would unravel the tenuous balance between them?

One morning, he found himself wandering aimlessly through the palace gardens. It was the time of day she often brought fresh linens from the storage to the castle, she usually crossed the gardens. He lingered, hoping for a glimpse of her, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Frustrated, he returned to his chambers, pacing the space restlessly, thinking. No, waiting to next see her. When she finally arrived, carrying a tray of fresh tea and biscuits, his breath hitched.

“You’re pacing,” she said, placing the tray on the table. “That’s never a good sign.”

“I’ve been restless,” he admitted, stopping mid-stride. “And you’re late.”

She raised an eyebrow as she set the tea. “Didn’t know I was on your schedule.”

He crossed the room to her, his steps deliberate. “I notice when you’re not here.”

Her hands stilled for a moment before she resumed arranging the tea things. “I’m just a servant, Your Highness. Surely you have better things to notice.”

“That’s not true,” he said, his voice dropping.

She looked up at him, her expression guarded. “It should be.”

He wanted to argue, to say it wasn’t her place to decide what mattered to him, but the vulnerability in her gaze stopped him. Instead, he changed the subject.

“Have you eaten today?”

She frowned, clearly caught off guard. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I’d wager you haven’t,” he said, stepping closer. “You work yourself to the bone.”

She shrugged, turning back to her task. “I’m used to it.”

“That’s not an answer,” he said, his tone softer now. “Come. Sit with me for a moment.”

She hesitated, glancing at the door. “If someone sees—”

“No one will,” he said, moving to pull a chair out for her. “Please.”

Her eyes darted between him and the chair before she sighed, giving in and sitting reluctantly.

He poured her a cup of tea, his movements unhurried. As he handed it to her, their fingers brushed, and he felt the now-familiar spark that always seemed to follow her touch.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said quietly, looking down at the tea.

“Do what?”

“Treat me like I’m someone,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Someone important.”

His chest tightened. “You are.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes wide, filled with a mix of disbelief and something else—something that made his breath catch.

For a moment, he thought about saying it, about laying it all out before her. But the words caught in his throat, weighed down by the fear of what her reaction might be.

The next day, Charles found himself waiting for her in his chambers again, anticipation thrumming through him. When she arrived, her arms full of fresh linens, he immediately noticed the faint circles under her eyes.

“You’re overworking yourself again,” he said, standing from his seat near the window.

“I’m fine,” she replied, her tone brisk as she moved to change the bedding.

“You’re not,” he countered, moving closer.

She straightened, turning to face him. “Why do you care?”

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken truths.

“Because…” He hesitated, his hands flexing at his sides as he struggled to find the right words. “Because you matter to me.”

Her lips parted, her breath catching. “Charles, don’t—”

“I’m not trying to overstep,” he said quickly. “But you should know—I can’t ignore it anymore.”

“Ignore what?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Before he could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hall. She stepped back instinctively, breaking the moment.

Over the next few days, he was quieter, more pensive. He found himself watching her more often, the words he wanted to say always on the tip of his tongue. But every time he opened his mouth, the weight of the risks stopped him.

What if she didn’t feel the same? What if she did, but couldn’t say so?

The questions tormented him, each one drawing him closer to the inevitable conclusion: he had to tell her.

But how could he make her understand the depth of his feelings without ruining everything?

Charles really tried to wait it out, he tried so hard.

But when the rain lashed outside his chambers where he sat in the dimly lit room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth.

He worried.

It was late, far later than when she usually came, but he had waited, a knot of tension in his chest.

When the door finally opened, and she stepped inside with her usual quiet grace, drenched from the rain with his laundry in a covered basket, his heart leapt.

“You’re soaked,” he said, standing quickly. “You shouldn’t be out in this weather.”

She shrugged, setting the basket down by the door. “Work doesn’t stop for a storm, Your Highness.”

He frowned, crossing the room to her. “Take off that cloak; you’ll catch your death.”

“I’m fine,” she said, brushing past him toward the hearth, but her shivering betrayed her words.

He moved closer, pulling her gently toward the warmth of the fire. “Why do you always insist on pretending you’re fine when you’re not?”

She stiffened under his touch. “Because I have no other choice.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected. He reached for her hands, his thumbs brushing over her cold fingers. “You shouldn’t have to live like this.”

She pulled her hands back, looking at him with a mixture of confusion and caution. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He hesitated, his heart pounding. “I can’t keep pretending. Not anymore.”

“Pretending what?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady.

“That I don’t feel this,” he said, stepping closer. “That I don’t feel everything for you.”

Her eyes widened, her breath catching. “Charles…”

“I love you,” he said, the words tumbling out, raw and unguarded. “I’ve tried to fight it, to ignore it, but I can’t. I don’t want to.”

Before she could even stop them, tears welled in her eyes, and she shook her head, stepping back. “You don’t mean that. You can’t.”

“I do,” he said firmly, closing the distance between them again. “I’d give up everything—this title, this life—if it meant being with you.”

Her tears spilled over then, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.”

“Why not?” he asked, his voice breaking. “If I’m not happy here—if I can’t have the life I want—what good is any of this?”

“Because you don’t know what you’re saying,” she said, her voice rising. “You’ve lived in a palace your entire life, with servants, banquets, comfort. You don’t know what it’s like to live without it. To go to bed on an empty stomach. To wake up not knowing if you’ll have work the next day. I can’t do that to you.”

“You wouldn’t be doing it to me,” he said desperately. “It would be my choice.”

She shook her head again, her tears falling faster now. “And what happens when you realise you can’t live like that? When the reality of it sets in? You’ll resent me. And I’ll lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” he said, his voice pleading as he reached for her hands again. “I swear to you, you won’t.”

“I don’t have a good life,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I can barely take care of myself. How could I take care of you?”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” he said, his hands tightening around hers. “I just need you. I don’t care about the rest.”

She looked at him, her eyes searching his, her tears glistening in the firelight. “You’re asking me to believe in something that feels impossible.”

“Then let me prove it to you,” he said, his voice breaking as his own tears threatened to fall. “Please. Give me a chance to show you how much you mean to me. Let me love you the way you deserve.”

Her resolve wavered, her breath hitching as his words sank in. She wanted to believe him—desperately—but the fear of what they would face, of what they would lose, loomed over her.

“Cha…” she began, her voice cracking.

“Please,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “Say yes. Just… say yes.”

For a long, agonising moment, the only sound was the rain pounding against the windows and the crackle of the fire.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said finally, her voice barely audible.

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” he said, cupping her face gently, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “But don’t push me away. Not now. Not when I know you feel this too.”

Her lips quivered, and she closed her eyes, a fresh tear slipping down her cheek. “You’re impossible,” she whispered.

“And you’re everything,” he replied, his voice trembling with emotion.

After pacing around his room for a few days, thinking of how he was going to tell his father, Charles went to his study.

The atmosphere in the king’s study was heavy with tension, the air almost crackling as Charles stood before his father. The older man sat behind an imposing mahogany desk, his expression dark and unreadable. The storm that had raged days earlier seemed to have shifted inside these walls, centering on the room as if the universe sensed the coming conflict.

“I need to speak with you,” Charles began, his voice steady but tight.

The king set down the pen he had been holding, his gaze sharp. “This sounds serious.”

“It is,” Charles replied, straightening his shoulders. “I’ve made a decision.”

The king leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “I see. Go on, then.”

“I’m going to abdicate.”

For a moment, the words seemed to hang in the air, the weight of them pressing down on the room.

Then, the king’s expression darkened further, his voice sharp and incredulous. “You’re what?”

“I’ve decided I don’t want the throne,” Charles said firmly. “It’s not the life I want anymore.”

The king rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate as he loomed over the desk. “Do you even understand what you’re saying? What you’re throwing away?”

“Yes,” Charles said, meeting his father’s gaze without flinching. “I’ve thought about this—more than you know. I don’t want this life. I want…” He hesitated, his voice softening. “I want to live my own life.”

The king scoffed, shaking his head. “And what life would that be? One of obscurity? Of poverty? You’ve never gone a day without comfort, without privilege. You know nothing of what it’s like out there, and you think you can just… give all of this up?”

“I do,” Charles said, his tone resolute.

The king’s eyes narrowed. “This is about her, isn’t it? That servant girl. Your mother mentioned her but I did not believe her.”

Charles’s chest tightened, but he didn’t deny it. “Yes. It’s about her. But it’s also about me. About what I want, who I want to be. And I know I don’t want this.”

“Don’t be a fool,” the king snapped, his voice rising. “You think love is enough to sustain you? That some fantasy of a simpler life will keep you warm when reality sets in? She can’t give you what you need, Charles.”

“She gives me what I want,” Charles shot back, his voice fierce. “And for once, isn’t that enough?”

“No, it isn’t!” the king roared, slamming his hand on the desk. “You’re a prince! You have a duty—to your family, to your people. You can’t just walk away because of some fleeting infatuation.”

“It’s not fleeting,” Charles said, his voice dropping but losing none of its intensity. “I love her. And I’d rather live a life with her—whatever that looks like—than spend one more moment pretending to be happy here.”

The king laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You’re naïve. You don’t even know how to survive out there.”

“She’ll teach me,” Charles said, surprising even himself with the certainty in his voice. “I want to learn. I want that life—with her.”

The king stared at him, his face a mixture of disbelief and frustration. “You’re throwing away everything you’ve ever known for a life of struggle. For what?”

“For love,” Charles said simply.

The room fell silent, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. The king finally sat back down, rubbing a hand over his face. When he looked up again, his expression was weary but no less stern.

“You’re making a mistake,” he said quietly.

“Maybe,” Charles replied. “But it’s my mistake to make.”

The king’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze searching his son’s face as if looking for a crack in his resolve. But Charles stood firm, his decision made.

“You’ll regret this,” the king said finally, his voice heavy with warning.

“Perhaps,” Charles said. “But I’ll never regret choosing her.”

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the study, leaving his father staring after him in silence.

The rumours spread like wildfire. Whispers followed Charles wherever he walked, his every step trailed by servants and courtiers exchanging furtive glances and hushed speculations. The air in the palace buzzed with the shock of his decision, but none of it mattered to him. Not the disapproval etched into his father’s face, nor the incredulous murmurs of the courtiers. His mind was focused solely on her.

He found her in the palace laundry room, folding linens with the quiet efficiency that always seemed to calm her. When he walked in, she froze, her fingers clutching the corner of a sheet.

“You,” she began, her voice a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. “You really went through with it?”

He stepped closer, his hands tucked behind his back, his face calm but his eyes alight with purpose. “I told you I would.”

She stared at him, shaking her head. “I thought—Charles, I thought it was just talk. Something you’d get over once you realised how insane it is.”

“Well, I’m officially insane,” he said with a faint smile, stepping closer.

She dropped the sheet onto the table and turned to face him fully, her arms crossed. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The crown, the throne, your entire future—it’s gone. All of it. For what?”

“For you,” he said simply.

Her mouth opened, but no words came. Finally, she shook her head, her voice trembling. “You’re impossible. Do you know what this means? I can’t work here anymore, not if you abdicate. The palace won’t keep me.”

“I know,” he said gently. “And I wouldn’t ask you to stay here. We’ll leave—together.”

“Leave?” she echoed, blinking at him.

“Yes,” he said, stepping closer until he was just in front of her. “I’ve been thinking about it. We can go somewhere no one knows us, where we can start fresh.”

She stared at him like he’d grown another head. “Where would we even go?”

“Italy,” he said with a small smile.

“Italy?” she repeated, her brows furrowing.

“Yes, maybe Marenello,” he said, his voice filled with conviction. “It’s beautiful, the weather is perfect, and… I don’t know, it just feels right.”

She let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Charles, I don’t even speak Italian.”

He tilted his head, his smile widening. “Then, for once, I’ll get to teach you something.”

His words hung in the air, so tender and unexpected that she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. The corners of his eyes crinkled at her reaction, and before she could say anything else, he stepped even closer and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

She closed her eyes, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver through her. “You’re serious about this,” she whispered.

“Completely,” he murmured against her hair. “I’m not afraid of starting over, not if it’s with you.”

For a moment, she let herself believe it could be possible—this crazy, impossible dream of theirs.

“When?” she asked softly.

“Tomorrow,” he said, his voice full of quiet resolve. “After I sign the abdication papers.”

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with wide, searching eyes. “And then what?”

He smiled, his expression both calm and full of determination. “And then we start the life we’ve always wanted.”

She didn’t want to be vulgar, she really didn’t but she had to be honest.

She was shitting herself at the thought of being summoned into the King’s office with the entire family.

The office was uncharacteristically quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of the palace muffled by the thick doors. Charles sat at the massive oak desk, the official abdication papers spread out before him. Arthur stood off to the side, his arms crossed, watching the scene with a mix of bewilderment and unease while his parents stood by the desk with a clear look of disdain etched on their faces.

She stood near the doorway, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked smaller than usual, her nerves evident in the way her fingers twisted together. Her wide eyes darted between Charles and the papers, the weight of the moment pressing down on all of them.

Arthur broke the silence first. “Are you sure about what you’re doing, Cha?”

Charles’s pen hovered over the signature line, but he didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked up at her. She met his gaze, and in that instant, the rest of the room faded away. The worry in her eyes, the way her lips pressed together as if she was holding back words—it was as if he was falling in love all over again.

“You don’t have to do this for me, Cha,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He smiled at her, then, without hesitation, he bent his head and signed his name in bold strokes across the paper.

The moment was electric, the scratch of the pen on parchment the only sound in the room. When he finally set the pen down, it felt as if the world had shifted, as if something monumental had been set into motion.

Arthur exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Well, there it is,” he muttered, his voice carrying a mixture of disbelief and resignation. “You’re officially insane.”

Charles stood, his movements deliberate as he turned to face her. “Go back to your house,” he said, his voice steady but laced with an urgency that made her breath hitch. “Pack your things. Tell your brother. We’re leaving at six.”

Her eyes widened, her lips parting as if to protest, but before she could say a word, Arthur muttered something about needing air and slipped out of the room, leaving them alone, his parents following shortly behind.

The silence that followed was thick with tension, their gazes locked as the gravity of what had just happened sank in.

“You…” she began, her voice trembling. “You really did it.”

“I did,” he said, stepping closer to her.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, he cupped her face gently in his hands. The world seemed to pause, the space between them charged with an intensity that neither of them could deny any longer.

And then he kissed her.

It was soft at first, tentative, as if he was savouring the moment he had dreamed of for so long. But when she leaned into him, her hands clutching his jacket as if to anchor herself, the kiss deepened, becoming a silent promise of everything they were about to face together.

When they finally pulled apart, her cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven. He rested his forehead against hers, his hands still cradling her face.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice low and full of emotion.

She blinked, her eyes shining as she searched his face. “I love you too,” she said softly, her voice breaking slightly. Because she did, she didn’t know when she exactly fell in love with him. Maybe it was when he first came to her house and looked at it with wonder rather than judgement or maybe it was when they shared that intimate moment in the wardrobe.

He smiled, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “Then go,” he said. “Pack your things. This time tomorrow, we’ll be miles away from here. Together.”

She nodded, her resolve strengthening as she stepped back, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before she turned and slipped out of the office.

Charles stood there for a moment, the weight of what he’d just done settling in his chest. But for the first time in his life, he felt truly free.

the end.

830 notes · View notes

manmuncher777 · 5 months ago

Note

I am BEGGING YOU to write something about Aegon being literally OBSESSED with the reader, like to the point that it’s dangerous.

a/n - I love this idea, I think it matches Aegon’s character so well. I felt super motivated to write this so thank you my love. I hope you enjoy. xoxox

⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆ 𝘼𝙚𝙜𝙤𝙣 𝙏𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙚𝙣 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 - 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩 ⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆

𝐍𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬

NOT proofread lol. If you have sent a request I promise I will get to it, one fic takes me a while to write so ill try to get to it asap. LOVE YOU

𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐲

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 - 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞(𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐮𝐩), 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

Aegon craved you. Aegon needed you, if you weren’t around, he would loose his mind.

For a few years now you had been one of the maids that Aegon had, starting in the lower ranks before being the personal lady to the king. Of course Aegon had others, but you were different, you were special. You saw the king for what he truly was - a broken young man. And instead of hating him for it, or offering him some fake pity. You helped him.

You could understand why he so craved the support, you had witnessed his family interactions, and heard the gossip that would travel through each servant of the crown. You understood he had a complicated relationship with his family, and a lot of external pressures to deal with. Every encounter that one would expect to be private was known by every maid, cook, cup bearer and servant. So after having heard so much over the years, you felt empathy for the king, aware of his lack of someone to talk to.

So on that fated night when you came in to change the kings bed sheets and found him crying, thats all you were, just someone to talk to. Aegon had never had this before, never had such a simple kindness been shown to him. And for that he was ever grateful. This greatfulness soon blossoming into something more. A deep sense of caring, a deep obsession. This would soon form a routine for you. Not long after that night he told his mother he wished for you to be his main lady, of course his mother had worries about this, but accepted his proposition. Most evenings instead of completing your nightly chores (Aegon had this duties bestowed upon someone else) you would sit with the king in his chambers, and listen. He would treat you with such respect and kindness that it was enjoyable for both of you. You would share his wines - some of the finest you had ever tried- and eat his food (he would have the cooks prepare his extra dinners and fruits to snack on because he wanted you to have them). Some nights were filled with lighthearted talk, some with laughter and drinking, others were filled with deep emotion. All of which you enjoyed.

“hello Issa gevie hāedar” he would say to you each evening with that handsome smile on his face. my beautiful girl

He would watch you enter with a glint in his eyes, each time you would knock in the same pattern so he knew it was you. That was a sound he soon began to adore.

You never understood valyrian, but it warmed you to know he gave you nicknames.

“Hello my king” you would blush in response before sitting on the edge of his bed, beggining your nightly conversations.

Aegon never failed to ask you about yourself also, but you rarely kept on the subject. You knew he was the one who carried the heaviest burden of all. You wished to relieve some of that pressure.

Aegon loved how shy you were, it was so much fun for him, to watch you blush under his gaze. He loved it, loved the effect he had on you. So of course he couldn’t just leave you there sitting so far away from him, soon the sitting on the edge of the bed each night became lying next to him, both sat up with pillows behind you. That soon became him resting his head on your lap, looking up at you. And every now and then, it would end with you holding each other. Nothing scandalous. Just enjoying each others embrace.

Soon Aegon got bolder, wanting to watch you become a blushing mess around him. He would reach up slowly towards your face, brushing some strands of hair behind your ear before gently caressing your cheek. Of course your skin would burn with the sensation of his hand touching you for hours after it had actually occurred. As if his touch awakened something inside you.

You cared for the king greatly, but you weren’t a fool. You knew that if anyone found out about what went on each night you went and visited him - despite it being nothing overly scandalous - you would be put at risk. You knew it wasnt a good situation to be in. There were already rumours that you were sleeping with him, some of the other maids even being bold enough to ask you if you were sleeping with the king to which you had aggressively denied. But it did nothing to stop you visiting him. There was just always a voice in your head warning you not to get too close.

But there was that part of you, whenever you saw him that would swoon over how handsome he was, how beautifully his hair was frame his face, and how his violet eyes would sparkle in the candle light. how good he smelled and how nice it was to feel his muscular frame next to you. Everything a young maiden craved in a man.

Aegon would even go as far to gift you smalls things, flowers being left in you quarters, books you would like and beautiful ribbons for your hair. Aegon had even had a necklace made for you, a beautiful delicate chain with a singular dragon on it. as a symbol of him.

a symbol that you were his.

So when he found out that you had requested the night off as it was your birthday, and you were allowed it, he was furious. Of course he wanted you to have a good name day, but you could’ve spent it with him, he wouldve got you anything you desired. In fact you didn’t even mention to him it was your name day.

He sat waiting in his chambers for you as he usually does, only to be met by one of the older maids who would serve for him.

“Where is y/n?” he snappily asked the woman who had only just graced the king chambers

“In the town my lord, celebrating her name day”

Not saying another word he stormed out of his room. He was angry, not at you of course. never angry at you. He merely wished you had told him, he wouldve joined you, had a gift made for you. Anything.

The wooden doors of the servant quarters smashed open with aegons force, stopping the movements of all inside.

“which one of you knows where y/n is this evening?” he asks, scanning the room for anyone who looks like the have the answer

“Her uncles tavern your majesty, the red anchor” one piped up

Once again in silence he stormed out. The red anchor, he had probably been there before on one of his evening out, he couldn’t remember. no matter, he would find it.

Determination flowed through the young prince. He couldn’t understand why you wouldnt tell him. Honestly he didn’t even know what he was going to say when he found you, but to have a night without your presence already felt crippling for him.

His steps echoed on the castle walls, each step carrying him closer and closer to his destination, you. As he passed through the halls, he was spotted.

“My king, where are you off to in such a hurry tonight, the hour is late” Ser Arryck asked from his post.

Aegon not even bothering to stop responded to the man with haste “I have some business to attend to in the city, I wont be gone long.”

“The hour is late my king, allow me to accompany you” Arryck was walking too now, having to match the kings pace that didn’t show any sign of stopping. confusion clear on his face about why he was determined to go alone.

“No, I don’t need any assistance. I will go alone” Aegon was getting more and more angry as the seconds passed. Angry that he couldn’t see you, angry that Ser Arryck was trying to stop him from seeing you.

“My king, my apologies but I must come with you into the city, if it is found that I allowed you to go with no protection I could be expelled from my position” Ser Arryck wasnt wrong, kingslanding was a dangerous place, and selfishly he feared that if something bad were to happen to the king he could be worse than just expelled, it put his life on the line. He has sworn to protect his king. But Aegon wasnt feeling rather empathetic in this moment, Arryck couldve been on fire and it still wouldnt have stopped him.

“Fine then ser, as you king I command you that I will not be accompanied this evening. Is that fucking clear?” Luckily for Aegon this conversation had allowed him to get closer and closer to the door, but it didn’t stop the rage at Ser Arryck’s questioning. If Arryck did come with him, then Aegon risked putting you in danger also, he understood that for the moment no one could be aware of the unique relationship you shared.

“Your majesty please-“ Ser Arryck had made the fatal mistake of touching the king. He had stopped Aegon in his tracks by gripping his shoulder. Aegon couldn’t explain where the flash of rage came from, but it gave him the strength to twist around, landing a punch directly of Arrycks nose. The punch catching the knight so off guard that it sent him flying backwards. His armour clashing against the stone as he fell. But Aegon didn’t stop there, he mounted Ser Arryck - landing multiple brutal shots to his face, aegons fists becoming bloodied from the mans face.

How dare he try and stop the King from seeing you. How dare he try and stop Aegon from being with you. No one was every going to take you away from him.

Aegon only stopped when he was sure Arryck was unconscious. arrycks face was bloody and bruised, already swelling with the punches it had just recieved. And without a second thought Aegon left him there.

Finally, he thought. finally out of the castle and one step closer to you. He swiftly grabbed one of the cloaks he would leave stashed outside of the doors incase he wished to make a speedy night time trip into the city. Yet with even the hood pulled up over his head, it couldn’t even block out the thoughts of you. you were like a drug and Aegon was going through sever withdrawals. He missed everything about you, he missed the scent of roses you would bring into his room with you, he missed the way you laughed, he missed the sound of you saying his name. He missed being able to glance down and see the dragon necklace sitting perfectly presented just above your tits.

He couldn’t believe it, hes always thought of you romantically, thought of how you would look on his arm, as his wife. But hed never felt this way about you, you had always been with him. so when you were finally taken away from him, it sent him crazy.

He could feel himself getting more and more overwhelmed the further he went into the city. To any other onlooker he looked drunken and crazed. In truth he felt like he was going through some kind of frenzy. His head was snapping and pinning in each direction, scarred he would miss you in the crowds of people, his steps becoming messy and unbalanced due to him not looking ahead.

His mind was playing tricks on him, making him think that he had seen your beautiful silhouette on the side of the street, only for it to be a shadow and nothing more.

With everything going on around him his mind started to race, kingslanding was a crazy place at night. The street performers displaying their talents with flames in al different colours flying about the place, a man on stilts in the distance making his way though the crowd. Fortune tellers on the sides of the streets calling aegons name as he passed the. Groups of drunk people, fighting, fucking and laughing. He couldn’t take much more of this. What if you were out here and in trouble, what if you were with someone else.

Aegon couldn’t take much more, he grabbed the nearest person to him which turned out to be a drunken old woman who was shouting with a bunch on gamblers at a card game

“Where is the red anchor?!” He had the woman by both of the shoulders, demanding in her face for her to tell him

“Your stood in front of it you fucking blaggard.” she said unhappily wrenching herself from him grip before returning to her jeering at the ongoing card game.

Aegon could scream. If only you knew what effect you had on him. He was certainly about to show you. There it stood in clear letters on the sign hanging above the tavern “The Red Anchor” with the corresponding symbol underneath. Without waiting another second the tavern doors were shoved open by the king. Who was eagerly scanning to find you through the crowds of busy drunk men.

He had been here before, many times. He recognised the layout. He couldn’t yet spot you so deeper into the pub he dove, walking much slower now into the main bar area, hoping to arch a glimpse of you

And as if the Gods had answered his prayers, there you stood. In centre stage of the room, there you were stood by the bar, talking to the man on the other side. Your uncle Aegon assumed (And hoped he was right).

You looked so different, so free. You wore a beautiful dress that complimented you well, it was simple but the nicest you could afford. The colours and style suited you perfectly. much nicer than the uniforms you had to wear at the castle. Your hair was down and flowing freely unlike when you wear it up at the castle. Aegon could tell you were in your element. You looked ethereal, a smile gracing your features as you chatted with those around you.

Aegon was about to make Hi way over to you when out the corner of his eye he spotted it. A fat drunk man making his way over to you, predatory look in his eyes. Aegon watched as the happy girl you were moments ago now shrivelled at the mans advances. You clearly having turned him down because the mans expression changed, him placing a hand on your shoulder and pulling you closer to him.

He was touching you, he was touching what belonged to Aegon

Zȳhon gevie hāedar. his beautiful girl

Wishing seconds Aegon was next to you. The hand that was previously resting on your shoulder was now pinned against the wall with a dagger through the palm. Aegon’s dagger.

Rage filled Aegon as he slammed the man into the wall, pinning him there tightly, staring into his eyes. The man screamed out in pain, only silencing a few of the near by people, the rest of the tavern paying no mind. Aegon could tell by the mans face he was scared. good.

“Don’t ever lay a hand on her again” He gritted out in the mans face, eyes wide and bloodshot. Aegon ripped the dagger from the mans hand causing him to let out another agonised scream before silencing himself due to the feeling of the same blade being pressed up to his throat.

“Do you understand me” The cowards in front of Aegon merely mustering a nod yes to his question.

god Aegon wanted to kill him, Aegon wanted to cause him so much pain. To drag it out and make it as gory as possible. How dare he lay a single finger on what belonged to the king. How dare he make you uncomfortable and try to damage something so perfect. Aegon couldn’t remember feeling a rage like this, it was like nothing he had ever felt before. He had never felt so protective over you before. It took everything in him not to push that blade into this scumbags neck, but he didn’t want to do that in front of you. So with a sigh he let the man go, who quickly ran out of the tavern.

You were still yet to recognise Aegon as he still had his hood up, so it was a shock for you when this hooded man grabbed you by the arm and lead you through the busy crowds of drinkers and locked you both in a storage room.

“what in seven hells - Aegon?!” once the man finally pulled his hood down to reveal himself, you were shocked. Aegon was your saviour, the one who so violently apprehended the man previously bothering you. But why, how on earth did he know you were here. why was he here?

You didn’t actually get to ask him any of these questions before he trapped you in a searing kiss. He pinned you up against the wall - the stone of the wall biting into your back slightly. You moaned into the kiss as the Kings hands held onto you waist. His body was pressed into yours as he kissed you hungrily. All the many days of wanting, the house spent obsessing over you and the feelings of tonight’s events all put into one kiss. And you could feel it, feel all the emotions - hunger, lust, desire maybe even love. You kissed him back wiht just as much passion, the kiss as fulfilling for you as it is to him. One of your legs now wrapping against his wait, hid rigged hand gripping your thigh. Pushing himself into you with a light groan. Your hands found his hair, gripping at the silver strands as he tongue enters your mouth.

Finally he gets to taste you. He could taste the ale you had been drinking on your tongue. He broke the kiss only for a second to look at you. Gods you looked perfect. Your lips now pink and plump from your kiss, hair slightly dispelled and dress begginging to bunch up at the sides. Your chest heaved slightly with a light pant as you tried to catch you breath. Your cheeks coated with a dusting of blush. You were the image of beauty. He could still se your shy nature on your face but was sure you were a lot more confident tonight.

“Aegon…What are you doing here.” you whispered, your leg still wrapped around Hi , his face mere inches away from yours.

“I couldnt take it anymore. I must have you, I must call you mine. No one else will ever come close to you again.” he confessed, hunger in his eyes as he speaks to you. His frame towering over you as he watched your eyes widen at his words

“Aegon-“

“Tell me you want this too gevie hāedar. Tell your king what you need.” he whispered, lips brushing against your ear. beautiful girl

You were silent for a second, no longer. And in this second thousands of thoughts flashed through your mind, what were you going to do after this? what would be the consequences? But those thoughts were clouded with want, and there was nothing in that moment that wouldve stopped either of you.

“I want you Aegon.” You whimpered, completely at his mercy.

This was everything the young king had dreamed of and more. His beautiful blushing girl looking up at him, begging for him. Needing him like he needed her and who would he be to decline such a polite little thing. A smirk graces his face before his lips are on your again. His tongue invading your mouth. You moaned again louder this time as you could feel his hardness pressing into you.

When you were back in the castle he would take his time with you, exploring you with his hands, his mouth. UNtil he had every inch of you memorised. You were his now and no matter the consequences, everyone was going to know it. You were untouchable with his favour. But until he could get you back in the castle, he needed you right now.

He pushed the skirt up, bunching it at your waist with desperation as he kissed at your neck, nipping at the skin lightly just to get those beautiful noises you made. He would never be able to forget how you sounded. His toungue licking and sucking at the sensitive skin while his fingers brushed over your already wet cunt. He cold feel it over your underclothes, and couldnt hide the chuckle that left him when you moaned so sweetly.

“Are you enjoying yourself Byka mēre?” he questioned, and you could hear the smugness in his voice. You could only bring yourself to nod. Your head already fuzzy. little one

“Oh my dear, don’t tell me you’ve already gone quiet, I’ve hardly even touched you yet” his face now back in view, smirking at you. His fingers now working their way past your underclothes - gently brushing through your folds. You gasp at the feeling, innocent little eyes begging for more.

“Tell me, has anyone ever touched you like this before?”

“No, my king” Gods, he felt his cock throb in his pants, what a naughty thing you were using his title like that. Maybe not so shy as he thought. He would be lying if his heart did jump at the idea of being your first. He felt it was right, he would be the only man to ever touch you in this way

“Good girl” he whispered, before pushing one of his fingers into you, watching as your mouth hung open in pleasure. Slowly he began to pump him finger inside of you, before taking another and gently pushing it inside. You were glad for the busy night in the tavern because you couldnt control your moan. Your head lolled back against the stone and your hands gripped aegons forearms tightly, squeezing him. You hadn’t felt anything like this before, it was amazing. With every thrust of his fingers Aegon’s palm came into contact with your clit, the sensation jolting through you, giving you goosebumps all over. You whined and moaned, unable to do anything else but take it as he watched you, smile on his face. He was proud to be the one that left you crumbling beneath him. Your leg hooked around his waist for support, you worried your legs would give out. A strange sensation began to build in your stomach as Aegon kept the same torturous pace, listening to the sounds of your we cunt as his finger would leave you hole briefly to play with you folds, seeing you cry out at the teasing.

“Feels so good Aegon, please don’t stop.”

“I wouldnt dream of it my love.” he says, completely true. All he wants is to give you what you deserve, the pleasure that you deserve. He can feel you tightening around his fingers now, he can tell your close

Your whole body is on fire with pleasure, not only at what his finger are currently doing to you, but the whole situation, his handsome face smiling down on you as you come undone for him. You cant control the moans coming from your mouth as the feeling grows

he leans down right next to your ear and whisper to you, “let go for me Issa jorrāelagon”. my love

And that was all you needed. All you could think to do in that moment was scream his name as you came all over his fingers, the feeling far more intense than you expected. Black clouded you vision as his fingers never stopped, coaxing you through your orgasm. You barley had enough time to catch your breath before he was kissing you, pulling himself free of his trousers and lining himself up at you entrance.

He waited, looking for you to signal to him you wanted this. you nodded and he sheathed himself inside you. The slick from your orgasm allowing him to slide in with ease.

You both moaned in unison as the feeling, both being so close to each other finally. And he was about to show you how much he craved this. Aegon couldn’t hold off long before he was pistoning inside of you, his pace hard and fast. The feeling of you being so tightly wrapped around him causing guttural moans to leave him. Gods you felt amazing, better than anything he imagined, better than all the nights he used his hand while thinking about how good you would look on his cock. His imagination falling short of this moment.

A slight sheen of sweat coated your skin, your tits basically bursting from the top of your dress as his cock pounded your tight hole. Once again the necklace he gifted you taking pride of place on your chest. Your eyes rolled back so beautifully, struggling to stay on him. Your moans consisting of his name and a string of curses.

All you could do was tell him how good he felt. Good being an understatement, you could basically feel him throbbing inside of you. He was big, stretching you out so perfectly, hitting a spongy spot inside of you that had you seeing stars. When his pelvis connected with yours, it would brush against your clit. The pressure against the bundle of nerves causing you to tighten around Aegon. Which made him release the most delicious sounds you had ever heard.

Aegon looked down, watching where you both connected, this moment was surreal, all of the anger and stress from earlier now melting away each time he plunged into your soaking cunt. He watched himself slip in and out of you, his hard cock coated in your wetness. Already he could feel himself nearing his end, he wasnt surprised, all these days spent dreaming about you had him riled up more than ever.

One of the hands that was gripping your hips so tightly travelled down between you both to rub at your clit, the squeal you let out not going unheard by Aegon.

“So good for me my love, you have no idea how long ive waited for this.” he huffed out “so beautiful”

Your legs were quivering and you were glad you had him ther to support you or your legs would have failed you, the same feeling building in your stomach began, only stringer this time. The stimulation from his finger and his cock was almost too much for you to handle

“My king!” you squealed out as his thumb drew quick circles on your sensitive bud.

“I know little one” he muttered to you sweetly as you feel apart for him once more. Your orgasm hitting you even harder this time. Clenching around Aegon so tightly that he couldnt hold off anymore, his hips stuttered before he bottomed out inside you.

You could feel him throb as his seed filled you. Both of you left panting for breath, staying as you were fore a moment, with him inside you. He kissed you once more, much gentler this time.

“you are mine now Issa gevie hāedar” my beautiful girl

#aegon targaryen smut #aegon smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon the second #hotd aegon #king aegon #aegon ii fanfic #hotd #hotd smut #house of the dragon

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milkbobatyun · 3 months ago

Text

foolish little dove

pairing: yandere!sunday x reader

genre: angstober, events, yandere

summary: the consequences of not listening to the head of the oak family

word count: 936

C O N T E N T W A R N I N G : yandere behaviour, manipulation, fear

a/n: this can be read as a continuation of my first yandere sunday piece 'my love, mine all mine'

the plush mattress of the bed dipped underneath you, the room furnished with an abundance of luxury—silk sheets, velvet drapes, golden accents, all shining in the glow of the candlelight. it was more than any common person could afford. yet, this was just a gilded cage, a dream disguised as a nightmare,

you were the dove, wings weighed down by invisible chains, helpless as you await for the fate your captor planned for you. the balcony teased you, thick, tempered glass doors teasing you, though it remained locked, the taste of freedom just out of reach.

oh how you prayed you could fly into the sky from the balcony, to feel the fresh air blow gently against your skin.

the vast room seemed to grow larger every day, the loneliness gnawed at your insides, making you yearn for company.

the sun rose and fell, night’s moonlight flooded the room. the repetitive ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs struck through throughout the room, the gramophone’s needle scratched out the same haunting tune, echoing around the bed chamber.

you lost count of how many days you were locked up. the staff brought you your meals, took you to the bathroom to bath, their routine revolving around you like clockwork. your days began to blend into each other, making your mind a blurry haze.

today, a key jangled in the lock, the soft creak of the heavy oak door echoing in the still room.

sunday’s heavy boots thudded across the floor, muffled by the plush velvet carpet.

your blank gaze slid away from where your hands tangled each other, your hair hanging around your face like lifeless vines, towards the new figure in the room. when you catch sight of a white coat and not the mundane black uniform of the servants, your head snaps up, eyes lighting up with hope.

your eyes meet sunday’s steady gaze, lunging forwards, hands grasping at him, at his clothes, to prove to yourself he wasn’t a figment of imagination. those hallucinations happened more often now.

sometimes, it was your family, screaming in agony, their bloody hands clawing at your exquisite clothing, cursing you to eternal suffering, their screams worming its way into your ears. other times, it was the trailblazer, haunting the dark corner of your room, a silent visitor who would stare blankly in your direction.

the smooth velvety fabric rippled cooling against your soft and warm skin. sunday’s mouth twitched into an amused smirk, as he closed the distance in a few long strides. for a fleeting second, you allowed yourself to believe that he was here, to free you from the cold shackles around your ankles. his cold hands, concealed by his pure white gloves, traced your face.

“my, my,” he purred, voice soothing. “how is my little dove?”

“please,” you pleaded, tears streaming down your face. “please, let me go… i beg of you” your voice trailed off, dying like the hope you held in your heart.

a hollow chuckle flooded the room, sunday’s face twisted in cruel humor.

“you still don’t get it, do you?” he hisses, voice taunting. “you’re mine now, little dove. even if i let you go, where would you go? home?”

a twisted smirk adorned his face.

“oh right,” he continued, tapping his finger on his chin in mock consideration. “you don't have one anymore! maybe because…they’re all dead!”

his eyes were alight with evil delirium, looking down upon you like a hawk would upon its prey.

with one finger twirling a lock of your hair, sunday leaned close to your ear, lips brushing your ear like a lover’s promise, and whispered, “remember, my little dove, you’re mine now, always and forever.”

with a gentle, almost lover-like caress of your cheek, sunday placed a kiss on your forehead, before he turned on his heel, heading towards the door.

something within you snapped and you moved before you could think, hope shining in your eyes. you tried to run towards the opening. though your legs, weak with days of sitting around, failed you. sunday watched you with sadonic delight, gaze cold and emotionless as he observed you while you flailed about, like a newborn deer.

throwing dignity to the wind, you dragged yourself towards the door, the comfort of the carpet burning against your skin. you watched as the shining sliver of freedom shut behind sunday.

the door clicked shut with an echoing finality. hearing the snap of the lock, turning back into its place, you remained, clawing at the door. you were but a dove in a gilded cage, weighed down by invisible chains, freedom nothing but a cruel illusion, always out of reach.

taglist (open): @yeonjunsfox

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳) © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #yandere hsr x reader #sunday x reader #yandere sunday x reader #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere #yandere sunday #hsr sunday x reader #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere character #yandere character x reader #angstober #angst

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magicdustsworld · 5 months ago

Text

His Favourite

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Tropes: King x concubine, fluff to angst. (Just a drabble)

Tags: intention of impregnation, suggestive smut, heian era, no mentions of y/n.

________________________________

Being Sukuna's favourite concubine has its perks.

She gets all the special treatment. From the jewels decking her radiant form to the luxurious amenities granted to her by the lord, himself; she has it all. The mealtimes as well as place for all the other concubines are set in stone. For her, no. She dines with his lordship, indulging him in stories of her own while he indulges her like a artist to his muse.

Ryomen Sukuna is enamored.

Enamored by this woman who was offered to him by the second clan head of the village – a means to negotiate with his highness to not exploit their land. A negotiation upon which Sukuna took an keen interest.

However, may the tale of that burning village be kept out for another day.

For today- and for all the forthcoming days, are meant for this very woman who he keeps by his side while he lets the mortals entertain him with their quandaries.

It's his decree, for he is the King of curses and she – his cherished.

Everyone who visits him would and should know that she demands as much respect as him. That she is a force not to be reckoned with. That by his side, she doesn't cower to fear instead commands it.

That's satisfaction. That's fulfilment.

That very fulfilment isn't attained until the woman tenderly grazes her hand against his. Delicately she runs her fingertips over the ridges and callouses of his skin. However, the relief only courses in his veins when she presses her lips on his palm.

Glancing up at him from beneath her lashes, the suggestive glint isn't elusive to him. The mirthful curve of her lips to the innocuous mien oftentimes left him ensnared in a cage. A cage from where he deliberately wishes to never attain freedom.

This little minx...

Isn't it laughable? The haunting nightmare of humanity left to a crumbling mess in front of his precious, his cherished, his soon to be consort.

Hence, he indulges her.

Indulges her in a passionate evening where he trails warm kisses down her spine, hand resting on the dip of her hip while he curls his finger in her warm core. The ridges of his knuckles brushes her lips, grazing the sensitive space in her he draws out her salacious moans. Her face twists into a series of expression – ones which he etches on his memories with all the others.

It isn't enough. He needs more. He needs to know her. All of her.

Her lower body spasms as she hits the peak of her ecstasy. He doesn't stop there, he cages her again in his arms; her only home. Anywhere else isn't safe for her delicate essence.

He continues the passion filled dance, aligning himself with her entrance before he is pushing in. The difference in bodies is starkly evident, no amount of lubrication would ever help the initial pain. However, when Sukuna marks the traces of tears in her eyes, he is quick to caress her with affection. Adoration brims in his irises while endearments combined with encouragement are befallen on her parched ears.

She smiles and may the lords be merciful...

He gains the signal and he keeps her in his embrace for how long no one knows. He jostles her body from one position to another, drawing out lascivious sounds from her as the wave of pleasure crashes over both of them simultaneously.

His seed drips out from her and Sukuna, for all is a twisted man, hence he can't help the pride that swells his chest.

One day, he tells himself. One day the very seed will grow inside her as his kin. One day, he will have her by his side as his queen.

Sukuna lets her rest in his chambers after the fateful display of lust and fire. She is fast asleep on the silken sheets and he finds himself, cleaning the mess – her. Verily, he has his servants but they don't get to see her like this.

This beauty, this vulnerability. All of its his and only his. She is his.

She has him enthralled.

Each glance, each smile, each honeyed word spoken to him, kindles a fire in the abyss of his existence. The unknown vulnerability ensnares him deeply, vexation causes the slight quirk of his brows when he observes her again – frolicking in the courtyard with the chosen mortals whom she calls her friends.

He scoffs.

The sun embraces her in its glows while the zephyrs play and curl her cascading strands. The butterfly perches on her bare shoulder while she feeds the pigeons in the courtyard. The daunting smile, the flicker of light, the luring whisper, even with all the evidences shouting at him, he tells himself that its only the nature.

The nature enthralls him, not her.

Yet, when the very nature decides to flaunt itself by rendering the land, the sky, the air in hues of the golden twilight, there's only one beauty he finds – her.

Ryomen Sukuna indulges what he desires.

He desires her, hence he indulges her as well.

From bringing her exorbitant jewels and fabrics to all the books she wishes to read, he does it all. She needs a relaxing bath after a day of endless toil? Uraume is ordered to watch over the luxurious bath. She craves for a certain kind of meal? Uraume must prepare it, no matter the situation.

At this point, Uraume just happened to be serving two masters simultaneously.

However, shimmering stoned and resplendent kimonos hold little light in front the affection she acquires. Little do his other consorts know about the poems he pens for her. Only her.

Yet, he is twisted. So is his affection. Therefore, he keeps the poems all around the map of his abode. For her to solve the mystery and finally gain the fruit of his affections.

If only... if only he wasn't such a twisted man.

If only, you never chose to step in this side of the garden. If only–

Under moonlit skies

Our fingers grazed, silent bliss

I knew that day, yet

Ignited hearts had senses merged

Melding in midnight's embrace.

Was it a cruel joke?

The knife twists itself into your heart, jabbing at the secluded corners with an intensity that physically hurt. Your shoulders trembles, nails dig into the flesh of your palm; so deep and so much that it draws blood.

The stinging pain of a pierced palm is negligible in front of a trampled heart. The pain courses through every vein, every pore, every inch. It's a kaleidoscope of memories that you're pushed in, fantastical memories with which you had always deluded yourself. The very pictures are running before your eyes as you struggle to breath, the lump forms in your throat as the tear pricks your eyes and yes– they tumble down. Smearing over your cheek and trails to your jaw.

Its almost like a concussion, the only difference is that your heart is hurting. A rippling pain grapples your entire being and then your knees give out.

You shoulders slump down so does all the breeze as the humidity causes your hairs to stick to your skin. You have your mouth agape, deep breaths for calming yourself down but it doesn't work.

Nothing works. Nothing works today. Nothing will ever work.

How could it when the man you love, loves someone else? How could anything ever be fine when the man you swore your loyalty to, never cared for it in the first place? How would you ever be alright knowing this is a grave you have dug for yourself?

You bring up the poem before yourself again. The very words swirling before your eyes akin bees near a flower.

Have you lost your sense or rationality? It hurts. It hurts so much. Yet, you read the poem again.

And again.

And then, you chuckle.

You bring your hand up to your mouth, suppressing the sounds which escape yet you keep reading. The chuckles continue with the streaming tears and finally, when the moisture in your eyes renders you incapable of proper vision, your laughs die down.

"Ah– just how foolish of me..."

Truly, so foolish of you.

After all, you're just another concubine while she is his favourite.

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0bticeo · 8 months ago

Text

lurk | feyd rautha

part four of five. (part 1.) (part 2.) (part 3.)

summary:

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

his hand crawls up your thighs, the folds of your velvet dress gliding against your skin. you can still hear the soldiers outside, feel the low thrum of their clamour in your very bones. should you focus, you’ll perceive the baron’s suspensors sucking away at gravity, the servants’ roaming about, feet like neelde-ants on cold marble.

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

wc: 1.6k

tw: political machinations, reader being inches away from killing everyone in the damn place including feyd, kissing, biting, mentions of breeding, possessive & needy feyd, sub!feyd, oral (fem receiving), fingering, hallway sex.

you’re getting tired of dreams.

there’s terrible, terrible purpose dripping from their edges. you see it all - snapshots of horror, fractals reflecting endless bodies dropping to the ground. sixty one billion people, dead. ten thousand worlds burning, the universe begging for respite under your brother’s crushing fist.

paul. little mouse, whom you’ve shielded all your life, whom you’ve sparred with, crysknife pressed against his throat, his shield a feeble protection against your blade. something shatters. blades. so many of them. your blade. jamis’ blade. feyd-rautha’s blade.

your dream has you standing in what you know to be the emperor’s ship, shrouded in bene gesserit veils. two silhouettes stand against the bleeding sun of arrakis.

the realisation embeds itself in your mind, marble-carved. fate is looking down upon you and tells you: one of them dies in the end.

when you wake up, there’s a scream dying on your tongue.

you don’t know where you are. you don’t know where you are, why your side is on fire, why you taste blood in your mouth.

slowly, you rise, heart beating furiously, breath laboured. i must not fear. your fingers dig your sheets. the infirmary. fear is the mind killer. you close your eyes, will yourself to breathe. fear is the little-death that brings total -

a hand settles over yours, bone pale fingers weaving with yours. warmth settles on your shoulder. you relax, ever so slightly, leaning into the touch, burying yourself in the crook of feyd-rautha’s neck. he’s all sharp edges, honed to deadly perfection. in the quiet midnight of geidi prime, he softens for you.

“what troubles you?”

you wonder if you should tell him. of the golden path, paved with blood, so much blood it clings to the soles of your feet, you see it rise, rise, eager to seize you-

a low mumble of your name.

“dreams are messages from the deep,” you whisper in the crook of his neck.

his hold tightens over you, brings you closer to the warmth of him, thumb running over the smooth skin of your belly, over your unborn child growing there. from your position, you can feel it, the way his vocal cords vibrate. he’s purring, soothing you bit by bit.

you tilt your head, hand coming to cradle his face, knuckles brushing against his cheek.

“i should be plotting your death.”

a low chuckle, a flash of almost eagerness in his eyes.

“i don’t doubt you will.”

his hand wraps around your neck, resting on the soft skin of your throat, bringing you closer to him, shifting your bodies until you’re straddling him, arms wrapping around his neck. you could strangle him. you could use the voice. ask him to take the knife you know rests on the bedside and slit his own throat like the harkonnen beast he is. use it yourself.

but you’ve sealed your fate the moment you stepped on arrakis. so instead, you let the darkness swallow your confession.

“i don’t want you to die.”

“i won't,” he mumbles against your lips, words like an oath as he kisses you.

they say the beat of a butterfly wing can cause a tempest on the other side of the globe. you wonder what tempest will be borne out of the fury beating in your chest. here goes: morning comes. the spice rules it all, even the baron’s affairs, so he gathers his troops to make a planetary governor out of feyd-rautha.

the glorious sun of geidi prime shines its lifeless light upon you all.

the finest harkonnen soldiers, ruthless hounds barking their sovereign’s name in fervent adoration, thousands upon thousands of ants stretching as far as you can see. they corrupt it all the harkonnen, eating away at the horizon. waiting.

you’re waiting, too, hands folded before you, lone silhouette clad in dark robes, veils like a mask before your face. bene gesserit, the court calls you.

not quite.

by bearing feyd-rautha a child, you’ve gained a modicum of respite. the bene gesserit will spare you, the mother of their precious kwisatz haderach. they will keep your survival a secret and bury it behind inscrutable eyes.

plans within plans within plans. you’re a pawn in the baron’s meaty hands, he’s a pawn in yours, and the bene gesserit have been pulling the strings for ninety generations.

your gaze flits to the scene before you. feyd-rautha harkonnen, clad in dark leathers, silver embroidery like pauldrons over his shoulders. the mass of his uncle hovers above him, a hovering beast eager for power. two meaty hands encompass his face - absolute disgust coils in your chest as you watch vladimir harkonnen kiss his nephew. he kisses back. a show of dominance.

the soldiers howl his name, earth trembling under the clamour. they salute, arms crossed over their heads, a living, breathing organism, synchronicity at its peak.

arrakis has a new ruler.

a hand clasps over your wrist, drags you away from the adoring masses, in the sweet darkness of the palace’s hallways. you’re pinned against the wall, and feyd-rautha looms before you, terrible hunger burning in his eyes. slowly, he lifts your veils, high enough to bare your mouth to him.

“my lord-”

you’re cut off by his lips on yours, eager, desperate, savouring you like fine arrakean spice-wine.

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

he nips at your ear, grin sharper than his blade as he sinks to his knees. slowly, intimately, a shadow curling at his mistress’ feet. he unravels you, nails raking up your thighs, liquid desire burning in their path.

“eyes on me.”

your eyes snap open. oh, he’ll be the death of you, with the way his eyes freeze you in place, willing, begging for his touch. you shiver, a low, needy sound escaping you.

he grins, a flash of black teeth against the liquid darkness of your robes. shadows will swallow you whole - he will swallow you whole. already is, with the way he trails kisses up your thighs, teeth sinking in the meat of it until blood drips on your skin.

he’s lapping at it, hands wrapping around your leg, spreading you apart inch by precious inch until he fits the broad expanse of his shoulders in the space he’s carved for himself. he raises his head, leans his cheek against your thigh, nuzzling in its softness. there’s blood coating his lips, sweet like forbidden fruit, and an unquenchable fire in his eyes.

“exquisite,” he purrs, nail digging in the blossoming mark he’s left, until your hips seek his touch.

he puts his mouth to you. you bite your lip, hard, as you feel him tease you, tongue lapping at you like sweet pomegranate, skilled fingers coaxing pleas for more. the cold of his silver ring has you keening - you're melting against him.

it’s obscene, how the only sounds you can hear are the pleased moans of your lover, the squelching of your juices dripping down his face, his wrist. it’s too much, too fast - your nails dig into his nape, bringing him closer. fucker’s purring, hands digging in your hips. he’s making a feast out of you, and you’ve never seen prettier sight.

feyd-rautha, kneeling at your feet, a pretty, pretty blush dusting his cheeks, his soft mouth on your cunt, ruining you as he denies himself sweet release.

“feyd-”

a jolt - he’s just nipped your clit, and you’re falling apart with his name on your tongue, burning, melting in the pits of desire. you grow boneless, faltering on unsteady legs. he pulls you to him before you can fall, kissing you, moulding his devouring mouth to yours.

distantly, you register that he’s breathless, that he’s pressing you against him, that you can feel the dampness at the front of his pants.

his voice is a low, needy rasp.

“you taste divine, my dear.”

there’s a commotion. someone, somewhere, is calling. a servant. a feast is prepared. blasphemy - the baron is a beast, and he will not have his nephew leave without obscene amounts of food. good. it leaves room for you to plan - you’re running out of precious, precious time. there are too many variables for you to act alone, yet you are.

you’re sitting at feyd-rautha’s side at a banquet table. on you watch, a mockery of a bene gesserit, nails digging in your palm. there’s a knife before you, of course. the baron’s sitting at the head of the table, stuffing himself until he’s about to burst.

repulsive.

you could do it now. put an end to the harkonnen, avenge your family. plunge that knife in the baron’s throat and watch him die like an animal.

but revenge is best served cold. you remember princess irulan being seated in front of you. you remember the emperor at the head of the table. you remember his knife slicing through unknown poultry. a falcon. he’s doomed your family to death.

the emperor is old. paranoid. anybody would’ve seen that the atreides were far too loyal to even consider rebelling against him, rising influence or not. someone convinced him otherwise. the truthsayer, reverend mother gaius helen moriam.

you take a bite of your own meal and find it tasting like ash. the only dish you yearn for is revenge.

you want the baron dead. you want the emperor stripped of his power. you want to watch the split second of horrified realisation on the reverend mother's face.

you want them to burn, and burn they will.

taglist: @kpopnstarwars @moonsoulk @alexandrainlove @saturnhas82moons @coureurs-de-bois9 @kamcrazy123 @beebeechaos @avidreader73 @yzuposts @jaiuneamesolitaiire

#obticeo writes #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #bald freak supremacy #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x y/n #feyd rautha x you #dune smut #austin butler smut

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st4rg8te · 2 months ago

Text

A Captured Dragon (BL)

Yandere! Half-brother X Crown Prince! Reader

[tw: graphic depiction(s) of violence, obsessive behaviour, betrayal, imprisonment, gaslighting, non-con kissing, incest!!!, teeny tiny bit of feminization]

✦✧✦✧

“You have done nothing to deserve that title. You were only lucky enough to be born the King’s son.”

A lot of things in life were beyond your control.

But fate had been kind to you, gifting you a life that most could only dream of. Born into the royal family as their beloved Crown Prince, the world bent to your will from the very moment you drew your first breath.

Spoiled, indulged, and never once tested by struggle—perhaps you were destined to fall from the start.

✦✧✦✧

It’s getting harder to tell the days apart.

The world around you blurs into a cycle of sleepless nights. Your mind is a fog, heavy with the weight of guilt and fear. Each hour blends into the next, until time itself feels like a punishment.

The nightmares don’t help either.

Every time you close your eyes, they come—haunting, vivid dreams where blood stains the corridors and screams pierce the air. The sounds of blades slicing through flesh, of bodies collapsing onto blood-soaked floors, echo endlessly in your ears. It is relentless.

You see the palace engulfed in flames, your servants and people—those you’ve known your entire life—crying out in terror as they are cut down by the cold steel of soldiers.

In every dream, you stand helpless, watching as they beg for mercy. Your people reach for you in desperation, their faces twisted in agony, but you can’t move.

In every dream, at the center of it all, is him.

Daewon.

Your half-brother.

While you grew up in the limelight, basking in the affections and adoration of others, your half-brother was cast into the shadows. Born from a lowly maid, his very existence was a blemish on the royal family's image. He was the son who would never be acknowledged by his father—neither loved nor remembered.

Despite that, you had treated him kindly.

When did everything go so wrong?

After the slaughter, you were taken away and imprisoned. The room you were kept in was dark and empty—there was no light, or any warmth. It was a far cry from the luxury you were used to.

Occasionally, food and water would be brought to you—a guard would come every few days, sliding bowls of stale rice and cloudy water across the floor without a word, without so much as a glance in your direction. You felt like an animal.

But worse than the silence of your captors were the visits from Daewon.

You hated those days the most.

“Brother.” His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. You can’t make out his face within the shadows.

So you bury your head further into the damp pillows, hiding from the monster in the room.

It isn’t long before you feel the bed dip under his weight, the chain on your ankle rustles against the sheets. He kneels beside you, leaning close enough for you to smell the faint traces of blood still lingering on his robe.

“You haven’t been eating,” Daewon’s voice was soft, almost tender, but you could hear the dark amusement laced beneath it. “Is the food not to your liking?”

You keep your eyes shut tight, fists clenched under the thin blankets.

It'll all be okay. Soon enough, he would leave you alone.

Cold fingers brush against your cheek, and you flinch. He chuckles at that, a low, mocking sound that makes your skin crawl.

“Did you know that these meals are what I had to eat as a child?” He whispers, his breath hot against your ears.

You briefly open your eyes, glancing at the food scattered across the floor, remnants of your earlier fit of rage—destroyed, just like everything else in your life.

“There were many days when the servants never even came. My mother often gave me her share, just so I wouldn't starve."

You grit your teeth—

"Why don't you just kill me already?"

The words hang in the air, and a suffocating silence stretches between you.

But then, Daewon's firm hand suddenly grips your chin, forcing you to meet his dark gaze.

“Kill you?” A cruel, guttural laugh escapes him, sending a shiver down your spine. “But death would be far too easy.”

“No... you have to live. You’ll live and endure. Just like I did.”

He had lived a life of invisibility, where no one cared to look beyond the stain of his tainted blood—no one, except you.

And the thought of it drives him mad.

His hand falls from your chin, trailing down until it rests against your chest. With that simple touch, your spirit breaks just a little more.

You hate him—hate him more than you’ve ever hated anyone.

Without any warning, you feel the press of his soft lips against your own. His body heat seeps into yours as he forcefully pulls you closer and presses you flush against him.

You are too tired, too hungry to resist.

"No, stop—" You protest breathlessly, the words barely escaping your lips as your mind reels, still foggy from the kiss. A dizzying mix of shock, confusion, and disgust floods your senses.

"This is wrong, we can't—"

"They will never fully accept a half-blooded bastard like me as their king."

“What?” You swallow hard, blinking up at the man.

"But surely, they'll accept a 'bride' from the royal family.”

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut.

Before you can react, his lips crash against yours again, harder this time, more possessive. The taste of him—bitterness and control—invades your senses completely.

A twisted smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and you finally understand.

This is a debt of suffering, a price he intends to collect over and over—until you were broken.

"Don’t worry. For everything you’ve done for me, I'll repay your kindness tenfold."

✦✧✦✧

[A/N]

This was not proofread, sorry for any mistakes!

#tw yandere #male reader #yandere male #yandere writing #reader insert #x reader #yandere #x male reader #yandere oc #yandere x darling #yandere blog #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x reader #oc x reader #yandere imagines

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tori111777 · 28 days ago

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FRIGHT AND FURY 2

Part 1, Part 3

Summary: conversations about and with your husband, Caracalla right before the second day of the games.

Warnings: spoilers of gladiator 2

Parings: Caracalla x wife!reader

You had awaken alone in your bed to the early morning light. You stretched beneath the covers, feeling the cool sheets where Caracalla had not lain with you last night, his absence pressing into you with the same weight as the silence that filled the room.

It was a morning like so many others, you got up and got ready. It wasn’t unusual for your husband to sleep in other places when he got upset the night prior or when his mind became too strong.

As your servant was doing your hair, putting into beautiful braids and adding golden leaves you stared at the empty spot of the bed. It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did right not, it has never bothered you before.

As the last braid was pinned in place, the golden leaves catching the early light, you caught your reflection in the mirror. The woman was beautiful, of course she was, she was you. Of noble brith and high ranking in Ancient Rome. You are the Roman dream. Yet you also saw you as a girl.

The door swung open and you saw that it was Emperor Geta. It was either him or Caracalla as no such person could open a noble women’s door without asking. He was a familiar face, but also one that carried the weight of his own ambitions.

"Emperor Geta," you greeted him. "I hope I am not intruding," Geta said as he stepped into the room, the sharp click of his sandals on the marble floor accentuating the silence.

"You are not intruding, my lord," you replied with a small bow of your head, a gracious smile curling your lips.

“I’ve come to see if you are ready for the games today. My brother should have been here by now to lead you away.” He seemed a bit concerned about it by pursing his lips a bit. “I am sure he will be here in time soon enough.” You gave a smile of reinsurance to him.

His unease seemed genuine, though his eyes lingered on you a little longer than was strictly necessary. It wasn’t unusual for brothers like him and Caracalla to be at odds, but you did not expect the Emperor himself to arrive at your chambers in his place.

Geta's lips quirked into a faint, knowing smile. "Do you miss him, my lady?" His tone was light, almost playful, but the way his eyes fixed on you felt more intent than playful. You could feel the shift in the air—the way he suddenly filled the space between you both. It made you uneasy, the two emperors have always been… something.

"I’ve grown accustomed to his late night walks," you replied, your voice cool and collected.

"Of course," Geta said, his voice dropping an octave as he took another step closer. "But you should know that my brother is... difficult to read, even for me." You tilted your head slightly, not quite trusting the shift in tone. "I know him well enough." You didn’t say too well, though that was the truth.

"And yet," he said, his voice almost a whisper, "even you must admit that you don't always understand him. Not entirely." He paused, letting the silence stretch between you. "And that can be... unsettling, can't it?" He was trying to see how much you could reveal about his brother. How much he could use against him.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the dressing table, though your expression remained unyielding. "I understand him well enough to know that his moods can change like the seasons," you replied, meeting his gaze evenly. "But there are things even the gods themselves cannot control."

He stepped back a couple of paces, his hands folded together in front of him. "True," he murmured. "Even the gods are at mercy of fate."

“I’m sure he’ll arrive soon,” you said again, though your voice was tinged with something less certain this time. “I will leave you to your preparations. Caracalla will surely be along shortly.” He made a show of bowing his head, a mock gesture of deference, before turning to leave.

You watched the servant outside your door close it behind him and suddenly a wave of fresh air had come into the room, even if the window was closed. The room now silent as only you stood there and could only hear your breathing.

Your mind swirled. You knew Caracalla had always been restless, but last night was different. There had been something raw in him and maybe even something raw in you for trying to help him. But what did you truly know of him, of his mind?

The second day of the games would be held later today in preparation of getting it ready as they needed to fill up the colosseum with water. Though if Caracalla didn’t lead you out to the area today it would not only be an embarrassment for you but to him as well.

And now Geta’s appearance only added another layer to the puzzle. The way his eyes lingered, the way his tone shifted with that subtle, almost imperceptible playfulness—What was his motive behind it all?

It wouldn’t be until minutes later of being left alone in your mind that the door would soon open again. You sat in a comfortable chair, facing out into the streets of Rome like how you always did.

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. The presence, though always commanding, was unmistakable—Caracalla.

When he entered, the light from the window caught the edge of his dark tunic, he was wearing black today, seeing from the reflection of the window. A symbol of death, but of course he didn’t know it meant death.

"I see you're ready for the games," he said, his words almost detached, as though he were speaking to a stranger. "Yes," you replied without turning. "Are you well?"

You saw his reflection twitch, his jaw tightening ever so slightly before he took a step closer, closer than you anticipated. "I’m fine," he said, but there was something in his tone that didn’t match the word.

You looked back to him and saw that he was right behind you. He did indeed look fine, his makeup being done, all of his gold glistening, and his clothes all neatly and tightly worn around his body.

You felt the need to give him a smile of somewhat. Last night conversation was left off but you dare not to bring it to the table. “Are you ready to leave for the games, my lady?” Your husband said, laying out his hand for you to take.

“As always.” You replied.

#fred hechinger #gladiator 2 #gladiator ll #gladiator movie #emperor carcalla x reader #emperor caracalla #caracalla x reader #carcalla #ancient rome #rome #italy

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winwintea · 4 months ago

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perfect strangers - l.dh

PAIRING ↬ doctor!lee donghyuck x fem! reader

GENRES ↬ smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), romance, fluff, ballroom dancing, masquerade, strangers to lovers, forbidden love, arranged marriages, eloping lol…

TAGS ↬ the punch has alcohol in it (oh no!), one-night stand turned into something bigger, housekeeper is such a cockblock, they are both so DOWN bad for each other, doctor haechan!!!! also pink hair haechan i love him, idk how to tag smut this is my first smut guys i wanna kms, they just fuck how do i explain that

SUMMARY ↬ one night, you fell in love with a man who would come to you the next morning as your doctor. unfortunately, you were betrothed to someone else, but you wanted to feel what love really was. "whatever choices we make, just know that my heart is yours."

WORD COUNT ↬ 4.0k

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ baby’s first smut (kinda not really) fic ever! this is a gift for @lyvhie bc i usually don’t write such suggestive works, so pls don’t request me to write some 😭😭 took me a while to finish this bc i was so uncomfortable writing this, but i tried my best and now i wanna die… thank you so much to @galacticnct and @h-aechanie for helping me get through this i lowkey would’ve never finished if it wasn’t for the support from you two. <33

It all happened like a dream. You woke up comfortable, wrapped in your own soft bed sheets, and slowly sat up.

“Will you be getting up, Miss, or would you like to rest a bit longer?”

“No, I’ve slept enough. It’s about time I got up.” Your housekeeper nodded and pulled open the curtains. To judge from the sunlight streaming in the large balcony windows, it was close to noon already.

“It was quite the shock last night when I heard you’d collapsed after the ball and couldn’t come home until morning. You have to take care of your health, Miss Y/N, especially so close to your wedding. I knew that masquerade was a bad idea. How are you feeling now?”

“I’m alright… sorry for worrying you.” You started to get out of bed, before suddenly stopping.

“What’s the matter Miss?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m just a little thirsty. Could you get me a glass of water?”

The housekeeper smiled and shook her head, then left the room, closing your bedroom door behind her. You sat back against the pillows and hugged yourself tightly.

It wasn’t a dream. You could still feel that scorching heat inside you. His heat. The man with the dusty pink hair and pale brown eyes that burned through his mask…

The rising heat beneath your skin brought memories of the previous night rushing back.

The night before

So this was a masquerade ball…? It was an even more lavish affair than you were expecting. When the invitation came, everyone advised you not to attend so close to your wedding. But you had insisted, wanting to have the experience at least once in your life. You thought it would be interesting in sort of an academic way, but-

“May I have this dance, miss?” A masked man approached you silently.

“Oh, um, I… No, I’m sorry.” Unused to such occasions, you weren’t sure how to respond when people approached you. You retired to a quieter corner of the ballroom and sipped the punch handed to you by one of the servants circulating with trays. You sighed. I’m the picture of an overly sheltered child, aren’t I?

The ballroom seemed like a different world, guests dancing in their bright finery, their faces hidden, laughter ringing out. You’ve heard that all sorts of passionate affairs begin at masque balls. Perhaps you were even wondering if any fateful meetings had happened tonight.

Your family loved you, and the man they had arranged for you to marry had sworn to make you happy. But even as peaceful and loving as your home life was, in your heart of hearts, you felt something was missing. You wanted to experience a passion that burned like the sun. It seemed so wonderful to love someone with your whole heart and soul. To walk on air just at the thought of that person. To feel like the whole world is dancing around you.

You drained your punch absently as you daydreamed. Wait… this is pretty powerful stuff. Is this why people call alcohol liquid courage? Yeah… you felt all giddy and like you could take on the whole world.

Perhaps it was your sudden agitation that spread the alcohol so quickly through your system. At any rate, you were very much tipsy. You leaned against a wall, giggling. Someone tapped your shoulder.

“Hey there… Are you all right? Can I help? Just say the word.” You’d gotten carried away with thoughts of experiencing a hot passionate romance, and drinking the night away when someone came up to check on you. “Can I get you some water? Or would you like to take a rest somewhere?”

There was only one thing you wanted. “I want… to fall in love. I want to love someone… with my whole heart and soul.” Beware the truth at the bottom of the wineglass, indeed. No one was meant to hear that little secret.

The helpful stranger blinked at you in surprise, then chuckled, “I can help with that too, if you’d like. Why don’t you try loving me?”

“Huh? But we don’t even know eac-”

Something soft sealed your lips before you could finish. His kiss was sudden and heady, like the effects of liquor masked by the sweetness of fruit, and every bit as disorienting. “You’re not supposed to reveal your face at a masquerade, but nothing’s stopping us from getting to know each other’s bodies. You can have all of me, as long as you love me in return. Deal?”

He pulled you close, and you quickly agreed– It was exactly what you wanted.

After that you spent the night with him. The memory alone sent a thrill through you unlike anything you had felt before. His voice had been as sweet as sugar cubes. You could hear it even now. Pale brown eyes seen through his mask. His dusty pink hair that tickled your skin. The gleam of his piercings on his ears. He wasn’t wrong… You had gotten to know his body quite well. Even though you never learned his name…

Your chest tightened at the memory of that one sweet night with your masked stranger. He’s the only one who’s ever made you feel that way… and you don’t even know his name? You wished you could see him again, but how would you find him?

A knock interrupted your thoughts. “I’ve brought your water, Miss! And the doctor’s just arrived to see you.”

“But I feel fine now. There wasn’t any need to call a doctor…”

“No need to be brave, Miss Y/N. Besides, you still look all flushed.” Ugh. You couldn’t say that you just got drunk at the ball, or that your staying out all night had nothing to do with feeling ill, so… “Right this way, Doctor.” Oblivious to your conundrum, the housekeeper ushered the doctor in. Your breath caught at the sight of him.

“Lee Donghyuck, at your service, Miss Y/N.” Oh my god. The pale brown eyes and dusty, pale, pink hair. He was, without a doubt, the man with whom you had spent the previous night with. Were you actually dreaming now? “I’ll begin the examination right away. Madam, if you would step outside?”

“Of course, thank you Doctor.” Once she had left, the doctor seated himself in the chair beside your bed.

“Well then, if you’ll unbutton your nightgown, we can begin.”

“I…um…?” What did he just say? As you floundered for words, he snorted and began to chuckle.

“If you’re too tired to undress yourself, I could help you with the buttons like I did last night.”

Oh damn. Okay. You needed to hold yourself together. “I knew it was you! Did you know who I was all along? Is that why you’re here?”

“Not at all. I had no idea we would meet again until I stepped inside just now. I’ve made house calls here before, but I had no idea you were a member of this family.” As he spoke, Donghyuck got on with the exam in an efficient manner. “Your housekeeper was worried that you might have suddenly taken ill, but there’s no cause for alarm.”

“Thank you…”

Donghyuck looked at you as he closed his doctor’s bag. “You’re very well loved.” Indeed this was the case. So why had you said what you had said the night before? His direct gaze seemed to be asking yourself that same question.

You felt you owed him an answer to his unspoken question. “My family loves me… to the point of being overprotective. They’ve picked the perfect fiance for me. Everyone around me cares for me a great deal. But…” But you’ve only experienced love on the receiving end. At least… until last night. Your eyes were drawn to his; You couldn’t look away. Moving as one, we leaned closer, until our faces were almost touching. “Dongh– Mmf!?”

He wrapped you in his arms just as he had done the night before, and you felt the heat of his lips over yours. The flames he’d kindled in your roared back to life, and you threw your arms around him in return. “What’s wrong with me…?” Donghyuck’s voice was faint and breathless. “I’ve met so many people, but no one who’s captivated me the way you do…”

“I feel the same way…” You always wanted to experience a fiery passionate love. It was something you had only ever read about in books. What you’d imagined was nothing like the scorching feeling in your chest. This isn’t the sweet longing they write about in stories. Now that you know what love feels like from the other side, you might never be the same.

Donghyuck let out a tremulous sigh as your lips parted once again. He rested his forehead against yours. “Y/N, I want you to show me love the way I did for you. I’ve been searching for someone to love me. You’ve been wanting someone to love. We’re perfect for each other.”

“Hyuck…” Every fiber of your being was irresistibly drawn toward him. It was enough to make you believe in destiny. You hardly recognize yourself like this. It’s a little scary. It felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff. One more step, and you wouldn’t be able to take it back. Even knowing that, the fall still called out to you.

“Y/N… one more…” His pleading tone had you leaning in before you could think better of it. His breath puffed across your lips and–

There was a knock at your door. It opened and your housekeeper came in. “How is Miss Y/N, Doctor?”

“Just a little overtired, that’s all. With some rest, she’ll be as good as new.” Donghyuck’s innocent act was flawless. You breathed a sigh of relief. That was really close. She nearly saw us too. “I’ll let you get your rest, Miss Y/N, and come back later to check on you. More stealthily this time.” He said the last part quietly enough that the housekeeper didn’t seem to hear, but your heart leapt into your throat all the same.

“Please do, Doctor. With her wedding coming up so soon, Miss Y/N needs to take special care of her health.” Those words hit you like a splash of cold water.

“Of course.” Donghyuck left immediately, so you didn’t get to see his expression. The housekeeper saw him out, and you watched from your window as he left through the front door. As you watched him walk away, he suddenly turned around. He was already quite far off, but he looked straight at you and gave you a small wave. Without thinking you ducked behind the curtain. Your pulse had just begun to slow, and now it was thundering in your ears again. We’ve only met last night, and we’ve barely spoken to one another… Can anyone really fall in love that quickly?

Last night’s events still remained on your mind. The blaze showed no signs of abating; in fact, it was growing so hot, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You feel like you’re being burned up from within, but even if you were consumed entirely, this flame wouldn’t go out… Is this what it feels like to love someone?

The love you had experienced was warm and comforting. This feeling was a roaring blaze; something dangerous– even maddening. You were restless. All you wanted to do was run after Donghyuck.

You couldn’t do that. You’re engaged. To be married, and soon. The thought of your wedding seemed to pour cold water over the passion burning in your chest. This feeling you’ve just discovered has to die before your wedding. You remembered his pale brown eyes, and your ribs started to creak, your chest too narrow to contain the emotion within.

—

Later that evening, you heard a tap on your balcony window.

“Good evening, I’m here to check on my patient.” As he’d promised that afternoon, Donghyuck had returned. It’s only been a few hours, but it feels like you’d been apart much longer.

“Hyuck…?” You ran to him and threw yourself into his arms. We fit perfectly together, and the feeling of contentment it gave you defied description. “Hyuck, I know we only met yesterday, but the thought that I’d never see you again was awful. Today, just the few hours we’ve been apart felt too long. That’s strange, isn’t it? Maybe there really is something wrong with me.”

“If there is, my symptoms are even worse than yours.” You looked up as he cupped your face in his hands. There was desperation in his eyes as he gazed into yours. “The thought of you makes my heart so full it feels like my chest might burst. I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t forget the way you loved me last night. One night will never be enough. I need more. I need you to love me. I need to feel your lips on my skin, breathe in the scent of your hair, explore every line and curve of your body… or I’ll lose my mind.”

Those sugar sweet words might have sounded like idle flirtation if it hadn’t been for the fire in his eyes. You had no doubt he desperately wanted you every bit as desperately as he claimed. Your reflection in his eyes looked just as hungry as he did.

As we struggled to convey by looks what words could not express, his arms tightened around you. “I wish I could spirit you away and keep you all to myself. At first, I just thought you were sweet. A girl with naive ideas of romance. But when you touched me, I could tell you were different from everyone I’d ever met. Your desire to love someone was real and pure. You had so much affection to give, a man could drown in it. I wanted to. You’re the missing piece I’ve been searching for, all my life. Last night, I knew. Say the word and I’ll take you away from here. I’ll give up everything to be with you.”

“Hyuck…” His clinging arms, his pleading voice, his entire being seemed to cry out for you.

“Please, Y/N. Keep wanting me. Make me yours and only yours.”

All you have to do is agree and the man you love–Donghyuck–will take you wherever you want to go. But that would hurt your family and everyone who’s loved and nurtured you? If you refuse, you can continue your peaceful life, surrounded by people who care for you. But you might never be able to see Donghyuck like this again.

“I don’t need anything but you. Do you want me, Y/N? Or…”

“Of course I do… Donghyuck… I want your body and soul. And I want to give you all of me in return. I feel the same way you do. I don’t need anything but you.” You can’t lie to yourself about what you feel.

Donghyuck’s wide, surprised eyes narrowed into a smile. “I’m so glad to hear that… Can I kiss you?” You nodded, and Donghyuck leaned in hesitantly to brush his lips against yours. If possible, the hint of awkwardness in his kiss only intensified the affection you felt for him. "Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for loving me. This is the happiest I've been in my entire life."

"I know... I've never been this happy, either.” You never imagined loving someone would bring you such utter happiness. We fit into each other's arms like puzzle pieces. Our heartbeats synchronized as if we were a single being. "It's so strange. Until I met you, I had no idea what love was, and yet.. I feel like this is how we were always meant to end up.” Maybe this is how destiny works.

"I think you're right. We were fated for each other." It was almost as if he had heard your thoughts.

"Haha, I was just thinking that.”

"You were? We really are two peas in a pod." We shared a look and burst into giggles.We shared a look and burst into giggles.

Our sweet reunion was interrupted by a sudden knock at your bedroom door. Without waiting for a reply, your housekeeper opened the door. “Miss Y/N? I heard some odd sounds, are you– Oh, my heavens!” There wasn’t time for Donghyuck to hide, we were well and truly caught. “Oh, you’re the doctor who visited this afternoon. What on earth are you doing here at this house? Don’t tell me you broke into Miss Y/N’s room for some nefarious–”

“No, no! Nothing nefarious!” You waved your hands not liking the suspicious look on your housekeeper’s face. “I’m sorry we startled you, I never intended for this to happen, but.. I’ve fallen in love with this man.” Your heart pounded in your chest, and your voice wobbled as you explained. Donghyuck pressed your hands between his which kept them from trembling. Bolstered by his support, you felt the courage to press on. “I know how awful this seems, but I have to be true to my heart. So I’ve decided I’m going to elope with him…”

“Oh, Miss Y/N, you can’t! I… Help! Someone, come quickly!” Looking like she had seen a ghost, your housekeeper turned and shouted down the hallway for help. As she raised the alarm, lights came on all the mansion. This was just going from bad to worse.

You looked up at Donghyuck. His expression was impossibly calm. ”Like I said before, as long as I have you, I don’t need anything else.”

“Nothing’s changed. All I need is you, Donghyuck.”

He flashed you a smile, then tugged on your hands. “Then, let’s go.”

“All right, Let’s run away, Donghyuck.” We could hear footsteps pounding down the hallway outside. Without a backward glance, Donghyuck lifted you into his arms and sprang out the window.

Our wild flight through the sleeping city led us, at last, to a small inn. “The staff are friends of mine. No one will find us here. It’s been a while since I’ve run that far. You must be exhausted.”

“No, I’m fine.” You were still riding high on the excitement of our escape. You caught a similarly wild look in his eyes.

“Glad to hear it. You don’t mind if I perform a physical exam on you, do you? I need to make certain your body isn’t at the point of exhaustion and can perform more vigorous exercises. It’s extremely scientific.” Donghyuck leaned in with a smile and kissed you.

“Mm… Well, I’d hate to be a difficult patient…”

Suddenly in a modest city, the two of us shed our clothes and fell into each other’s arms. It made no difference to us that he was a doctor and you were the daughter of a noble family. The two of you were simply two lovers brought together by fate.

“Do you know? I think we were born to love each other.” Donghyuck whispered as he brushed his lips over your flushed skin.

“I think so too. I was born to meet you, Hyuck.”

Donghyuck smiled with guileless joy. “I’m so happy. I’ve been waiting my whole life for you. Thank you for finding me, Y/N. And for loving me.” He enfolded you in a tight embrace and kissed you softly. “I vow to live for this love, now and for all time.”

Your heart soared. Loving someone can bring pain and confusion. But it’s also the source of the greatest possible happiness. Just being in Donghyuck’s arms filled you with the greatest pleasure you had ever known. You know this flame inside you will never go out.

—

Some time later, you and Donghyuck had acquired a small house for yourselves. He continued his work as a doctor and you became his assistant. Your lives were busy and happy. One day, a letter arrived.

“It’s from your parents, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I thought my father would never answer…” Once you were feeling somewhat settled, you had written to your parents. You thanked them for how lovingly they had raised you, and apologized for running away. You told them that you two were working hard to bring happiness to as many people as you could. You had done your best to explain your feelings and make amends for the people you had hurt.

It took some time, but your father seemed to understand how you felt. “It says here that the man you were betrothed to has gotten married and seems happy. Father says that Mother, the housekeeper, and everyone at home wants to see me… so I should come visit. Can I?”

“Of course.” Donghyuck leaned over the back of your chair to hug you. “I was hoping to keep you all to myself forever, but I suppose I’ll have to share.”

“Oh, Hyuck… my body and soul already belong to you. What more do you need?”

“I’m a bottomless pit of need when it comes to you. Indulge me?” With an impish smile, he leaned down for a kiss. Our one night of forbidden passion had grown into a deeper love. You thought of all the ways he made you shiver with pleasure, and reached out to touch him the same way. “Mm… Haha, Y/N, you’re being a terrible tease…”

You smiled, continuing with light movements with your fingers.

Donghyuck continued his lecture as he arched his back to press his already bared skin against your lips. “Be gentle with me… Ah That’s just the right amount of pressure… Yes, like that.” His bright eyes and quickening breaths made his pleasure obvious. “I’ll have to spoil you even more than usual as a reward.”

His clever fingers found their mark as they always did, and you felt yourself begin to come apart… As his kisses rained down over you, you realized just how parched you had been without his love.

“Let me hear your voice. Let me feel you.” His fingers played over your skin, making you moan and shudder under him, breathless. Donghyuck’s breath almost seemed to steam with the heat of his stored up desire. The flush on his cheeks lent an added wantonness to his expression. Seeing him like that kindled an answering fire in you. He had shown you the true depth of his desire, and it shook you, even as your body thrilled to his every touch.

“Hyuck… if you keep doing that, I’ll…”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll lose my mind. It feels too good.”

“Might be a nice change of pace, after the last few days. Show me what frenzy looks on you, Y/N…” Your back arched, hips jerking, as his fingers sought out your sensitive spots. You could hardly keep up with him; your head spun with nonstop stimulation. You were on fire, you were melting, you were overwhelmed with his touch, and starved for it at the same time.

“Ahaha, sorry… I love your reactions so much, it’s easy to get carried away.” You were a bit overwhelmed by Donghyuck’s enthusiasm, but you certainly didn’t want him to stop. The desire in his eyes and his hands, the heat building between us… his love throbbed like a frenzied heartbeat through it all. Urgent yet tender, each caress made your heart beat faster.

"Mm..." He pulled off your shirt and tossed it away, impatient to get at your skin. Lips and tongue mapped your throat, your chest. It was more than physical, after the fear of losing him and the relief of his miraculous cure. Every sensation was heightened-- you couldn't restrain your voice. "Ahh... Hyuck..." You couldn't get enough of him; your need only grew with each touch. You clung to his shoulders and called out the name you loved over and over.

"Rather than take everything from you, I want to give you everything that I am."

"Haah.. Aahh!” Donghyuck lowered himself over you, and pushed inside you. Finally you were together, as close as two people could be. Happiness bloomed inside you like a garden where spring had come early. Tears pricked your eyes.

"I love you, Y/N. Let me show you just how much."

Every touch, every word fanned the flames of your passion hotter and higher, till nothing existed in your world but him. You gave him your heart, fully and without reservation. Of course, there had never been any doubt.

And although you two had only met as strangers, you knew for certain that this was simply destiny.

PERM TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @h-aechanie

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nothingbutsweetwords · 6 months ago

Text

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"...ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ꜱᴇᴇ ɪᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴏᴜᴛ"

Word count: 5,600.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

Warnings: Angst, mention of SA!, violence.

FALLING — 8. Him.

As they ventured beyond the gardens, the night unfurled before them like an endless canvas, speckled with stars gleaming like precious diamonds. The cool air brushed against their faces, his heart racing with a thrilling anticipation.

Time seemed suspended as their lips met for the first time. She leaned in with a determination that enchanted him, and their brief, gentle kiss pulsed with newfound love. As they separated, he silently wished this moment could last forever. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the sweetness of her lips once more, and when they eventually pulled away, their hearts beat as one.

"Goodnight" she whispered, her voice barely audible with emotion of the moment. He studied her divine face carefully.

"Goodnight" he replied, his heart overflowing with happiness.

His steps were light, almost floating on the ground like it was made of clouds, as he replayed every detail of the encounter in his mind. Her smile, the softness of her voice, the warmth of her eyes. Everything about her captivated him, and now the opportunity to get closer to her lay before him.

The overwhelming feelings swirling inside him formed a maze of complexities and simplicities. He was deeply in love, a truth as soothing as it was exhilarating.

From the moment their eyes first met, something within him surged with indescribable force. Now, after witnessing countless dawns and dusks together, he finally understood the profound signals his body sent and the true sentiments his heart harbored. It was unmistakable: love, destined to flourish, destined to be. He was certain that, had it not been for fate, somehow they would have found their way to each other. Yet, he was profoundly grateful that the gods had paved their path.

The movements of servants and distant voices reached him as a faint murmur. In that moment, he only heard the rapid beating of his own heart and the echo of his steps leading him back to his chambers.

Reflecting nostalgically on the early days of their relationship, particularly that initial meeting in the library, it seemed like ages had passed and yet remained vivid as yesterday. Every moment spent in her company felt all too brief. She had the uncanny ability to transform every experience into something incredibly beautiful, a dream come true, and he perpetually yearned for more.

Upon entering his room, he collapsed onto the bed, paying no mind to the clothes touching the freshly changed sheets. He made no attempt to conceal the radiant smile that illuminated his face, one that seemed determined to etch itself there indefinitely.

His heart raced wildly yet also felt serene, as if it had been sprinting for hours and finally found repose, reassured that he was precisely where he belonged, every fragment of his life fitting seamlessly into place.

It had been his first kiss, a magical, momentous occasion and he was taken aback by its occurrence. It wasn't that he hadn't previously contemplated doing it, or that he didn’t want it, but he had been hesitant to rush into it.

With the taste of her lips lingering on his, he wondered if that was her first kiss too.

Just as he kept sinking into his thoughts, knocks on the door snapped him out of his reverie. He had completely forgotten that Aegon had promised a visit, and he couldn't wait for this meeting to end so he could see his princess again. The thought of them being alone excited him even more, filling him with indescribable joy. Perhaps, he thought, he could have another one before sleeping—and every night thereafter.

He opened the door with a radiant smile he couldn't care to hide. His elder brother greeted him with an amused and surprised look at seeing him so elated then entered the room followed by a servant carrying a pitcher and two cups. He, still lost in his daydream, watched curiously as the servant placed the things on the wooden table and discreetly withdrew. Aegon seemed more interested in the lady than anything else, but soon, when the door closed, he focused his attention on his brother.

With a quick gesture, he tossed something to Aemond, who caught it mid-air. It was a rough cloth cloak, starkly different from the soft garments he was accustomed to. He unfolded it, furrowing his brow, as he looked at his brother with curiosity.

"Is this my present?" he asked, unable to hide his confusion. He didn't expect much from Aegon, but a dirty cape seemed like a rather insulting gift, even from him.

"No, it's still too early for gifts. Come, sit down" his brother said, pointing to the armchair across from him. Aemond placed the cloak on the back of it, smoothing it carefully. Aegon chuckled softly before pouring wine into the cups.

He sat down, accepting the brimming goblet that Aegon offered. He didn't normally drink as much as his brother, but this time he decided to join him. The elder downed his in one go and set it aside, while he sipped slowly, still eager to receive his gift and return to the princess.

"May I have my gift now?" Aemond began to ask, but was calmly interrupted.

"I know you've been acquainted more closely of late, you and the princess. Especially in the nighttime" Aegon remarked casually, a sly glint in his eye. Instantly, he felt a jolt of alarm, worried that rumors were already swirling through the castle corridors. Aemond held his breath, his heart pounding hard. How could Aegon have found out about that? Then, with a playful smirk, his brother added, clearly relishing the tease: "It appears you hold her in high regard."

Caught off guard, he struggled for words. His mouth opened slightly in surprise and he remained silent, debating on how to respond.

"She is not the only one aware about the passages, but don’t worry, mother won’t know" Aegon continued nonchalantly. "Is there something you wish to share?" he probed.

After a pause, and under the expectant gaze of Aegon, he admitted: “Well, we… We have spent some time together, yes. And I find her company quite... pleasant.”

"You have feelings for her" Aegon asserted, his tone almost rhetorical.

"Of course I do, she's family" he tried to deflect, attempting to mask the truth of his emotions, but it was feeble. It was all too conspicuous; he was too transparent, and Aegon too perceptive.

His brother's eyes rolled at the predictable response. "Come now, Aemond. Your countenance betrays you." Aegon insisted with unusual calmness. He felt his mouth go dry and nervously took another sip of wine, the silence between them growing tense, charged with an expectation that the elder seemed to enjoy. "You've taken a liking to her, have you not?" he pressed, his expression urging honesty.

Exhaling heavily, he acknowledged the undeniable truth. "Perhaps I do... yes. This is all rather new to me" he admitted softly, revealing his inner thoughts to his brother for the first time. Aegon's smile widened reassuringly.

"And do you intend to declare yourself?" Aegon inquired knowingly, his tone now softer, almost understanding. For a brief moment, he debated the necessity; after all, they had already shared a first kiss. But the desire to fully reveal himself to her outweighed any doubts.

Aemond looked down, his thoughts invaded by memories. The first time their hands accidentally brushed in the library, the conspiratorial conversations meant only for their ears, the shared laughter that echoed like a melody, and the silences that were anything but awkward. Every detail of her had delighted him, and for once, Aegon was right: he couldn't deny it.

"I must admit, I'm relieved. I thought the only woman you'd ever fancy would be the one from your books." Aegon said, laughing softly. He got serious again, rolling his eyes at his brother’s snarky comment.

"Where are you going with this?" Aemond finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'll lend a hand" Aegon offered warmly, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his eyes. He frowned, taken aback by his brother's willingness to assist, yet also stung by the implication that he needed it in this pursuit. While it was true he didn't possess Aegon's effortless charm in certain matters, he was determined to win her heart entirely on his own terms and merits.

Silently, he shook his head and drained his cup in one swift sip.

"Are you not going to drink more?" He asked, surprised, trying to change the course of the conversation, noting that his brother had only had one glass of his favorite drink. Not that he seemed sober, but the fact that he wasn't almost unconscious was somewhat of a surprise.

"Thanks for caring, but even I know my limit. I've had a bit during dinner and in my room" He said with a light laugh. Aemond, not considering that to be little, decided not to argue. "But back to your gift... it's something special. In fact, I did it at your age. Now, I want to guide you through it." Leaning forward, his brother's eyes showed a hint of excitement. "I'll take you to a fun place tonight. A place where you can try new things and become more... experienced."

Aemond looked at him skeptically, trying to focus his vision that was beginning to blur. "What kind of place?"

Aegon leaned, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he filled his cup once more. "Oh, you'll see.”

"I think I've had enough" he murmured.

"Finish this one, and then we may go" insisted Aegon, pushing the cup towards his lips.

Aemond drank the wine with a grimace, noticing his mind beginning to cloud more with each sip.

"Fuck" he whispered, trying to keep steady.

"Feeling more relaxed now?" Aegon asked sarcastically, watching him with a mocking smile. "Is this your first time being drunk?" He nodded, a small laugh escaping his lips at the unfamiliar sensation. "You'll thank me later, I promise. I'm sure it will help you with your... beloved" the elder added cryptically.

"What do you mean by that, Aegon?" Aemond raised an eyebrow, his intrigue deepening.

"It's a surprise," he replied, rising from the sofa and grabbing his cloak, "trust me on this one. Now, shall we?" Aemond sighed inwardly, realizing arguing with his brother would be futile. He nodded reluctantly.

With a theatrical gesture, Aegon headed towards the back door and opened it, revealing the hallway where the princess always passed to see him.

"Come on, brother" Aegon said with an unusually serious tone. "You're going to love this."

He rose slowly, his mind filled with unanswered questions while grabbing the cloak. Aegon rarely showed such interest in something, which only heightened his curiosity and, at the same time, his wariness.

They left the room and silently made their way through the dark corridors of the castle. Aegon led Aemond to a secret door that he didn't even know existed, then opened it and revealed what lay behind.

Aemond furrowed his brow and began to shake his head. "I'm not sure this is a good idea" he said cautiously.

"Aemond, could you stop being such a prude for one night?" Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes in disbelief. "It's your special day; I just want you to see the city.” he explained, then mockingly added: “Don’t tell me you’re afraid."

Aemond had never felt a genuine urge to explore the city, but Aegon's challenging tone, coupled with the slight boldness the wine had imparted, began to wear down his reluctance. Curiosity about the surprise also spurred him on. Moreover, he was eager to meet his beloved princess, and the sooner they finished this, the better.

Perhaps he could turn this experience into an interesting tale to share later—a memory of the remarkable night that signaled the beginning of a new chapter in his life, a chance to surprise her with a new adventure. He could also learn something more, should she ever wish to make an unforeseen escapade.

They descended the narrow stairs together, with Aegon leading the way. The guards appeared accustomed to the prince frequenting these places and simply opened the doors without questioning.

Once outside the castle walls, entering the city immersed him in a cacophony of noises. He kept his hood up, observing everything with curiosity tinged with caution. Unlike him, Aegon seemed unfazed by the possibility of being recognized, allowing his hair and face to be fully exposed and even exchanging friendly greetings with passersby.

Aegon spoke enthusiastically, recounting stories of his experiences in the city, and Aemond tried to listen attentively, but his mind was divided. He felt somewhat guilty for not enjoying the gift as much as his brother had intended.

The bustling atmosphere of the city began to unsettle him. Soon, the overwhelming number of people and the unpleasant smell disturbed him deeply. He felt uncomfortable and agitated, sweat beading on his forehead in the unfamiliar and potentially dangerous surroundings, unsure of what fate awaited him under Aegon's turbulent guidance.

They walked until they reached a shady alley. It was less crowded but equally foul-smelling and narrow as the previous path, he noticed. They approached the door of a larger house, its entrance concealed behind red curtains, giving no clue as to what may lay inside.

Some men silently opened it and they both stepped into it.

The smell changed upon it, but not necessarily for the better. Aemond looked up when he saw bare feet approaching them from the center of the room, dimly lit by candles. Aemond's breath caught in his throat and he felt the blood drain from his face as if he had seen a ghost. Fear mingled with revulsion as he realized the nature of the place, the weight of Aegon's expectations crushing down on him.

When Aemond turned to look at Aegon with a mixture of disbelief and confusion, he felt overpowered by the taller, more robust presence, who flashed a malicious smile and pulled back his hood.

Anxiety surged through him; he felt as though he were caught in a dangerous game, not fully understanding the rules or the objective. His heart began to pound harder in his chest, and his throat went dry when Aegon, who was in his element, pushed him further, closer to the woman, and said: "I want only the best for the one-eyed prince."

"I'm sorry, Aegon, I can't..." murmured Aemond, his voice barely a trembling whisper. But his protest was drowned out by Aegon's tired groan.

"You can't back out now" insisted Aegon firmly, his eyes gleaming with a determination that was more frightening to Aemond than any physical threat.

The woman in front of him smiled and extended her hand in an inviting gesture. However, he kept his hands firmly clenched at his sides, fists tightly closed with such force that he could feel the pain of his nails digging into his palms. His brother, seeing that he showed no signs of wanting to move forward, pushed him more towards the woman, who greeted him with another smile and grabbed his wrist.

He obeyed mechanically, his heart hammering painfully against his chest. Each step carried him further away from everything he knew, towards an abyss of the unknown and feared.

She was walking in front of him, dressed in a revealing attire that left little to the imagination. Feeling embarrassed, he lowered his gaze. Aegon continued to stand behind him, hands resting on his shoulders, urging him.

He wanted to react, genuinely trying, but he felt dazed, as if his mind was disconnected while his body moved on inertia. His face flushed with heat.

Although his gaze was fixed on his feet, his eye captured unsettling images, scenes he had never imagined and certainly should not be witnessing. As the figures moved about, a subtle melody played in the background amidst moans of various voices and tones.

Aemond swallowed hard, every fiber of his being screamed to stop, to turn around and run far from that place, but Aegon continued to push him forward. He felt like a marionette, strings pulled by Aegon's words and will.

And he kept walking towards his uncertain fate, desperately longing for some miracle to divert him from this imposed path, to regain ownership of his life once more.

The woman, moving deliberately and maintaining a consistently gentle demeanor, positioned them in front of semi-transparent curtains.

"Come now, don't linger" Aegon urged impatiently, a sly smile twisting his lips.

Aemond hesitated, unease settling in his gut. He didn't want to enter, didn't want to confront whatever lay inside.

"I don't think..." Aemond stammered, his objections weak against Aegon's strong grip on his shoulder, propelling him ahead.

"You see, brother," Aegon whispered in his ear, his tone low and insidious, "this is where boys become men. You can't shy away from what life demands of you."

Aemond felt trapped, like a lamb led to slaughter. Every nerve screamed for escape, but he found himself unable to resist the pull of Aegon; his persuasive words wormed their way into his thoughts like a creeping vine. Aemond's mind reeled, torn between revulsion and the need to please his elder brother.

Impatiently, Aegon parted the curtains and pushed him into the room. Aemond closed his eyes briefly, cold sweat beading on his forehead as a wave of nausea swept over him. His thoughts became a chaotic whirlwind of denial and despair.

As the curtains closed behind him, he avoided lifting his gaze. His hands remained clenched, his legs heavy. From the center of the small room, a soft voice broke the silence: "My prince, don't be shy."

Despite the invitation, he continued reluctantly to look up. The voice, with a playful tone, drew nearer, descending from a bed. The room seemed to absorb all sound, leaving Aemond with the deafening echo of his own racing pulse and the measured steps from the woman.

She walked slowly towards him with grace, and he could see her bare body approaching. He felt rooted to the spot, unable to move, his body stiff and tense, experiencing slight tremors. He wanted to protest, but the words stuck in his throat.

The woman moved behind him, and he finally lifted his gaze. He observed the walls adorned with explicit paintings, while numerous candles scattered around the room illuminated the space, highlighting a large round bed in the center. He felt like an intruder in his own skin, his mind and body disconnected in a harrowing internal struggle.

The atmosphere was dense, heavy with something oppressive, something that seemed to steal all the air from his lungs. Forced to breathe quickly and deeply, his nostrils filled with a pungent scent of myrrh that seemed to seep into his very being. Discomfort threatened to become more visible with each second.

His face contorted in an expression of revulsion and distress as he felt hands resting heavily on his shoulders, while warm breath caressed the nape of his neck.

"I'm going to make you a man" she whispered softly in his ear.

He barely remembers the journey back to the Red Keep, except that he purged himself in some dark corner of the city, relieving just a bit of the discomfort plaguing him.

He was grateful that the sun had yet to rise, sparing him from many witnesses to his sorry state, just a few guards and servants.

They entered through the main door of his chambers, one of his arms was draped around his brother's neck, who bore all his weight, as he couldn't muster the strength to walk. Aegon laid him down in his bed. The room spun slightly around him.

"What did you do to me?" Aemond whispered, looking at his brother with a blend of confusion and betrayal. His words slurred slightly, and the edges of his vision blurred further into a disorienting haze.

Aegon met his gaze with a furrowed brow, the telltale signs of intoxication evident in his expression. The flickering candlelight cast shifting shadows across his features, highlighting the creases of concern and bewilderment etched upon his face before he turned away.

Aemond tried to fight the drowsiness creeping over him, but it proved futile. His eyelids grew heavier despite his efforts, and eventually, they succumbed, closing shut, the faint sound of Aegon closing the door echoed in his ears as he slipped into darkness.

As the sun began to timidly filter through the windows, painting the room with a soft but unsettling light, Aemond woke up with a knot in his stomach. The confusion still weighed heavily on his mind. Every image echoed painfully from the events of the previous night.

He sat on the bed, hugging his knees as his gaze wandered over the white sheets. Memories began to surface and cling to his mind like a heavy, dark cloak. He felt corrupted, as if the shadow of what had happened was seeping into his skin and soul.

The silence in the room was deafening, interrupted only by the distant sounds of the castle coming to life. He squeezed his eye shut, trying in vain to ward off the memories that mercilessly intruded into his mind.

He didn't realize when his mother entered the room; her voice rumbled low, almost imperceptibly intrigued in his ears. A servant discreetly withdrew upon seeing him.

He wondered if it was his bare face that had alerted her, the patch lost at some point in the night revealing his wound, or maybe she could see what he had done. Maybe she sensed it and noticed how stained he was.

In the distance, the aroma of freshly cooked breakfast drifted from the table, a small sign of normalcy in a world that seemed to have lost all its balance for him.

His mother approached quickly, wanting to comfort him, but he recoiled. He couldn't allow her to be tainted by his actions.

"Leave" he murmured, avoiding her gaze.

"My child, what is the matter?" she asked, her eyes full of anguish and her hand reaching out to him, but he couldn't accept it, even though he wanted to.

The images kept coming, clearer each time, confirming what now was. Nothing but something murky, impure, darkened, spoiled.

"Don't touch me" he pleaded. He felt his mother withdraw her hand.

"Please, tell me what happened, we can solve it together" she pleaded, tears starting to flow her eyes. "Do you want me to call the princess? Anything, my child, just tell me how I can..." Her voice was painful.

"No!" he shouted, making his mother flinch in fear. Immediately, he felt worse.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked desperately.

Not wanting to hurt her further, he said with a trembling voice, "I just want a bath, please." She nodded and quickly left, wishing to be helpful and offer any assistance he needed.

After his mother exited the room, he rose from the bed and tore off the grimy sheets where he had slept. With a mixture of frustration and sorrow, he tossed them aside onto the floor, the same spot where he then discarded his soiled suit.

It had been his favorite, adorned with delicate embroideries meticulously crafted by his sister, worn proudly on his nameday, now tragically besmirched beyond repair.

Once the bath was ready and the room fell silent, he dragged his feet to the bathtub. Every movement was an effort, as if he was navigating through a world made of dense darkness.

He scrubbed his skin with the sponge until it turned red and his mind urged him to stop, trying to rid himself of any trace of the unpleasant smell. He washed his hair, hoping to erase the memories. He submerged himself in the water, seeking to drown out the feeling from his body, but the sensation of dirtiness persisted.

He stayed in the bathtub until his skin wrinkled and the water cooled. As he emerged, he passed by the mirror. The reflection revealed tired, baggy eyes and an expression etched with pain and confusion. He climbed back into bed, hoping to find some form of comfort.

Lying there, staring at the ceiling as the sun rose slowly, a ray of light pierced through the window, illuminating the sapphire on his bedside table. Tears welled up and finally spilled over, coursing down his cheek like rivers of pain and regret. The reflections of lights and colors danced on the walls and ceiling, mirroring the turmoil within him.

Breakfast remained untouched on the table, as did the other meals his mother silently brought throughout the day. Thoughts crowded chaotically: Was it real?

He squeezed his eye shut, allowing the silence of his room to envelop him like a comforting blanket. Nestled in the softness of the new sheets, he sought refuge, hoping they would shield him from the relentless onslaught of his own mind. Yet, tears continued to flow unabatedly.

The following days passed in a heavy silence, immersed in a state of denial. He felt no inclination to rise and confront reality.

Each task seemed insurmountable, and he had no desire to encounter anyone, engage in conversation, or face the concerned glances and unspoken inquiries he knew would come.

There wasn't much room for his mother's well-intentioned visits that could further destabilize his fragile balance, nor for food, even the simplest appetite felt as distant as the sun on a cloudy day.

He grew accustomed to the monotony of the room, its walls the sole witnesses to his silent pain. Sometimes, he sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly without truly seeing, while the outside world continued to spin, unaware of his suffering.

During those days of isolation, he tried to find peace in the emptiness of solitude, allowing himself to simply exist without the pressure to act or face the truth.

Then another feeling emerged; each sigh was an attempt to free himself from the heavy burden of guilt that imprisoned him.

New questions arose: How could he do that? Guilt enveloped him like dense fog, making him question every decision, every word spoken, every gesture made.

He decided to store the sapphire in the dagger's case, hiding it behind a stack of books as if that could somehow make its presence less felt. The sapphire's gleam felt unbearable, as if each sparkle was a silent reproach, reminding him of the horrendous actions of the previous night. The lingering scent of roses mixed with the scent permeating him only exacerbated his torment, evoking images of his sin that refused to disappear.

The next day, his mother appeared again with breakfast.

"I've brought you a new patch" she said, her voice laden with concern, as if seeking permission to share in his grief.

Seeing him rise from the bed and head toward the table, she took it as an invitation and sat beside him. He began eating small bites, but he knew that staying silent with his thoughts could sink him deeper into his pain. He wanted to avoid mentioning her name, as if it could be tainted by simply pronouncing it, but he needed to know how she was. Surely worried, maybe even upset.

"Has she come to see me?" he asked softly.

His mother didn't need to ask whom he meant. She lowered her gaze, and he began to fear the worst.

"The princess left for Driftmark a few days ago" she said quietly. The fork slipped from his weak fingers, and he furrowed his brow, staring blankly at the plate in front of him. "Ser Laenor has passed away" his mother added. Confused, he looked up.

"And the funeral?"

"Your father and brother have traveled to be present, they must be returning by now" she explained.

"But why aren't we there?"

"That day you told me you didn't wish to see her, so I assumed..." He cursed under his breath, cutting her off as he buried his face in his hands.

He wanted to scream in frustration, yet he knew he couldn't fault anyone but himself. He had forbidden visits. Had he been informed, he would have acted differently, however, he also never allowed his mother an opportunity to speak.

The knowledge that she left shattered him to his core. How could he survive without her by his side?

Guilt overwhelmed him even more. She, who had set everything aside to be with him without any ulterior motives, was now mourning the loss of her father while he hid in the comfort of his bed, lamenting his decisions.

After that, he couldn't eat anymore, feeling his stomach clench instantly. His mother withdrew, still worried but grateful for having accompanied him even for a brief moment.

Aware that she was likely headed to Dragonstone, he took paper and pen, determined to send a letter to that destination, seeking to offer an apology. He didn't feel ready to face the darkness he had allowed that night, nor to confront the very possible disappointment in her eyes, but still he wrote that if she requested it, he would mount Vhagar in the blink of an eye and fly to wherever she was, ready to stand by her side no matter what.

Days turned into weeks, and he became a mere shadow of his former self. He neither ate nor slept, and words seemed to have abandoned him entirely.

Unyielding flashbacks haunted him, casting a relentless shadow over his waking hours and his dreams alike. These memories were vivid and fresh, like an open wound that refused to heal.

The grotesque sounds and screams, the frantic rush, the stinging tears in his eye, the bitter taste of blood from biting his lips, the mocking laughter, the barrage of vulgar words that stung—each detail made him feel like a trapped animal.

He knew he had done wrong, he had ruined his reputation. The sense of failure gnawed at him, as a man, as a prince, as a future husband, as himself.

He longed for those moments to be forgotten, buried deep within his mind. But they clung to him like a parasite, feeding on his despair, and twisting him into someone unrecognizable.

His brother's words echoed in his mind, making him feel like a coward for his inability to handle the situation.

Every time he closed his eyes, the images infiltrated his thoughts, consuming him like wildfire. He realized the battle with that would never truly end.

He felt like a vessel of dirt and filth, a walking embodiment of shame.

Desperate for distraction, he threw himself into his studies and training, avoiding eye contact, shrinking from touch. He couldn't bear the thought of being seen, of being surrounded by others.

One day, lying in his room, immersed in dark thoughts, a burden weighed heavily on him. He waited in vain for any sign from the princess, any news to alleviate his growing anguish.

Suddenly, someone on the door broke the oppressive silence, pulling him out of his reverie. His mother usually entered without notice, and the servants no longer frequented his room, so these unexpected knocks caught his attention.

A glimmer of hope arose within him. Could it be that she had returned? He quickly suppressed the idea.

The room, once filled with her essence, now lay stripped and empty, as if it had never been occupied. No trace of her presence remained, not even the sweet aroma that used to linger in the air. The only proof of her presence was a gift hidden in the shadows.

He hesitated, unsure whether to open the door. As the knocks persisted, he quickly adjusted his eye patch and prepared to receive whoever was on the other side.

When he opened it, Helaena stood revealed. With a small, warm smile, she moved toward his bed. He closed the door behind her and stood, staring at the ground, ashamed to see his sister after everything.

Helaena moved delicately, holding something in her hands. "Aemond" she called softly, drawing his attention. When he finally looked up, he found an empathetic expression, contrasting with the concern from their mother.

"I've brought some roses from the gardens" Helaena announced calmly, placing a crystal vase near his bed. He looked at her gratefully, feeling as though she had read his mind.

Helaena took a few steps toward him, respecting his space. Aemond silently appreciated this gesture, knowing his sister was not one for physical displays of affection, and he did not feel deserving of a hug.

"I made you another" she said, handing the clothes over carefully, with an implicit understanding of the story surrounding her previous gift, one he had to discard after that fateful night. Aemond nodded, his heart moved by the gesture.

Unfolding the soft fabrics, he revealed a new suit, this time black, in stark contrast to the greens he usually wore. The delicate, perfect embroideries reminded him of the last one, but these were even finer and more elaborate, as if they held a promise of renewal and strength.

"Thank you" he whispered, struggling to convey the depth of his gratitude.

Helaena smiled gently, as if to say there was no need. Aemond felt she understood more than she could express with words, wishing to comfort him in her unique way.

Before leaving, Helaena added with a hint of mystery in her voice "I like to believe that our wait will be rewarded, don't you?" He nodded, almost imperceptibly, without taking his eyes off hers.

With those words resonating in his mind, Aemond was left alone in the room, feeling a little lighter. Then, he let the tears fall again, washing away the pain and anger that threatened to overflow him.

@helaenaluvr @purplegardenwhispers @callsignwidow @scarletbedlam @fics-i-love-and-recommend @oh-you-mean-me @squidscottjeans @fossface

Last part as kids! I feel so bad for Aemond :(

#aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen x female reader #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #hotd aemond

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

Text

The dearest embrace (AE)

Alternative Ending of The sofest whisper Oneshot

[ Aemond • Targaryen x servant! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, angst, smut, breeding and breastfeeding kink, miscarriage, murder, violence ]

[ description: Aemond manages to escape the clutches of death and defeats his uncle in a battle in the skies. He hopes to find his servant there when he returns to Harrenhal, but she has, on his advice, fled. Although he tries, he cannot forget the night he spent with her, a night that was to be the last of her life, and he decides that he will not rest until he finds her. Obsessive, possessive, dark Aemond. ]

The first oneshot ends as it does in canon - Aemond's death during the battle with Daemon. However, I thought it would be interesting to present how I would imagine their fate if he managed to survive. If you thought the first ending was perfect and that an additional story would ruin the story for you, just don't read it.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

____

He survived.

Although it was he who was to die, Daemon fell into the abyss.

The gods flipped a coin again and this time showed him mercy.

He wasn't sure how he felt when he returned to Harrenhal, when Alys threw herself around his neck with a sob, ready to forgive him for what he had done the night before, ready to accept him deep inside her again, thinking only that he was back.

He, however, instead immediately went to his chamber hoping that he would still find her there, that she had not managed to escape, that she believed he would survive.

That she was waiting for him.

He walked into his chamber and saw emptiness – the only trace of what they had done was a bloody sheet, gone was the bag of coins he had left for her on the table.

She ran away.

Smart girl.

He avoided Alys, saying he needed to rest in solitude and write a letter in peace to his brother-king informing him of his victory.

The truth, however, was that after what he had endured with her that night, after the mesmerising kind of tenderness, intimacy and closeness he had experienced with her convinced he was going to die, his rapprochements with Alys appeared to him as purely animalistic, aggressive, empty.

He spent the next few days thinking about where she might have escaped to as his men searched for her, but to no avail.

He was furious.

He wanted her.

He needed her.

To Alys' despair, he returned to King's Landing unable to endure her constant efforts to gain his attention again, to win his heart back.

It was too late.

It was too late the very moment he saw her in his chamber for the first time.

After convincing him with a few gold coins, one of the innkeepers admitted that he had recently hired a young girl matching his description and that she had rented one of the rooms from him.

His envoy had only managed to find her trail after two months of his constant agony, rage and despair, during which he continually imagined the events of that night.

The way his fingers had driven into her soft flesh, what sweet sounds of pleasure and despair had risen from her throat as thrust after thrust he had taken away her maidenhood.

He set off there immediately on horseback together with some of his guards, without informing either his brother or his mother, disguised in a long grey cloak, a hood over his head so as not to attract anyone's attention with his long white hair.

He stepped into the inn late in the evening, when there were plenty of people there to disappear into the crowd, and felt a painfully strong thump of his heart when he saw her behind the counter – her hair was entwined in a long braid, droplets of sweat from exertion on her face and a calm, warm smile, her slightly rounded abdomen girded with an apron.

She was carrying his child under her heart.

He stared at her from a distance completely frozen, unable to look away, thinking of only one thing.

He walked slowly towards her and she took a step back, terrified, not knowing what to do, how to behave, a man in armour shouted to her impatiently to pour him more beer.

She noticed out of the corner of her eye that someone had walked inside and glanced in their direction. He saw her freeze and turn pale, her eyes big, her mouth parted wide in disbelief.

He saw everything in her gaze: fear, joy, disbelief, longing, pain, grief.

"− yes, my Lord −" She mumbled, saying something quickly to the older man who stood beside her. He glanced worriedly in his direction as she spoke to him, then nodded and moved towards the man who was raising his empty tankard into the air.

She walked out to him, wiping her hands on her apron in a nervous gesture, trembling all over, her breathing ragged and uneven, her lips quivering as she spoke to him in a whisper.

"− Your Grace, I −"

"I want to speak with you. Alone."

She nodded, swallowing loudly, and indicated with a hand gesture for him to follow her up the stairs to the inn floor. She pulled a key from the pocket of her bottom gown and slipped it into one of the doors, then opened it.

He walked behind her into a tiny, modest room with one small bed, a table, a chair and a wooden wardrobe. She walked quickly over to the candle and lit it so they wouldn't be standing in complete darkness.

He closed the door behind him and pulled his cloak off his head, never taking his eye off her.

She was exactly as he remembered her.

He could see that her condition was getting worse, the shock beginning to subside with the realisation that he was really standing in front of her, that he had found her.

She moved towards her wardrobe as if she remembered something and from under a pile of blankets pulled out the same bag of coins he had given her. He furrowed his brow as she approached him with it, holding out her hand.

"I spent very little, just on travel, food and rent here the first few nights." She explained in a trembling voice, as soft and warm as he remembered. He pressed his lips together at her words.

"This is your money. It belongs to you." He replied dryly, feeling insulted at the thought that she thought he had gone to so much trouble for a few golden coins.

She swallowed loudly, putting the bag down and looked away, unable to bear his burning gaze.

"Aren't you going to say anything? Aren't you glad I survived?" He asked with a pain and disappointment that surprised him, as if he expected her to throw herself into his arms with tears.

She looked at him with those big, warm eyes of hers, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lips trembled at his words. She pressed her hands against her stomach – for a moment she looked as if she was choking, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks red with emotion.

"What I am feeling now I can only reveal to the gods in my prayers. In the same ones in which I begged them to spare your life." She choked out finally, and he swallowed loudly, feeling a squeeze in his throat and chest, his hands clenched into fists.

"Is that my child?" He asked, a grimace of pain passed across her face – she covered her face with her hand as if she didn't believe this was really happening.

"− please − have mercy −" She mumbled and he approached her with a sudden, aggressive step, towering over her. She drew in the air loudly, looking at him terrified, his hand tightened on her hair not allowing her to turn her face away.

"Don't you feel anything at the sight of me? At the memory of me deep inside you? Hm? It means nothing to you?" He asked coldly, her eyes hot, warm tears running down her cheeks and dripping onto the exposed skin of his wrist, her body twitching in convulsions.

He kissed her, kissed her as if she were a spring of water and he hadn't drunk in months, as if she were a warm bed and he hadn't been able to rest for many nights, as if she were a soothing whisper when all he could hear in his head was a thousand screams.

His tongue slid between her lips in a lingering, deep kiss, her startled, stifled moan caught in her throat, his hand holding her in a steel grip, refusing to let her move away.

He hummed low under his breath, satisfied when he felt her lips part invitingly, brushing his thirsty, longing-filled skin – they embraced at last and pressed against each other like a pair of lovers, her rounded belly pressed against his body.

He took her with gentle, steady, deep thrusts on her bed, lying behind her, panting loudly along with her, the wooden frame creaking each time he stretched her wonderfully tight insides again and again with his painfully hard cock, swollen with yearning.

"− did you long for it? − did you dream of me coming back and doing it to you again? − of my cock deep inside you? −" He gasped out, tightening his hand on her plushy hip.

She mewled softly, her fingers clenched on his arm with which he embraced her waist, his nose pressed against the hollow of her neck, inhaling the scent of her sweat, their bodies, hot and sticky with exertion, slapping against themselves with each of his thrusts.

"− yes − gods, yes −" She mumbled, tears of pain, longing, terror and joy running down her fair, hot, soft cheeks, her thighs spread wide in a gesture of complete submission, allowing him to slam into her as deeply as he wanted.

"− you did so well − already carrying my child − I'm going to put another and another inside you − hm? − my sweet little girl −" He breathed out into her ear and she came hard at his words, moaning and sobbing, her fleshy, hot muscles began to clench on him greedily in pleasure, squeezing his seed out of him. He closed his eyes in pleasure, his naked, sweaty chest pressed against the skin of her back.

"− that's it − don't waste even a drop − yes, just like that −" He murmured in delight, thrusts of his length pushing his spend as deep inside her as possible.

They lay breathing loudly, embracing each other, their bodies entwined together with their hands and legs, his cheek pressed against hers, his soft manhood still deep inside her hot body.

They were one.

"Return with me to the Red Keep." He whispered.

She trembled all over and swallowed loudly, her whole body tensing in terror. He felt it and placed a soft, light kiss on her bare shoulder.

She was a free woman.

He could not take her against her will.

"I will only bring you dishonour and shame." She mumbled through her tears and he chuckled low, stroking the bare skin of her slightly rounded belly with his fingers.

"I am a kinslayer. You are incapable of bringing me greater dishonour than that which I have brought upon myself."

His mother took his decision with fury. What he was doing was against their faith and beliefs, against good customs. She spoke to him about marriage, about the disgrace to his future wife. He laughed at his words.

"What self-respecting lady would marry a kinslayer? I have no desire to push my child inside a woman who feels nothing but disgust for me, mother. I cast Daemon down from the heavens, I won the war for us. This is what I demand in return."

He assigned her a chamber in a seldom-visited part of the keep, hiding her like his secret treasure, watching her abdomen swell from his heritage, from his seed.

He cherished her character, the fact that she understood their situation and that it would never change, that she would never become his wife, that their children would be bastards, that the kingdom would call their relationship sinful and ungodly.

He made sure that the other servants did not get the idea of hurting or poisoning her as a gesture of jealousy or honour, and promised that if anything happened to her, each of them would lose an eye.

They knew he wasn't lying.

Although the news of Alys' pregnancy broke him down at first, he later came to terms with it, however, it was seeing his servant with a stomach swollen from his child that brought him some kind of satisfaction and contentment.

When he visited her he would watch her lying on her bed in her nightgown, sitting in his chair, one of her hands stroking her belly, the other holding the book she was reading to him.

This was their ritual, their time of intellectual intimacy.

He felt some kind of pride hearing how fluently she read, almost no longer making mistakes.

She shuddered suddenly, pausing and looked down at her rounded abdomen with a smile.

"− our child is wriggling − someone here was intrigued by the story −" She said with the warmth, joy and lightness characteristic of her. He hummed under his breath, squinting his eyebrows in satisfaction.

Then he undid the buckles of his black tunic, untied his breeches and lay down behind her, putting his arms around her, her hands immediately on his, a murmur of comfort, contentment and security emanating from her breasts.

He usually took her before she went to sleep, sinking between her thighs with a sigh of delight, wonderfully squeezed on all sides. He forced his way into herwith his always ready, hard erection, which she welcomed inside her with the patience of a saint, moaning sweetly in his arms, her moisture slick against his thighs each time his naked body slapped against her sticky buttocks again.

He felt a sense of peace.

She did not demand anything from him.

She didn't ask him uncomfortable questions.

She didn't get upset when he couldn't spend time with her, taking handfuls of what he gave her.

For the first time in his life, he finally felt like he was enough for someone.

Her understanding, her humility, her patience, her warmth and joy at every moment they spent together filled his chest with a warm feeling he didn't want to feel.

The only thing she feared was that Alys would try to poison or hurt her. He hadn't visited her since he brought this innocent creature to the Red Keep, filling her to the brim with his seed almost every night.

He guessed that she already knew that she was expecting his child. He ordered his servants to try her food and drink before giving her anything, two of his trusted guards watching her chambers in his absence on his command.

Eventually, however, he received a letter from Harrenhal that Alys had given birth to his son and that her condition was good. He welcomed this news and, albeit reluctantly, decided to travel to Harrenhal to greet his offspring.

He had informed her of this the day before, lying in bed with her, taking an unruly strand of curls from her warm face, raspy with exertion after he had came deep inside her.

"I have to leave for a few days." He said briefly and matter-of-factly, not wanting to get into the subject.

He saw in her gaze that she understood at once what he meant, her eyebrows arched in pain. She nodded, in her eyes both regret and understanding at the same time.

She said nothing.

She knew that she had no right to demand anything from him.

However, he allowed her to snuggle into him, giving her comfort in his arms, enveloping her into his embrace, creating a fortress out of his body in which she could hide.

When he arrived in Harrenhal Alys greeted him with his son in her arms. He kissed her forehead and looked at the white-haired infant with satisfaction, expressing his sincere joy that the child was healthy and that she had survived the birth without complications.

He ate supper with her, however, despite her pleas, he did not stay in bed with her.

He had no desire to do so.

"You are here in body, but not in heart." She said to him regretfully as he sat in a chair in front of her. He looked at her impassively, not knowing what he should reply to such a statement, or from her perspective, an accusation.

"I am performing my duty. Harrenhal is yours, and after your death it will fall to our son. You lack nothing. What more do you want from me, Alys?" He asked frustrated, and she furrowed her raven-black eyebrows, shaking her head.

"I want you. I've lost you." She said in pain, her green eyes red from tears she was holding back by force of her will. She walked towards him and kneeled in front of him, looking at him pleadingly, reaching with her hand to untie his breeches. He stroked her cheek.

"I'm not for sale." He said calmly, pushing her wrist away with a gentle flick of his hand, then slowly got up and walked out, leaving her with an expression of despair and shock on her face.

He had no intention of forcing himself into anything.

He had no intention of pretending.

He never promised her anything.

All he could think about was her sweet lips clenched around his fat cock, sucking it in a wonderfully unhurried, tender rhythm, each time bravely swallowing everything that spilled out of him, doing so with a surprisingly innocent, calm look on her face, drawing from his throat sounds he had never made before.

However, he wanted to be a good father and promised to visit his son once every few months, giving him his full attention.

He returned to King's Landing on Vhagar with a strange kind of relief, tired and discouraged, the stares and silence of Alys driving him mad.

He headed straight for her chamber, wanting to touch her, to smell her, to see her face unbidden by resentment, disappointment and regret.

When he opened the door she shuddered, lifting herself up on the bed, snapped out of a deep sleep. She rose from her place and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms.

He was relieved to snuggle his nose into her hair, embracing her warm, small body with his arms.

"I'm back."

He took her slowly, asking her how much she had missed him, whether she had obeyed and not touched herself in his absence as he had commanded.

"− I have obeyed you, my Prince − I swear −" She mumbled, her breasts bouncing gently with each of his slow, firm, deep thrusts, her hot muscles throbbing hungrily against him, wanting to keep him inside her, thirsty and yearning.

He hummed contentedly at her words, delighted by her obedience, by the fact that she always did everything to please him.

"− very well − my little girl deserves to be taken care of, hm? − to relieve her a little −" He murmured between tender kisses placed on her neck, his hands roaming over her breasts and belly, her skin wonderfully soft and warm, her scent filling his lungs, her fingers tightening on his arms.

"− yes − please −" She mewled, writhing before him, impatient, having not tasted fulfillment for days.

"− please, what? −" He growled out warningly, tightening his hand on her thigh, lifting it up slightly, sliding into her faster, more violently, her head tilted back.

"− please, my Prince − please, I have waited so patiently for this −" She whimpered, and he chuckled at her words, delighted by her desperation and helplessness.

"− indeed − you deserve a reward − that's right, there you go − good girl −" He praised her as she cried out feeling his hand between her thighs, his palms spread her moisture over her hot womanhood and began to rub her puffy bud with circular, sure strokes, drawing sweet, helpless sounds from her throat.

"− oh, gods − ah −" She mumbled unable to get any meaningful sentences out.

He leaned back pulling her with him, resting the weight of her body against him, gripping her jaw in his hand, the other caressing and teasing the spot of her greatest pleasure. He forced her to look down.

"− look how good you're taking me − how tight you are, how my cock is stretching your body − see? −" He breathed out into her ear and she nodded, moaning and sobbing, her hand rising and involuntarily gripping his hair, her hips responding to his every thrust, their bodies slapping against each other with a wet, loud smacks.

"− do you like this view? − hm? −" He asked in delight, and in response received her loud, pathetic whimper and a powerful orgasm that shook her body.

"− fuck −" He muttered, panting along with her, their bodies relaxed as they lay in a tight embrace, their legs and hands entwined together, his cheek pressed against her shoulder.

He moaned low, surprised, pressing his face against her neck, prolonging his pleasure with a few more desperate thrusts before he peaked inside her with a sigh of relief.

He wasn't sure he'd ever come so hard before.

By a hair's breadth, words would burst out of his mouth that he would later regret, that he would be ashamed of.

Never in his life would he admit out loud that he longed for her.

He licked his effort-dry lips and sighed quietly, closing his eyes, exhausted, falling asleep with her almost immediately, his lungs filling with her pleasant scent.

On the day of her delivery, he was restless, walking around his chamber waiting for any news. He prayed that she would survive, that the child would be healthy, that the gods would not punish them for his actions, for his sins.

When his servant told him that it was all over he waited impatiently until night fell, not wanting to stir up yet more gossip and commentary among the court, and headed to her chamber to visit her.

He felt an immense sense of relief when he saw her lying on her bed, already dressed in a new, clean nightgown, lying under fresh sheets, her hair loose, a dark-haired infant in her hands.

She was rocking their child with an expression of contentment and tenderness on her face from which he felt a squeeze in his chest.

When she heard him enter she lifted her gaze to him, a wide, sincere smile on her face, her eyes shining with happiness.

"Look, my Prince. I have never seen a more beautiful creature than your daughter." She said warmly, and he felt a tightening in his throat at her words, at the news that he had a daughter who could be as kind, warm and affectionate as her mother.

Her mother leaned over her and tenderly kissed her little forehead, humming contentedly.

He approached them slowly and stood over them with his hands folded behind his back, looking at the infant dressed in a long white robe.

His daughter had his eyes.

"She smells wonderful. It's almost addictive. What shall we name her, my Prince?" She asked quietly, lifting her soft, warm gaze to him, their daughter's tiny hand clenched on her finger.

He swallowed loudly, feeling that his throat was strangely constricted, something moving about the sight. He grunted quietly, thinking.

"Rhaenys." He said lowly, pressing his lips together, recalling a sentence in one of the books he was reading, dedicated to Aegon the Conqueror.

King Aegon the Conqueror was said to have married Princess Visenya out of duty, and Princess Rhaenys out of lust and love. For one night with Princess Visenya, he spent ten in his younger sister's bed.

She smiled and nodded, accepting his decision without a word of complaint, apparently deciding it was a nice name, kissing her little daughter's plump cheek.

He did not know why, but he could watch the interactions between her and their daughter for hours sitting in his chair.

Rhaenys appeared to be a cheerful child, babbling loudly, through her mother's incessant speaking to her she reacted vividly to her every move or facial expression, squirming and giggling, catching her feet in her tiny chubby hands, swinging from side to side.

He felt something when he looked at them – he knew it and it frightened him, but he also found some kind of comfort in it.

He could no longer spend a day without visiting them, he spent whole evenings in their company.

At night, when Rhaenys finally fell asleep in her mother's arms, her belly full of her milk, he gave his attention only to her.

He could not find them conversing much, if anything discussing what she was reading to him, however, the way they kissed, the way their lips found each other instantly as soon as he lay down beside her, the way their hands stroked their cheeks and hair made him feel a pleasant, light tickle in his abdomen.

He adored her body, the way it reacted to him. He adored the way she sounded, sweet and innocent, he adored the way she melted under his fingers as he forced his tongue deep inside her, rewarding her for her devotion, for her patience, for her forbearance, as he opened her wide with his cock, hard with desire, to fill her again with his seed.

Not even a few months had passed and she was expecting his child again.

He was paying great attention to her breasts, wonderfully full of milk, sucking her breastmilk from her nipples, sweet and warm, whimpering and panting along with her as she rode him.

"Leave something for our daughter, my Prince." She cooed with warm amusement, stroking his hair and hugging his head to her chest, coming with delight on his painfully hard cock as she listened to him swallow her milk greedily, unable to pull away, filling her with himself with a wonderful sigh of relief.

And then his worst nightmare came true.

Under the inattention of his guards, a strange man burst into her chamber with a dagger, lashing out at her. She struggled against him, but he covered her mouth, trying to cut her throat with his other hand – only the screaming and crying of their daughter brought the guards inside, who disarmed him.

He only managed to slit her arm and wrist, however, what was most frightening when he burst into her chamber, terrified, was the sea of blood between her thighs where she was lying, sobbing loudly.

Their child in her womb.

It was the first time he'd ever heard anyone make a sound like hers – she was wailing and howling as if she were an animal, and he felt as if someone was ripping his insides out from the inside.

He was afraid to touch her, afraid that he would hurt her even more, unable to find words of comfort either for himself or for her.

He sentenced the guards who had allowed this to happen to death despite his mother's pleas for him to show them mercy.

He himself had supervised the interrogation of the man who had been caught, wanting to draw out of him who had done it.

He insisted that he didn't know where he got the money from, that an intermediary had come to him, set him a task and told him he would be paid double if he managed to kill both the girl and their daughter.

More elaborate torture, however, refreshed his memory, one very important detail, the place from which that man had come.

"Harrenhal."

At first he wanted to burn Alys alive in the Vhagar's fire.

Later, however, he decided that he would show her mercy and sent his envoy to her, who after a few days reported to him that the matter had been resolved.

He wrote him that she had not defended herself against the cut of his dagger, as if reconciled to her fate.

He personally flew to take his son from Harrenhal, having no intention of leaving him in the care of strangers.

He was of his blood.

He was relieved that she was treating Vaemond as if he were her child, offering to look after both his children as they needed a mother in the same way. He agreed seeing how quickly his son bonded with her, how he lunged into her embrace reaching out his chubby arms to her, impatient.

He wasn't sure Alys had ever shown him as much tenderness, interest and care as she had. She sang to him and read to him, carried him in her arms for hours when he had a colic or cried.

His presence helped her deal with the grief and suffering of losing their child, her scars had healed, but he knew that, like the one on his face, they would remain on her body for life, reminding her of this event.

Precisely because she had been so caring towards him, his son and their daughter, during the night when he was reunited with her with his body he was even more tender to her, even more understanding, caressing her for hours with his tongue alone, teasing and sucking her bud, making her a babbling, helpless mess, ripping from her fulfilment after fulfilment.

When his brother decided to give him Dragonstone as a reward for his services he took her with him, not imagining that she should be anywhere else.

She wore the gowns he had given her, blue, with long sleeves reaching the ground, emphasising the wonderfully dark colour of her hair, eyebrows and eyelashes, sapphire necklaces around her neck.

Looking at her from the side, sitting on the stone floor, reading to his children at his feet, he thought that enough was enough.

That he would do it right.

He called the right man and told her to follow him into the night without asking where they were going or why.

They got out through a back passage to the seashore.

She did not understand what was happening, why he had said he would cut her lips and her hands, let alone why he had told her to do the same. She trembled with tears in her eyes as he cut her soft skin with the dragonglass, and he watched the sight as if enchanted, strangely calm.

He told her to drink their mingled blood from the goblet, so she did, terrified, touching him by the fact that, as usual, she obeyed him, full of trust.

He took the goblet from her and drank a deep sip from it himself, licking his lips, delighted by this sensation, this ritual that united them forever.

She looked at him questioningly as he handed the cup back to the man standing next to them, wanting to understand what had happened, why they were doing this, what purpose it would serve. He looked at her and for a moment he couldn't get anything out.

He was furious with himself, but he was emotional, his throat constricted.

"I just became your husband."

She looked at him in disbelief and laughed, thinking he was mocking her.

After a moment she made big eyes, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lower lip trembling.

"− please, my Prince, it's not funny −" She gasped regretfully.

He looked down at her with calm eyes, waiting for her to realise he wasn't joking.

If it didn't get to her then, she understood it when he pressed her face against the cold wall of the underpass under Dragonstone, pulling her skirt up, the space between her buttocks shiny and glistening from her juices. He slapped her there with his hand and she cried out loudly, clasping her hands on the stone wall, leaning forward.

"− my little wife is always so fucking wet − hm? − constantly asking for my cock −" He hummed, untying his breeches and lowering them quickly, with one, sure thrust, stretching her tight, hot walls to their limits, their loud moan echoing around them as he began to fuck her with brutal, deep stabs of his hips.

They had their wedding night long ago then, in Harrenhal.

Now he just wanted to fuck her.

"− happy now? −" He mocked and she nodded, all red and hot with emotion, her whole body trembling in convulsions.

He could feel by the way she clenched down on him that she was close to fulfilment and watched with delight as with each thrust his length stretched her tight, hot walls again and again.

"− I'll put my next child inside you − hm? −" He hissed, tightening his fingers more firmly on her hips, pumping his manhood even deeper into her, all the way to the end, her moans turned into mewling and whimpering.

"− you must secure my inheritance − as any − good − wife − would − do −" He growled, the last words uttered accompanied by determined, deep thrusts from which she almost screamed, her face wonderfully red and warm, stunned by the pleasure and this partly brutal, partly passion-filled sensation.

"− please − oh, gods −" She sobbed loudly, coming hard on his length with her mouth wide open, he sighed heavily tilting his head up, feeling her walls throbbing against him and he gave in, filling her at last with himself.

"− take it − take your husband's spend like a good wife − you'll give me many more children − fuck, yes −" He breathed out, looking down at her, holding her hips with his hands, feeling her slump to the ground otherwise.

She opened her eyelids and looked up at him with her hot gaze, the kind he adored most, and whispered the words that sent a shiver through him.

"Fill me again in your bed, my husband."

_____

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