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fushitoru · 1 month ago

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chapter 8: the lake a bridgerton au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, making out, touching bare skin pre-marriage (the scandal), eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, description of injury, concussion, blood, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ both you and gojo discover contradictory feelings lodged deep in your heart, and a confrontation (with an unexpected ally) leads to a rather....wet conclusion. (4.6k)

a/n additional warning that this chapter is not beta read. this may seem like a short chapter but it has TEAAAA (if you didnt already guess from the summary). i pushed myself to finish this for the peeps who finished finals this week so it may be a bit messy. anywho see u down below <3

prev. the rebound | next. the embers

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest gentle reader,

This Author finds herself most intrigued by the unfolding events of the Inos' recent ball. It appears that Her Majesty has not yet abandoned her faith in the diamond she so carefully selected. Will her confidence prove to be misplaced? Only time shall reveal the truth. Yet one cannot deny that fortune seems to shine—dare this Author say, sparkle—upon Miss Itadori of late.

Last evening, she graced the ballroom with a strikingly altered appearance, one that left tongues wagging and gazes lingering. Most notable, however, was the company she kept. Duke Nanami himself was seen at her side, engaged in conversation that appeared both earnest and uncommonly animated. A rare sight indeed, for His Grace has shown little interest in the charms of other young ladies this season. Could this be the beginning of something extraordinary? This Author will watch closely.

And who could forget the Gojo house party, where the drama rivaled even the most lurid novels of the circulating library? Whispers abound of a certain Lord Naoya Zen’in, who, it seems, departed the event looking rather... bruised, both in pride and in visage. What transpired to cause such a spectacle? Alas, my sources have yet to provide all the particulars, but one can only assume that tempers flared—and perhaps fists followed.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Satoru wipes his knuckles on a spare handkerchief, marring it with streaks of crimson. After the blood coating his hand is cleaned off, it reveals light bruises.

He always abhorred such physical entanglements. Let other men soil their reputations in drunken brawls or duels over imagined slights; Satoru prided himself on wit and charm, a tongue sharp enough to parry any insult.

However, for the first time, it seemed that the blasé duke-to-be Lord Satoru Gojo, ever so apathetic to others and their struggles, was not so blasé anymore. What affected him was contradictory; after all, he had made a big decision to avoid being affected by the woman herself. So why was he so…inconsistent? Perhaps it is this unpredictability, capriciousness the reason he has to distance himself from any others who may be in harm’s way—the way forged by Satoru himself. There is no space for inconstancy, irresponsibility, whimsicality, or contradiction in his life, especially not with his duties and the weight held over his shoulders.

But he allows himself this, one last time. Your expression lingered in his mind—the way your lips parted in shock, the stiff set of your shoulders as you brushed past Naoya’s lecherous words without deigning to respond. He had seen the moment your composure faltered, a crack in the armor you wore so effortlessly. The crack only he was supposed to cause.

It was intolerable.

As soon as pale pink ribbons trail out of the room, he moves toward Naoya, completely ignoring the lady who was talking to him and her trailing protests. When he’s right in front of the other man, he gives him a curt nod. “Naoya.”

The other man’s eyes—which were before no doubt prowling on other unsuspecting ladies—flit to him in surprise. “Lord Gojo, what a pleasant surprise. I daresay—”

“Meet me in the courtyard,” Satoru interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Naoya’s brows shot up, but he recovered quickly, a sly grin curling his lips. “A private word? How intriguing. Lead the way, my lord.”

Satoru didn’t wait to see if he followed. His stride was steady, his purpose unwavering.

The cool air of the courtyard carried the faint strains of music from the ballroom, the chatter of guests dimmed by the stone walls. Satoru turned to face Naoya, his stance deceptively relaxed, one hand resting on the pommel of his cane.

“Now, my lord,” Naoya drawled, his smirk widening. “To what do I owe this rather dramatic summons?”

The reply came not in words but in the swift arc of Satoru’s fist, connecting solidly with Naoya’s jaw. The sharp crack of the blow shattered the stillness, and Naoya stumbled, clutching his face as shock registered in his eyes.

“What in blazes—”

“Hold your tongue,” Satoru bit out, seizing Naoya by the lapels of his coat and slamming him back against the cold, unyielding wall. His tone was calm, his voice low, but it carried a menace that silenced all protests. “You will not speak of her in that way again. Do you understand me?”

Naoya grimaced, his defiant eyes narrowing despite the pain. “Ah,” he sneered, a breathless rasp laced with derision, “this is about Miss Itadori, isn’t it? Playing the chivalrous hero, are we, Lord Gojo? Or is it your own wounded ego driving this display?”

The next punch silenced him mid-taunt, burying deep in his abdomen. Naoya doubled over with a strangled gasp, his knees threatening to buckle, but Satoru held him upright, his grip vice-like.

“Speak her name again,” Satoru hissed, leaning close, his voice cold enough to chill even the night air, “and I swear you’ll find yourself in far worse condition.”

The tension between them crackled like a storm. For a fleeting moment, Naoya’s lips twitched into the ghost of a sneer, but his words died unspoken, arrogance muted by the sheer force of Satoru’s fury. Satisfied, Satoru released him with a sharp shove, watching dispassionately as Naoya crumpled against the wall, gasping for breath.

“You are mad,” Naoya spat, wiping at the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “You’ll ruin yourself over this.”

“Perhaps,” Satoru replied evenly, smoothing the cuffs of his sleeves as though nothing had happened. “But I’ve never much cared for your opinion, Naoya.”

He turned on his heel, his steps measured, his expression impassive.

The sting in his knuckles was a small price to pay. Unfortunately it seemed that for you, it was a price he would pay again and again.

He had told himself the decision was rational. Logical. Your match had to cease because it had begun to unravel him. You were a distraction, one he could not afford. His life was designed for control, every action measured, every move calculated. A match with you, he had realized, would be unlike any other. It would mean more. It would demand more.

And yet, how could he feel this jealousy? This fierce protectiveness? It was contradictory, maddening even. His resolve to avoid entanglements of the heart warred against the memory of your laughter echoing through his mind. It was absurd, but he could not dismiss the sharp ache in his chest whenever you looked at another man, especially one so undeserving as Naoya Zen’in.

He had known from the start that you were different. No coy smiles or simpering obedience. No easy conquest to stroke his ego. Your instant rejection of him during your first meeting had been a blow to his pride and a revelation he had been too stubborn to acknowledge then.

Satoru was not a man who chased after women. He had no need to. And yet…

But even as he walked away, Satoru couldn’t help but feel the cracks in his own carefully constructed armor widening. What, indeed, was he doing?

You startle in your sleep, sitting up abruptly on your bed in the dark.

The season has taken a turn for the good, so far. With Whistledown singing your praises and the Queen not yet deciding to behead you, you were on the path of securing great prospects, whether it be with Duke Nanami or someone else.

“But you’re missing something, aren’t you?”

The voice is a low murmur, brushing the shell of your ear like the ghost of a touch. Your heart leaps to your throat as you twist toward the sound, your eyes darting across the dimly illuminated room. The corners of the chamber remain steeped in shadow, the moonlight doing little to ease your apprehension.

“Who’s there?” you whisper, clutching the sheets tighter, your knuckles whitening around the fabric.

The silence stretches, thick and oppressive, before a figure emerges from the shadow near the mantle. He moves with a predator’s grace, his steps silent against the floorboards. Even before he fully steps into the moonlight, you know who it is.

Gojo.

“You look startled, my lady,” he says, his voice carrying an infuriatingly casual lilt, though his gaze fixes on you with unnerving precision.

“This is a dream,” you murmur, your voice trembling despite your effort to remain calm. “You are not real.”

“And yet,” he replies. “here I am. Curious, isn’t it?”

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat refusing to budge. He’s closer now, standing at the foot of your bed, his pale hair catching the silvery light like a halo—an angel or a devil, you can’t decide. “What do you want, Lord Gojo?” you demand, your voice sharper than you feel.

His eyes sweep over you, lingering for a moment too long before meeting your gaze again. “To commend you, of course,” he says. “You’ve been doing well—dancing with dukes, charming the Queen. The season’s darling.”

His words cut, though you can’t say why. “Why does that matter to you?” you snap, sitting straighter, as though defiance could shield you from the heat simmering in his gaze.

“It doesn’t,” he replies smoothly, though the corner of his mouth quirks into a smirk that betrays him.

“Then why are you here?”

His answer doesn’t come in words. Instead, he steps closer, his boots brushing the edge of your rug. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out, his gloved hand catching a strand of hair that’s fallen loose. He rolls it between his fingers, as though testing its silkiness, before letting it slip away. “Because I can’t seem to stay away,” he murmurs. His voice is low, meant only for you, and it sends a shiver through your body.

You scoff, though the sound catches in your throat. “You’re insufferable.”

His chuckle is soft, a deep rumble that seems to linger in the air. “And yet, you don’t look away.”

Your fists clench around the sheets, anger flaring in your chest—anger at him, at yourself, at the fact that he’s right. Before you can stop yourself, you throw the covers aside and rise to your feet.

He doesn’t step back. Instead, he stands still, a study in casual defiance, though his gaze flickers with something you can’t name as you move closer. His eyes lazily drag up and down your frame, which you notice is only covered in a flimsy, almost translucent nightgown.

“If this is a dream,” you say, your voice trembling with fury and something unspoken, “then it doesn’t matter what I do, does it?”

His smirk falters, replaced by a glimmer of uncertainty that only fans the reckless fire inside you. “Perhaps not,” he murmurs, though the tension in his voice betrays him.

Your hands shake as you reach out, your fingers curling into the lapels of his coat. His eyes follow the movement, then stare back at you, into your eyes. For a brief moment, his breath hitches, and his hands twitch at his sides, as though warring with the instinct to touch you. But the flicker of surprise in his eyes tells you he didn’t expect this.

With a sharp tug, you pull him closer, your lips meeting his in a collision of unspoken longing, yearning, and pining. The kiss is unsteady at first, as if both of you are testing the waters, but it quickly deepens, becoming a clash of fire and desperation. His hands find your waist, his grip firm but not demanding, as if he’s holding on to something precious.

You press closer, letting the reckless freedom the dream gave you sweep you away. His lips part against yours, and the kiss turns slower, more deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment, savoring you, devouring you. But then, his hands shift, moving from your waist with a slow, tantalizing seductiveness. They skim over your hips, his touch deliberate, before trailing down to the curve of your thighs. His fingers brush over the soft fabric of your nightgown, the heat of his touch searing through the barrier like it isn’t there.

Your breath hitches as he lingers, his thumb tracing a path along the sensitive skin just above your knee. The sensation is electric, and yet it feels like forbidden ground—an intimacy you’ve never dared to imagine, even in your most audacious thoughts.

It’s then that the dream begins to unravel.

His form flickers, as though caught in the haze of a mirage, the sharp lines of his figure softening. The room darkens, the corners of your vision blurring as though the world is folding in on itself.

“No,” you whisper, the word barely audible over the sound of your own pounding heart.

He looks at you one last time, his eyes filled with an intensity that feels as real as your racing pulse. And then he’s gone, the dream dissolving into nothingness, leaving you gasping and clutching the sheets. When you wake, the echo of his touch lingers, the heat of his hands on your thighs an ache you can’t explain. You press trembling fingers to your lips, your breath catching as though the kiss was still happening.

But no matter how much you try, you can’t shake the memory of his hands, of the way he’d touched you like he belonged there. Like he had always belonged there.

You choose to blame the irregular slumber you have gotten this past fortnight as the reason why you are being so discourteous. For Duke Nanami’s words drift your mind, never truly being registered, as you both had strolled, promenading hand in hand.

It is not merely His Grace who suffers from your inattentiveness. Any suitor who dares to approach is met with the same distracted gaze, your thoughts elsewhere. Whether it is the lingering remnants of that unbidden dream—one you’ve tried and failed to forget—or the fleeting moments where you think you spot Lord Gojo across the green only to realize it is a figment of your imagination, your mind is a battlefield.

A few awkward conversations—where you are not truly present—pass and go, until you sit by the lakeside of Surrey Park, deciding to take a break from the conversations that awaited you if you were to stroll towards your family’s pavilion.

But not now, for here, nature offers solace. The gentle ripple of water, the soft rustling of leaves, the occasional bird song—all soothe the cacophony in your head.

You settle onto a bench, your gown fanning around you, and allow yourself to breathe. But even as you close your eyes and tilt your head toward the sun, the peace does not come. Your thoughts betray you, circling back to him—his infuriating smirk, his piercing gaze, the way his voice seemed to linger in the air long after he was gone. The dream was completely unbidden, unexpected. You had only started to move on and start this season anew. It seemed as your consciousness was working against you in an effort to bring fictional desires to life.

You knew clearly that Gojo was infuriating, and had colored your name. So why must your mind actively go against what was clearly a certitude?

Before you could ponder on your thoughts for much longer, you heard her.

“You do seem terribly at ease for someone of your…reputation.”

The voice startles you, cutting through your reverie like a blade. Your eyes snap open, and there stands Lady Mei Mei, her expression a mask of genteel venom. You sigh inwardly, and bring on your best smile, albeit artificial. “Lady Mei Mei,” you greet, striving for composure. “To what do I owe this very unexpected…interruption?”

“Interruption?” she echoes, feigning offense. “How quaint. I merely wished to congratulate you on your newfound popularity. Though, I must say, the…boldness of your wardrobe choices does make one wonder.” Her gaze drags over your form, disdain dripping from every word. “Are you seeking a husband, my dear, or something far less respectable?”

Your fingers curl into the fabric of your skirt, but you maintain your poise. “Boldness, Lady Mei Mei, is often mistaken for confidence by those unfamiliar with either.”

Her lips twitch, but the venom remains. “Confidence, or desperation? It is difficult to tell with one so eager to flaunt herself before the ton. Tell me, do you find it tiring? Whoring yourself out for attention?”

The word lands like a slap, sharp and stinging, and you feel the surge of heat rise to your cheeks. Slowly, deliberately, you rise to your feet, smoothing the folds of your gown as you stand. Your chin tilts upward, a shield of composure against the venom Mei Mei has hurled your way. You desperately fight the urge to slap her into nonsense, but there are eyes, no matter how hidden from public view you may think yourself to be.

“I find it far less tiring than wielding envy as one’s primary weapon,” you reply, your voice cool yet cutting, every syllable sharpened to a blade. “But then, I would not expect you to understand.”

Mei Mei’s lips twist into something that might have been a smile, had it not been dripping with malice. Her eyes narrow, the sunlight catching the cold glint of her stare. She shifts closer, the deliberate grace of her steps at odds with the tension crackling in the air. For a moment, you think she might lash out—a slap, a shove, something physical to match her words.

But before the storm can break, a voice, smooth and deceptively warm, cuts through the charged silence.

“Lady Mei Mei.”

Your breath hitches, and you whip your head around to see him. Lord Gojo strides toward you both, his movements as fluid and effortless as a ripple across the lake’s surface.

For a moment, your mind stutters, unable to reconcile the sight before you. He’s here. Not lingering at the edges of the crowd, not offering a polite nod of acknowledgment before disappearing into the fringes of Surrey Park. No, he’s walking toward you with purpose, the light catching in his silver hair, his focus unerringly fixed on the scene unfolding before him.

The man who had, for days, seemed to find every excuse to avoid you (and you him), whose gaze had flicked past you as though you were nothing more than a fixture of the lawn—he was now approaching with a startling intensity, his presence impossible to ignore.

His expression is inscrutable, but the faint furrow of his brow betrays something darker beneath the veneer of his charm. The tension in his jaw, the faint set of his shoulders—it all speaks of an intent that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Lord Gojo,” you whisper under your breath, your voice barely audible over the blood rushing in your ears. What is he doing here? And why, when he looks at you, does it feel as though the air has shifted?

Lady Mei Mei recovers first, her voice cutting through your disarray like a blade. “Lord Gojo,” she purrs, her saccharine tone a stark contrast to the venom she had wielded moments earlier. “What a surprise to see you here.”

But you can’t take your eyes off him. You’re too stunned, too disoriented by his sudden appearance and the sheer force of his presence. Why must he appear now?

His gaze flicks briefly to Mei Mei, his lips curving into a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, before his attention returns to you. And when it does, it’s as though the world narrows to the space between you.

“Not half as surprising as overhearing this delightful conversation,” he says, his tone light, almost lazy, but there’s an edge to it—a sharpness that wasn’t there before. His eyes meet yours again, and this time, the intensity in them is impossible to ignore. Your breath holds itself in, your confusion and shock colliding with something you can’t quite name. There’s no teasing quip, no playful smirk to soften his words. Just the weight of his gaze, pressing down on you as though he’s searching for something you don’t understand. Then, he returns it to Mei Mei. “I was unaware you had taken to dispensing moral judgments, my lady. Though I suppose one must occupy their time somehow.”

The barb lands, and Mei Mei’s smile falters. Her spine stiffens, her fingers twitching at her side, but Gojo doesn’t stop. He steps closer, his boots crunching against the gravel, and the shift in his demeanor is subtle but unmistakable.

“I would suggest, for the sake of civility,” he says, his voice softening to something far more dangerous, “that you refrain from such remarks in the future.”

The crowd, drawn by the commotion, murmurs from a distance. You feel their gazes prickle against your skin, their curiosity thickening the already-tense air. Mei Mei’s cheeks flush a pale pink, and her hands clench at her sides, the effort to maintain her composure palpable.

“You dare—” she begins, but Gojo cuts her off, his voice a degree colder now.

“I dare a great many things, my lady. Do not test the limits of my patience.”

The words hang heavy in the air, silencing the murmurs of the crowd. Mei Mei’s breath quickens, and though her lips curl into a sneer, the fire in her eyes dims. After a moment, she dips her head again, but this time it’s no longer polite. It’s forced, a concession.

“Very well, my lord,” she says, her voice tight. “I can see when my presence is no longer welcome.”

Lady Mei Mei walked past you to exit the scene, clearly disgraced after Lord Gojo had surprisingly butted in to your defense. Her turn was sharp, and her skirts flared. Then, she did something you hadn’t expected. After all, you were nonplussed from Gojo’s appearance in of itself that you did not have much awareness of your physical environment. Foremost of all, you were furious. How dare he waltz into the scene, aiming at playing hero and gentleman after all he has done to you this season? The anger consumed you, leaving you ignorant to Lady Mei Mei's schemes.

The movement came quickly—a flick of her hand, subtle yet purposeful, as though she intended to brush away an inconvenience. Only, her target was not the hem of her gown or an errant lock of hair. It was you. That is, that was the intention of the action. However, fortuitously enough for you, Lord Gojo had noticed it.

With a sharp tug, his hand closed around your wrist, pulling you aside just as Lady Mei Mei's push landed—on him.

The splash was enormous.

For a moment, the world stood still, the lake swallowing the ripples as though it too were stunned by what had just transpired. Around you, gasps echoed, punctuated by the soft clink of champagne glasses dropped in surprise. All eyes turned toward the water, toward the spot where Gojo had disappeared.

Your pulse pounded erratically, caught between the shock of it all and the mortifying realization that everyone was watching. Watching and waiting.

And then, like something out of a scandalous painting that no young lady of good breeding ought to admit having seen, Gojo emerged.

The water clung to him as though reluctant to let go, his white shirt turned sheer and pasted to his torso, revealing every lean muscle and curve beneath. Droplets trailed from the tips of his silver hair, tracing maddening paths down the sharp edges of his jaw before disappearing beneath the soaked fabric. His black necktie clung damply to his throat, accentuating the hollows there, and when his eyes met yours—gleaming with mischief and something darker—your breath hitched.

It was obscene.

The crowd seemed to agree, though their response was far less scandalized than you might have expected. The ladies weren’t laughing; no, their gazes were riveted, their fans fluttering in a feeble attempt to hide their obvious fascination. Their admiration was palpable, their whispers laden with awe.

Flustered, you took a few steps back to give him space and to not drench yourself (a/n lmaooo you’re drenched already bestie), but you mentally noted to yourself to make his pectorals bigger in your dreams (not that you would continue to have such salacious dreams, of course. It was the mind creating desires you never had, obviously.) It was apparent that you were still very distracted, for you did not notice the two pairs of footsteps rushing towards your direction, towards Gojo.

“What happened?” Duke Nanami looked at Gojo’s very…wet state, concerned and alarmed. “What did you get yourself into this time, Satoru?”

Gojo, who was still wiping water from his hair and grinning like a fool, gave him an exaggerated look of innocence. He ran a hand through his damp, platinum hair, the gesture almost too casual for someone in his drenched state. As he did so, the hem of his shirt inched upward, revealing a tantalizing sliver of bare skin, a sliver that led downward to a trail of white hair disappearing beneath his waistband—

“Kento,” Gojo laughed heartily, as if there were nothing amiss. “You worry too much! A little water never hurt anyone.”

Lord Geto, on the other hand, had been trailing behind Nanami. At the sight of Gojo, he started laughing, snickering mischievously at the sight. He had a knowing look on his face, as if he were fully aware of the scene he was witnessing—Gojo’s accidental plunge into the lake being just another moment of unintentional chaos.

“Oh, Satoru, you're impossible.” Geto stepped closer, shaking his head in mock disbelief, but his smile was far too amused to be truly accusatory or reproachful. "Did you get knocked into the lake by your own... charm?" His voice dripped with sarcasm as he glanced at the crowd of ladies now eyeing Gojo as though he were some mythical creature freshly emerged from the depths.

Nanami sighed, his brow furrowing as he crossed his arms in that ever-earnest manner that seemed to constantly play contrast to Gojo’s reckless energy. “This is exactly why you need a keeper at all times, Satoru.”

Gojo, still basking in the odd mix of amusement and the lingering attention of the nearby ladies, merely shrugged. “I’m fine, Kento. Just a little... refreshment is all.”

“By the looks of it,” Geto continued with a raised brow, “I’m more concerned about you than you are of yourself.” He gestured with a lazy wave, motioning toward the way the water had soaked through Gojo’s shirt, revealing a lot more than was likely intended. “And, I mean, look at that—those ladies aren’t gazing at you for your intellect.” (a/n LMAO ate him up)

Before Gojo could lob a retort, Nanami interjected with his trademark no-nonsense tone. “Enough of this,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re soaked to the bone. Let’s get you inside before you catch a chill—or create an even bigger scene.”

Gojo lingered for a moment, casting a leisurely glance around the gathering. The ladies, previously locked in their own conversations, now shamelessly ogled him, their fans fluttering uselessly against the rising heat in their cheeks. Their gazes trailed after him as he started to walk away, and you swore you caught more than one wistful sigh among the crowd.

And yet, even as he moved farther from the lake and closer to the house, his steps deliberate and unhurried, he suddenly stopped. Slowly, his head turned, and his piercing blue gaze found yours with unnerving accuracy, as if he’d felt your bewildered stare all along.

His smile appeared—lazy, confident, and maddeningly seductive. The corner of his mouth tilted up just enough to make your stomach flip, and his eyes... Oh, his eyes. They gleamed like a predator’s, sharp and teasing, and yet impossibly inviting.

The world seemed to tilt, the air around you thickening. Your chest tightened with the realization: that smile wasn’t for the crowd, nor for the fawning ladies he left in his wake.

It was for you.

Your cheeks burned, your thoughts a chaotic mess as he turned back and sauntered away, water still dripping from his hair and shirt. The ladies continued to gawk openly, but you remained rooted to the spot, your heart pounding erratically.

Oh, that bastard.

prev. the rebound | next. the embers

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n so....erm this was definitely a CHAPTER.....BUT AH POOKIES ITS HERE i got so excited bc i got the idea to write his lake fall so i finished this chapter. it's a bit messy, like i said, but i hope you liked it <333

I WANT TO SUCK GOJOS DICK BADLYYY i think this chapter was posted so fast after the last bc im on my period and im horny so hence the lake scene was born like i rawdogged this shit in five hours

ANYWYAS THERES PUSH AND PULL YEARNING PINING...so much contradiction hmmmmmm

miss itadori malfunctioning when gojo got out of the water (like a complete SLUT)

anyways i hope some of you WHORESS that simped for bridgerton!geto will be coming anew to simp for our main MAN. this debauchery i approve of. i fear all anons, especially zaynesbathrobe anon and anon in my walls, will be having a field day with this one

thank you for readinggg! please comment and reblog to let me know ur thots :3 (esp reblog, a lot of people have been binging bridgerton!gojo recently and spam liking. tumblr daddy might lock me up and shadowban me/mark my account, so reblogs would be appreciated <3)

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itsmearia01 · 1 year ago

Text

Past Love || Prolog

Various! Yandere! Jujutsu kaisen x Sukuna's past wife! Itadori's best friend! F! Reader

A/N : English is not my first language, sorry if there are some wrong words. (btw, here Sukuna is considered as king and you considered as the queen) And there are some OCs that I added to add more drama. Hope you like it!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Chapter 1

Series summary : You always get the same nightmare over and over every night. You feel annoyed but can't do anything about it. On the other hand, your best friend who suddenly becomes the vessel of a cursed king brings your nightmares to reality. You don't know what happened but the people around you started acting strangely.

Series warnings : Non-con, dub-con, yandere, stalking, kinks, gaslighting, blackmail, overtism, smut, NSFW, Minors DNI, all character 18+ (but first years still first year, try to make sense), sex, rough sex, oral sex, dom/sub dynamics, blood, manipulation, corruption, mind break, forced relationship, yandere character being their own warning, mind control, possessive, kidnapping. ⚠️Jujutsu kaisen character was not my original, credit to Gege Akutami as original author! There's a few OC as my originally made character. If you don't like/ you hate this kind of story, please go.

(Y/N) (L/N) or now known as Ryomen Sukuna's wife. That night was a wedding between you and Sukuna. Your father, who is the only parent you have now, is the figure behind all of this. It all started with him make you engaged to hundred year old demon when you were 12 years old. And now you are 18 years old, which means it's time to get married.

Many important people come, make you have to smile throughout the event. And when it all ends, that night you ended up at your bedroom alone. You reflect on all the things happened.

They think you're happy, they all think you love him. All this time you have to act like you can't live without Sukuna. You have to act like you love him. No, of course you don't love him. You admit he's quite hot, but he's not your type. You don't like mean, psychopathic men. You like gentle and loving men.

Your father always forced you to be obsessive with Sukuna and act like you love him. So you always hurting women who tease him because your father told you to. But you can't do much if Sukuna wants those women. So you are the antagonist.

You're 100% sure he's with one of his mistresses now. As the first wife of Ryomen Sukuna, everyone is sorry for you because he likes to sleep with other women. But you don't mind it, you don't care. But THEY CARE, those who think you love him.

"What should I say to your majesty?"

You hear the waiters talking behind the wall, you start to focus on listening.

"Did lord Sukuna slept with his lover?" Ask someone you recognize as your personal guard now. "Yes. I have to immediately bring this dinner to queen (Y/N)."

Not long after the conversation ended, your bedroom door was opened. "excuse me queen, this is your dinner." He said while put down the tray of your dinner. "Thank you, did he slept with his mistress?" you ask.

The butler raised his head, looking at you with pitying eyes. "I-That's right, Your Highness." he answered nervously. You sighed and told him to leave. Before leaving the room, he look at you with pity once again.

Several months passed, nothing special. He always looks at you disgusted, because he also thinks you're obsessed with him. When you meet Sukuna, he always with his concubines and those concubines always grin at you.

You have to be patient, this is for your family.

That day, he suddenly call you and everyone to the great hall. He was with a woman as usual, but something was different.

"I want to make this women, as my first wife." He said. Everyone was shocked. Because if he wants to make that woman his first wife, it means that she will replace your position. You saw the woman smiling innocently, but you can see her grin.

Because Sukuna wanted to make that woman his first wife, all support for you disappeared and turned to that woman. After your father investigated the woman named Yurika Sato, a illegitimate daughter of a lowly noble who went bankrupt.

The thing that made he attracted to her was because of her innocence. Sukuna really likes innocent women and really hates rude women like you. And just as you'd think, Sukuna will eventually replace you and take Yurika as his first wife.

But you realize this is your chance to escape. You tell your father that you will run away and he agrees. Just in time for the wedding between Sukuna and Yurika, you packed up your things and leave a farewell note. Finally, after everything Sukuna did to you from betrayal, his harsh words, and other acts of cruelty that you received from him, you are finally free.

You and your father still communicating by letter and he bought you a house that is not big but still very nice. Now you live in a village and sell cakes you make by yourself.

Until one day something special happens in your life. At that time you were walking around in the market suddenly you hit bye someone and fell. When you look at that person it was a tall handsome man.

"Sorry, I'm really sorry." He says. Reaching out his hand to help you up. And that's when you were get to know to him. It was strange that an aristocratic family name was used by a commoner like him. You were suspicious, but you were a person who believed easily when he said that he completely unrelated to nobles, he happened to share the same last name.

He work as a doctor in this village.

Months have passed and now you know him better, you start developed romantic feelings for each other.

One day he proposed to you and you happily accepted. It's been a month since you were married and you read a letter from your father explaining that the capital in chaos. There are so many evil curses attacking everything around.

You want to go there, but hampered by your body feeling unwell. You keep feeling nauseous and vomiting, your menstruation hasn't come since a month ago. You finally checked secretly with other doctors in the village. Unfortunately, it took a few days to find out.

Three days have passed and there is still no news about the results. Due to getting another letter from your father and worrying about him, you finally decide to go to the capital that day without your husband knowing.

But you don't realize that will be where it ends. You didn't find your father at your family's residence, and you immediately went to Sukuna's residence. You find your father fighting a curse and behind him is Sukuna. When your father neglects to help the others, sukuna who somehow looks very weak is attacked by a special grade curse.

Time went fast, you ran trying to protect Sukuna's body and in the end the curse attack hit your stomach. You lay down weakly and heard screams of your father, Sukuna, and your husband who somehow were there. You see them approaching you and screaming for someone to heal you. And what surprised you the most was when your husband shouted, "SHE'S PREGNANT!"

It's too late. You was already unconscious and fell asleep forever.

_____

"HAH- HAH- HAH."

You wake up from your sleep, the dream is again in your mind. You quickly looked at the time and realized that you would be late for school. You hurry up and get ready for school. Go downstairs and find your father and sibling eating in the dining room.

You grabbed a loaf and rushed out of the house ignoring your father's screams telling you to come back.

And this is your life now, (Y/N) (L/N) the only one daughter of a rich family which has one of the most successful companies in the world.

On the way to school, you keep imagining the dreams you've had every day since you were 12 years old until now. No matter how much you deny it, You know that it's not just a dream but an incident that happened in the past. Maybe it was your past life.

To be continued

A/N : Hello! This is the end of the prologue, once again English is not my first language, btw your family won't be featured much in the next chapters, so it's okay if you don't have any siblings to imagine in the story. Sorry if there are any wrong words. I feel it's too long for prolog, so I'm sorry but hope you like this story and waiting for the first chapter! Banners credit to @cafekitsune !

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 11 months ago

Text

the pained peace treaty

fused with the foe, chapter one

a/n: oh wow, i have no idea how to introduce this beast of a story except to say hi, hello, welcome! i really hope you enjoy this story, as well as the rest of the trilogy, idk if i've ever gone as in depth and all out with any story as i have with these.

summary: “now, everything is already set into motion, so we don’t have time for any of your theatrics,” not looking you in the eye, he frostily told you, “you are to be married. A carriage has just arrived a few minutes ago to pick you up and transport you to Eflorr.”

warnings: king!steve rogers x reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, slow burn, innocent!reader, abusive father (like super bad. he is a garbage person), wedding, blood, injury

word count: 4813

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“Your majesty, I must warn you, if, gods forbid, our people come to discover the great lengths you’ve been willing to go in this disagreement over the past two decades, they might start an uprising. And if you keep going, then it’ll turn into a full-blown war and you know our kingdom wouldn’t be able to survive that, not with them. Our city’s walls may be high, high enough to keep out any beasts that may wander this far south, but it wouldn’t keep them out. You know better than most how people from Eflorr are. If you don’t wanna lose your crown, one way or another, then I’d strongly advise that we come up with some peace treaty.”

“I know, I know…” King Ivan leaned back in his gilded throne with a huff, the quality of his voice was as thin as his towering frame, “a trade I think should suffice.”

A different advisor then timidly pipped up, “but our mines ran cold ages ago, what could we possibly offer that would be satisfactory?”

Not lifting his cold gaze, the king stared at a fixed spot on the marble floor as he said, “I know one thing the king lacks that we may be able to provide for him… a wife.”

“A wife–,” both of the men’s eyes grew wide, “but do you mean–, your majesty, she is your only daughter, are you certain this is the fate you want her to have? Those people are barbaric! If one of the dangers that rule the north doesn’t get to her first, one of their citizens surely will. Sire, what if history repeats itself?”

“Then let it do so. In fact, perhaps this could have been her purpose all along and I just didn’t realise it. Couldn’t see past my own rage to grasp how useful she actually could be…”

Sharing a nervous glance, one of the advisors asked, “should we send for her? See if she agrees with the plans?”

“No, I’ll tell her when the time is right. Wouldn’t want her to do anything stupid and ruin the one good thing she could ever provide,” finally lifting his stony gaze, the king commanded, “make the arrangements, I’ll see to it that she doesn’t ruin it.”

Deep within the opulent halls of the gilded palace, standing grand and safe behind Ingorn’s tall city walls, twisting up towards the clouds, up in a window in the western tower, there you sat.

Book in your lap, you leaned back against the small pillow you’d propped behind you to make the wide windowsill more comfortable. Small paper butterflies hung from strings above and some dangled so low that the childhood craft that still decorated your window trickled the crown of your head. Flipping the page, your fingertips brushed down over the illustration that appeared in the agricultural tome you’d found in one of your brothers’ rooms.

As long as you put it back before Angus returned then you’d probably be good. And if he were to somehow notice, then as long as he didn’t rat you out to your father then it would be alright. Both Angus and a few of the others that were closer to your age, Oliver and Francis respectively, were always a bit of a gamble whether or not they would do such a thing. They didn’t always have the same spirit as the eldest pair of your older brothers, Xavier and Callum.

You missed them so much your heart ached. The older they got, the longer their diplomatic missions seemed to stretch out, making the quiet palace that much more lonely in your solitude.

A knock then suddenly boomed at your door, causing you to jump edgily in your seat before you slammed the book shut and nervously stuffed it behind the firm pillow.

“Come in!” you called out, swiftly straightening out your dress that had crumbled around your legs at the comfortable seat. As the door to your room slammed open, the figure that stood in it caught you by surprise, “Father–, oh, hello,” you straightened your posture that much further at his arrival.

Skipping over any niceties, King Ivan simply stated, “you need to pack up your stuff.”

Your brows knitted into a fierce furrow, “what?”

“Not everything, of course,” he cast a cold glance around the room though didn’t take a step to enter it, “just the things you are particularly attached to.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” your head lightly shook from side to side, “where am I going?”

When his eyes finally gave you the time of day, it swiftly dropped to the floor as a heavy sigh flowed from his lips, “why do you have to be the spitting image of her…” the muttering was unfortunately just loud enough for your ears to catch. His disappointment was always just loud enough for your ears to catch. When he entered the room and you moved to get up, he swiftly said, “stay seated, Y/n,” before he planted himself next to you on the wide windowsill, “now, everything is already set into motion, so we don’t have time for any of your theatrics,” not looking you in the eye, he frostily told you, “you are to be married. A carriage has just arrived a few minutes ago to pick you up and transport you to Eflorr.”

“To Eflorr?” your gaze grew wide, “you wish for me to marry someone there?”

“Not just someone, you are to marry their king.”

“I–… I–…” your chest rose and fell rapidly beneath your rosy dress, “but father, you can’t–, I can’t go live with the people who killed mom.”

“We don’t know if they actually murdered her. But I do know that you did,” his glare locked upon you as he let himself seethe, “if you hadn’t been born then she’d still be alive,” the fact that the only thing he blamed more for his late wife’s untimely demise then the kingdom she’d perished in was you, remained a point that the sovereign had never been shy about sharing with you for as long as you could recall, “your duty is to protect and serve this land, this crown,” your eyes naturally fluttered up to gaze at the twisted gold balanced upon his head, “if you don’t go through with this, then those savages will come pillage and ruin your home. You are, regrettably, the very last hope this kingdom has of survival. You have no choice, Y/n. This marriage is the only thing that can stop a war we would never survive,” exhaling slowly, he then dominantly nodded in a concluding fashion, “pack your stuff, you have an hour.”

You felt tears sting your eyes as your bottom lip quivered, “an hour? But–, can’t we wait at least a few days before I leave? Can’t I get a chance to say goodbye to at least one of my brothers? None of them are home yet.”

Regret instantly washed over you as your father’s nostrils flared angrily. Seizing your arm in a bruising grip, he yanked you close as he hissed, “you listen, and you listen carefully, you little brat. You have been the bane of my existence ever since you took your first breath. You took away the love of my life. You don’t deserve a goodbye, you don’t deserve anything. Do you think I got a goodbye when your mother suddenly went into labour on that diplomatic mission? No. All I got was you. Not another son, but a living, breathing reminder of what I lost that day,” your eyes squeezed shut as your cheek tingled at the memory of his strikes, “now, be a good girl and go wet his prick, give him a few babies, do anything he’d fucking please, so that him and his barbaric army doesn’t come here and slaughter everything you know and love.”

“Your highness, are you cold?” the high-ranking warden sitting across from you in the carriage noticed the shiver that your body couldn’t seem to shake.

Tearing your eyes off of the scenery along The Emerald Path that the narrow window granted you a view of, you glanced back at the warrior. The brown hair he had practically tied off at the base of his neck blossomed into a dark beard. A bare palm clasped over an inked one in his lap as you met his gaze and said, “no, I’m–…” in truth, you were scared, so scared that you were trembling like a leaf, but you couldn’t tell the foreign king’s advisor that, too much weighted on your shoulders, you couldn’t screw this up, “no,” glancing back out of the window, you only stared a moment at the sparse cottages that slowly came into view on the rolling hills before you turned your head again and let the nauseating nerves control your words, “pardon me, Barnes, is it?”

“Yes, your highness?”

“Sir, how much further till we get there?” your quiet voice echoed within the carriage, “it’s just–, it’s been days.”

“Oh, not long at all,” he shook his head lightly, “actually,” the knight leaned forward in his seat and cast his glance outside, “if you look out the window now, right there,” a small smile tugged at his lips as his finger shot up to point, “that river, that means we’re getting close to Borün city.”

As the river then suddenly curved before the dirt road, the clomping hooves of the horses that hauled the coach resonated as they trotted over a stone bridge.

Twisting your head, you glanced out to your right and spotted farmlands curve over the rolling hills that swiftly blossomed into thickets and towering flora you’d only assume was the southern perimeter of The Noll Woods. Books about this kingdom had been banned in your homeland for as long as you could remember, but even though you were essentially going in blind, you still weren’t completely ignorant when it came to the dangers that called that sprawling forest its home, not that you were an expert in the slightest, but your brothers had from time to time told you tales of the monsters who dominated in this part. From giant and twisted insect-like creatures, to mischievous pixies, to even the rare dragon, those stories had always been your favourite. Apart from the rare occasion where Callum would share stories with you about your mother. Being the eldest, he was the only one who truly remembered her.

Instinctively, your fingers fluttered up to fiddle with the opalescent stone that hung from a chain around your neck. In the middle of the milky jewel was a small rune engraved into it. You had no idea what it meant, but your fingers had still traced the carving countless of times before as it had hung from your neck for as long as you could recall. It hadn’t been till you were a ways into your teens that you’d come to discover that it had belonged to your mother.

Casting your glance out the other side as you passed a tall watchtower, behind the wide city stables unfolded a port town so quaint that it surprised you. Over the small valley of gabled roofs towered a central tree, and beyond all of that, the sparkle of the sea caught your eye, a sight you’d never beheld before, haven not only stemmed from a landlocked metropolis, but also not haven been permitted to leave your room as much as your heart had desired.

“This is Eflorr?” you asked as the carriage began to roll up the winding path to the stone castle that loomed on the cliff, granting you a new view of how the river that you’d crossed slid through the city and spilt into the ocean.

“This is Eflorr, your highness,” the corners of his lips twitched at the sight of how wide your curious eyes were.

“It’s–… it’s–…” your stare danced over the lush ivy that climbed the solid towers, “not what I expected…”

“What did you expect?”

Tearing your gaze away from the window, you blinked, “oh, I didn’t mean–,” suddenly worried that your shock had come out sounding rude, “I just–… I don’t know a lot about this land,” in the few tales you’d heard about this place, there had been a running gag that the people of Eflorr had lived so close to the dangerous beasts that called this part of the continent their home that they too had turned into monsters, “it’s just different than I imagined.”

Ascending the jagged hill and passing through the front gate, it opened up into a wide courtyard before you felt the carriage finally roll to a stop.

The wagon creaked gently as Barnes stepped out first, though when his boots were firmly on the cobblestone, his frame twisted as he reached an outstretched hand back for you to grasp in support of your own exit. Ever so apprehensively, you slid your own palm into his as your other twisted in your long skirts before you slipped out of the carriage.

Letting go of his gasp, the soldier's low timbre washed over you as your head tilted back to take in the vast stronghold, “his majesty, unfortunately, couldn’t be here for your arrival as there was a bit of a dryad problem further up north he had to take care of,” you gaze tore away from the fort and fell upon him, “but I assure you he should be back in time for the wedding.”

“Oh, alright,” you breathed, unsure if that fact made you feel better or worse about the entire predicament.

“If you’d like, I can give you a brief tour of the castle,” he offered as he led you towards the main entrance into the castle proper, “or if you’re exhausted after the journey, then I can just show you directly up to your chambers.”

Offering him a polite smile, you nodded, “a tour would be lovely, thank you.”

He only briefly went over the buildings surrounding the courtyard you’d entered into, as they were mainly designed as barracks and various other facilities for the local wardens, though the horses that stuck their heads out of the royal stalls in the corner did catch your eye before you moved on inside.

Barnes’ voice echoed in most of the chambers he showed you in the castle’s western wing. The vast stained-glass windows that were in the ballroom for instance took your breath away as you saw how the light streamed through them and warmed up the room with glittering little rays of colour.

Behind the great halls, squeezed in between and connecting the two major parts of the fort, there you crossed through a much more quiet and lush courtyard. The pebble paths that curved around the central fountain too curled around various topiary bushes that were trimmed to perfection like living sculptures.

Though as your guide showed you the eastern wing that crested over the foaming sea below, your curiosity got the better of you.

“Hey, Barnes?”

Slowing his leisurely stride, he tilted his head slightly, “yes, your highness?”

“What are dryads?” your brows knit lightly together, “you mentioned there was a problem with them, but what are they?”

“You don’t know?” he glanced over at you, clearly trying to mask his surprise as you shook your head, “oh, well, they are forest spirits, nymphs,” he explained as you roamed deeper down a broad hallway on the second floor, passing many private chambers both to your right and your left, “it’s not uncommon for them to wander and bother the folks who live further up the coast. Have you never encountered one? They are not as uncommon in Obelón as most of the other creatures that thrive this far north.”

“No, I’ve never seen one…” you shook your head as a low sigh flowed from your lips, “never really seen anything…”

“Not much of an outdoorsy person?” he guessed in a light-hearted tone.

Forcing a smile, you replied, “you could say that…” as you hadn’t been allowed to be one even if you wanted to. Passing a set of double doors that stood wide open, the sight inside made you halt your steps, “is this the library?”

Shadowing you as your feet crossed the threshold, he nodded, “yes, it is,” then pointed back over his shoulder, “and your quarters are right down that hall.”

Numerous grand bookcases stood lined up all the way down to where a tall window allowed the sunlight in and let it stream through the rows.

“Can I–… would it be alright if I read some of them?”

“Of course, your highness.”

“Would you mind showing me which ones I’m allowed to read?” you briefly peeked back at him as a bubble of anxiety fluttered in your belly, “I don’t wanna accidentally read something that I’m not allowed to.”

Barnes then blinked back at you a moment before he uttered, “your highness, you can read each and every one of them if you’d like. Why wouldn’t you be allowed to read whatever you wish? They are yours after all, or will be after the wedding,” the corners of your lips twitched upwards as he then asked, “would you like to peruse the titles now or do you want to see your chambers?”

“Oh, uhm,” you tore your gaze away from the tomes and turned back, “I’ll look later.”

“Alright,” he nodded, extending his inked arm to show you the way. As he pushed the heavy wooden door open to the room at the very end of the hall, his voice rang out once more, “this is the peacock suite,” following him inside, he settled to a stop near the exit for you to explore the space on your own, “you can, of course, change anything you’d like for it to match your taste.”

“Thank you,” you breathed as you slowly made your way deeper into the chamber. It was gently divided with a more formal area towards the front where both tufted couches and a crackling fireplace stood, as well as a set of doors that opened up to a quaint balcony. Towards the left, under a swirling archway, twisted a broad canopy bed up towards the tall ceilings, warm with blankets and furs, and in the corner, by a breezy partition, stood a deep cobber bathtub.

Haven not noticed that he’d moved, you then heard as Barnes creaked the doors to a close, “if you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be right outside.”

With a loud creak, the heavy double doors opened before you and revealed the grand hall. As soft music gushed out, you nearly didn’t recognise the space from your tour the other day as it was now decorated with vibrant flowers and flowing banners that dropped down from the high ceilings above, as well as being completely packed with a swarm of people. A thin path parted the giddy crowd right down the middle towards the opposing grand door that guards opened simultaneously to yours.

A shaky breath filled your lungs as you stared at the man crossing over the threshold. The flickering candlelight caught the honeyed shine of the locks that came down to tickle the nape of his neck. A bit darker, his short beard was full and warmed up the bottom half of his gruff features. He sure looked like a man who could slay a kraken with his bare fists, as the soft fur cloak that draped over his shoulders did not conceal his bulky physic one bit. The neckline of his indigo tunic stretched low enough for you to see the concave of his fuzzy chest and the impressive battle scars that broke up the rippling flesh.

You’d seen the portrait of the king that hung in the hallway that stretched up towards the throne room, but to see him before your very eyes, in flesh and blood and not precise paint, was something else entirely.

The long and embroidered train of the blue silk kirtle you wore dragged across the store floor behind you as both you and the monarch slowly stepped into the chamber to join in the very middle.

The enchanting music stopped as you reached one another and the parted paths to either exit slowly closed as the crowd gathered and enclosed around the sacred vow that was about to ensue.

Parting the sea of people like a divine force, an elderly woman, with a braided grey mane so long that it hit the floor, stepped up beside the both of you.

“People of Eflorr,” the crone’s calm voice boomed, “today marks a day of unity, a day of peace, and most of all a day of love. Like a seed planted in the soil, tonight we will all witness this relationship blossom and go on the journey of growing into a magnificent tree, with roots strong enough to endure any storm, to propagate new seedlings that will watch over and shade our kingdom when yours have fallen.”

Looking to the king, she handed him a small dagger from her belt and spoke, “blade across skin,” and he reached out for your right hand, “strike out your seedling’s love line,” your breath hitched as you felt him slice the top of your palm. Crimson blood trickled down onto his own hand as yours rested atop it, “and claim it as your own,” he flipped the blade around and handed it to you, before presenting you his own palm, open in yours. He didn’t even blink as you hesitantly pierced the calloused skin and traced the line already adoring his broad palm, “weave your lines together, so they become the same,” he then moved to clasp your hands together, his wide grip engulfed yours completely. Your teeth sank into just the faintest bit of your bottom lip at the fresh sting of your wound as it bled into his, “and may this scar serve you as a reminder, of the vow you made on this momentous day.”

And as the last of the matron's words flowed from her lips so did the roar of celebration that erupted throughout the crowd as the festivities of the night bloomed at an instant.

The feast had been nothing short of immaculate. Countless of dishes had been spread out on the crowded banquet tables ranging from the savoury braised legumes to the sweet and shiny pies. It was an impossible task to try and taste every one of them, but an excuse you still used to stay glued to your seat and not get up and mingle with the boisterous gathering of strangers.

As a stark contrast, you thought you only noticed the king take two bites before he rose to greet some latecomers who had arrived. Laughing and chatting with the sea of people, he hadn’t offered you a single word, barely even a brief glance the whole night. Though your gaze still followed him from your seat up at the high table as he moved through the crowd like they were all his dearest friends.

When the moon had floated up to be high in the sky, clearly visible on the other side of the stained glass, your head had dropped down into a propped-up palm as a deep yawn forced its way out of your frame.

“Are you tired, your majesty?” a deep timbre suddenly found your ears, a specific tone that caused your spine to straighten out at once.

Whipping your head to your right, your weary eyes grew wide as you saw the king again at his seat, “no, I’m alright,” you hastily coughed out, “I’m so sorry for behaving like that in your presence. This party is exquisite.”

“It’s alright, you can yawn,” you suddenly felt the need to look away now that his ocean stare was finally fixed upon you, “it’s late, I was about to retire for the night as well, so I can only imagine how you must feel. If you’d like, I could escort you back to your chambers. I’m not sure how familiar you’ve become with the castle since you’ve arrived, but even I can still get lost when the corridors are this dark and I’ve indulged in perhaps one too many goblets of wine.”

A flutter of nauseating nerves rushed within your belly, but even so, you still pushed through and forced a smile, “if that’s what the king desires, then sure, you can escort me.”

It was your wedding night. You knew what was about to happen.

Or, actually, you didn’t quite know what the marital act entailed, but you were sure a man such as Steve had enough of an understanding to take charge. All you knew was what little you’d been told. To strip down naked, not whine or scream, and do as he tells you.

The soaring butterflies within you only grew more ferocious as you followed his long stride throughout the castle. Out of the ballroom and through a cold stone hallway, when you crossed the bridge that linked the two wings over a part of the cliff that descended dramatically, you nearly doubled over the parapet to empty your stomach over the town of Borün that blossomed below.

But with a shaky intake of breath, your fist closed around the silk of your skirt as you settled yourself and forced your feet to keep moving. Even as you passed the threshold into the eastern part of the castle, you still shadowed the monarch up the many steps until his broad palm held the door to your chambers open for you to enter.

The fire had been lit while you were gone, and the room was encased in the warm glow.

“Did, uh…” you heard the door close behind you as the king attempted a bit of small talk, “did you have a nice time tonight?”

“I did, your majesty,” you kept your answer brief out of fear that he’d hear the tremble to your tone.

Slowly turning his back to you, his gaze washed over the room, “are you pleased with your bed chambers?” he settled to face the balcony, the door slightly ajar to let the night breeze seep through and rustle the sheer curtains, “because if you don’t like it, if you’d rather have a view of the town then the sea, then that’s an easy problem to fix.”

“I think the view is just fine from here, but thank you,” you answered politely as you gathered up the last bit of your courage and reached back to undo the long row of buttons that went down the spine of the light blue dress.

When the silky garment dropped to the floor, the quiet rustle was enough to draw the king’s attention.

First offering you just a quick glance over his shoulder, he then swiftly whirled around completely, “what are you doing?”

Weaving your fingers in the thin material of your chemise, you blinked back at his stunned features, “I’m sorry, am I doing it wrong?” sure that he could already see everything through the sheer, white fabric.

His feet didn’t move as he asked, “what are trying to do?” before he averted his gaze to the stone floor.

“Well,” you uttered quietly, “it’s our wedding night.”

“Oh…” was all he breathed.

“To be transparent, I’m actually not quite sure what’s to happen, but I do know it’s something,” reaching up, you took the gold and twisted circlet, that crowned your head, off and carefully sat it down on the side table to your left, “I don’t know the details, I just know that I should strip down. Do you know what we’re supposed to do?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, briefly squeezing his eyes shut, “yes I do, but, your majesty, please, keep your clothes on,” his gaze flickered back to you as you slowly began to hike up the last layer.

“Why?” your fingers froze, “isn’t it a tradition here for us to–”

“Well, yes, but–…” he let out a strained sigh before slowly stating, “I’m gonna go.”

A chill crawled up your skin, “…oh, I see…” you uttered quietly as he crossed the room, “did I do something wrong?”

Halting in the doorway as he ripped it open, “no, you–…” but the rest of his words crumbled as his gaze settled upon you one last time, instead letting a low sigh flow from his lungs, “sleep well,” and added nearly subconsciously just before the door slammed shut, “goodnight, dove.”

Even though a wave of relief washed over you, a sting of hurt also followed suit as the king left.

Had you done something wrong, or did he just find you that repellent, that hideous, that he refused to perform his marital duties?

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 9 months ago

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Part I: The Prophecy — June 25, 2011

Part I: On her daily morning run, Y/N wonders if she’ll ever have someone who wants her simply company. Spencer promises her just that, the only catch: she has to wait seven years.

Rating: Eventual smut, fluff and longing

Word Count: 3.5K

Series Masterlist | Tell Me What You Think!

My Mind Turns You Into Folklore: The Prophecy — June 25, 2011

Running, somehow, still made her feel like a child. Perhaps there was something unadulterated and carefree about losing yourself in the pounding of pavement. When Y/N felt the wind rush in her ears and the familiar burn throughout her body, she truly felt alive.

Her entire body ached— no, screamed— as she approached her fifth mile for the day’s session. For Y/N running wasn’t about getting to the destination fastest, but about finishing the race altogether.

She wished she could apply such wisdom to very particular aspects of her life. Namely, her love life. For Y/N, relationships with men were unpleasantly predictable. From terrible blind dates with friends who she honestly can’t tell if they meant well to men with habits so strange Y/N could only plead insanity by a drunken state as to why she entertained even a second glance. Unfortunately, for her the sea of men seemed to solely be comprised of rather the unfortunate sort of men that made her skin crawl.

Her knees burned as her mind ran through the five weddings and babies that were impending. Between cousins, college friends, and even her own sister all either, Y/N never more lonely than when she was surrounded by her people. There was something particularly voyeuristic about watching those you love move along the carousel while you’re left in the dust. She was a casual observer, marooned to the sidelines. And someone where along the way she forgot to even care.

Her chest burned as she wondered where her aunt, a woman born and forged from pure spite and hefty lack of tolerance for anything progressive, would sit her at her cousin’s wedding. Y/N heaved forward imagining what would be worse; the discarded old widow’s table with wives whose husbands’ expiration date had come and passed. Or with her unruly nephews who would have to be wrestled into a tiny tuxedo and bribed with fried food and the majesty of Red40 to maintain the semblance of civility.

Being 27, husbandless, boyfriendless, and childless didn’t usually bother Y/N. She loved her peace. But somehow it put her into this plane of existence where she straddled youth and adulthood. She had one foot jammed deep into the rich, sodden earth of childhood and one toe dipping too all too calm to be safe waters of adulthood. Yet being uncoupled was as if she purchased overnight shipping to the elephant graveyard.

It was antiquated. It was downright sexist, yet there was a small part of her heart and her entire being that craved to be taken care of by a man. She wanted someone to bring her flowers just because, to hug her from behind while she stirred soup for dinner on a chilly day, to brush her hair from her face as he brought her to the brink of pleasure time and time again.

There was only so much her vibrator could do.

But a heart that ached to be loved, that problem didn’t come with a WebMD link. There wasn’t a quick and easy fix to change something that defined her on a molecular level.

She savored the sweet breeze that reminded her of summer and childhood. The houses, various shades of blue, gray, and beige blurred past as she maintained her steady pace.

Y/N rounded the corner and pounded the pavement that led to Betsy’s Cape Cod. She was the Head Librarian and took Y/N under her rather Mother Goose-like wing three years ago when she took the position at the small, sleepy library. A suburb of Quantico, many of the patrons were families in public service.

She even stumbled across someone who quickly became her best friend, Spencer. He was some sort of former child prodigy turned adult wunderkid. After racking up more diplomas than most extended families collect, Spencer worked as a special agent for the FBI. But looking at him, you would never have guessed. He was timid and shy in a boyish way that made him seem much younger than 32. He was tall and lanky, yet despite his slender frame he seemed to completely light up every single room he walked into.

Both Betsy and Spencer buried themselves into the fabric of her life. Betsy sat on the front porch, slowly swaying on the large, wooden swing. A crocheted blanket lay over her lap, keeping her warm under the brisk morning’s chill.

“Y/N!” Betsy called, as she ascended the stairs with a bright smile, “Dearie, it’s far too cold for you to run out here.”

“I could say the same about you, Bets,”

Betsy dismissed Y/N with a coy smile and a wave of her hand. “It’s good for my old bones to get a little chill. Make sure everything is in working order.”

Betsy scooted over on the porch swing, making more than enough room for Y/N to sit.

“That tall kid? Hmm, Spencer? Yes. Spencer. Was in there looking for you yesterday. Poor kid’s entire day was ruined when I told him you were on a date. Now, is there a reason why you didn’t tell me you didn’t tell your best friend?” Betsy asked, not hesitating to ask a question that went straight for the jugular.

Y/N offered Betsy a weak smile. “There wasn’t anything to tell him. He’s not interested in my love life. We talk about books. And work. And… I don’t know…”

Betsy nodded, but her pointed look pressed Y/N to continue. There wasn’t anything romantic between her and Spencer, but that wasn’t to say the connection wasn’t the most important thing in her life. When she met him three years ago he simply waltzed into her life; a tall, gangly man with a large appetite for baked goods and an excellent taste in literature.

“Besides, he has a thing for his coworker. Even though she hardly acknowledges his existence.”

From the time she met Spencer, he constantly was talking about his teammates. Growing up, Spencer didn’t have a stable family life. His mother tried her best, while his father never tried at all. He grown up not knowing what it was like to belong anywhere and now he finally found something resembling a family.

JJ was blonde and skinny and perfect and Spencer was completely enamored with her. Y/N met her only a couple of times, the first after a football game. She shared a plate of cheese fries and gravy with Spencer’s other coworker, Penelope as Spencer attempted to spout an almanac’s worth of facts about football to JJ.

“Hmm,” Betsy murmured, swinging back and forth. “Well, he said he has to talk to you about something. Maybe he’s getting to his senses, finally.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, sipped some of the ice cold lemonade Betsy handed her, and gave her a pointed smile.

“This isn’t a romance novel, Bets. You’ve been sneaking too many of those bodice rippers.”

She stood up and felt some relief as her weary muscles stretched. Betsy waved another annoyed hand.

“Quiet down, Missy. I’ve had my chance at love. And I fully intend on you and Spencer being an item. My Arnold, may that old bastard rest in peace, never gave me children, so you and that boy are my only chance to fill this house with grandkids.”

“Oh my God, Betsy,” Y/N groaned, her head tossed back, “It’s not like that between us. And I promise you, it never will be.”

Y/N took off before Betsy had the chance to respond. But she couldn’t shake the funny feeling tugging at her heartstrings. She thought that maybe if she just focused her mind on feeling the wind blow her hair and her body burn as the third mile turned into a fifth, she could wash away the thoughts of one or two little children sitting on Betsy’s porch, sandwiched in between her and Spencer.

***

Gary, as it turned out, wasn’t a nice guy. First of all, he showed up precisely 23 and a half minutes late and hardly bothered to greet her as he sat down at their two seater table. He barked a drink order to the waitress, who graciously threw Y/N a sympathetic smile.

“So you work at Walter Reed?” Y/N asked, attempting to make conversation with the man seated in front of her. He was a couple years her senior and an Attending Emergency Room Doctor. On paper Gary seemed wonderful. He had a nice family; older sisters were always a green flag in Y/N’s book and seemed to have a basic grasp of personal hygiene practices.

Gary mumbled as the waitress brought him his drink: whisky on rocks. He downed it in about three minutes and signaled for the waitress to return.

“Sorry,” Gary apologized, his voice so close to resembling being embarrassed, but it, somewhere along the line, made a beeline in the opposite direction, “There was some bitch in the ER today complaining about how her boyfriend didn’t believe her when she told him she was pregnant. Took me a god damn hour to shut her up. Jesus, reminds me why I don’t date.”

Y/N felt her face freeze. It was like his harsh words poured ice water over her shoulders. Her skin practically crawled as Gary’s carelessness settled in. Wasn’t this a date? Or was this simply the means for Gary to get into her pants.

“Hold up,” Y/N said, gesturing with her hand held up to stop Gary’s rant, “I was under the impression this was a date. Is it not?”

Gary shrugged. “As long as there’s a happy ending with you, babe I don’t give a fuck.”

He was crass. Y/N was far from a prude. She enjoyed her time in college and didn’t mind the occasional quick one night stand when the opportunity presented itself, but there would be something completely debasing and revolting about sleeping with the man sitting before her.

“I think you’ve gotten the wrong impression.” Y/N said, her words clipped and stern: there wasn’t room for Gary to mix up any bit of her message. “I’m not looking for a fuck-buddy. And even if I was, it certainly wouldn’t be you. We’ve been sitting here for all of twelve minutes and you’ve already drank two whiskys, been rude to the waitress, insulted a patient, and offended me.”

Gary, in a lackadaisical way that could only be described as a fuckboy with the worst case of Peter Pan syndrome, shrugged his shoulders. He downed the rest of his second whisky, “You’re a frigid bitch anyway.”

He left.

And Y/N laughed. Then she ordered two slices of double chocolate cheesecake and asked the waitress where the closest liquor store was.

***

Silently, she cursed Spencer’s charming love of buildings with character. She bounded up the steps to his apartment, the plastic bag with the two slices of cheesecake banged against her leg. Her other hand clutched the neck of a cheap, screw top rose.

Her date, disastrous, was nearly comical, and she couldn’t wait to recount the details to Spencer.

They share a sort of sadistic penchant for relaying moments for their occasional first dates. Typically, Y/N had more than Spencer. On the rare occasion Spencer did have a date, Y/N found herself trying to explain that any girl in her right mind would attempt to flirt with Spencer, but he refused to see her points.

Not bothering to knock, Y/N opted to use the spare key Spencer gave her. She figured he’d either still be working at the office or would be too engrossed in his latest fantasy novel to bother answering the door.

Spencer’s apartment was painted a dusty, sage green. The farthest wall was lined with built-in bookshelves. A prewar relic, Spencer’s style mixed perfectly with the vintage quality embedded within the walls.

Up until recently, Spencer’s kitchen was hardly used. But Y/N had taken it upon herself to teach Spencer the basics in prepping meals. He was a quick study, as with almost everything he tried. And it gave her some peace knowing he would be able to provide himself something more satiating than granola bars and frozen lasagna.

“Spencer! Spence!” Y/N called out, dipping her head into Spencer’s second bedroom. There was a queen bed in there with a cream colored quilt splashed out on the bed.

On late nights spent watching old, black and white movies or binging episodes of The Twilight Zone and The X-Files, she would crash there. It was a fight for her to even concede to allow Spencer to purchase the queen bed. Y/N claimed that she was fine just sleeping on the couch, but Spencer insisted that she sleep in a bed.

And if Y/N had been born into a braver soul, she would’ve suggested they share his bed three years ago.

Spencer shuffled out of his bathroom, eyes red and weary. He wore a tattered Cal-Tech shirt and plaid pajama pants. He wore his glasses. They rested on the bridge of his nose and made him lose at least four or five years on his already young looking face.

“She’s pregnant.”

“I brought wine. And chocolate cheesecake.” Y/N replied, kicking her shoes off. “And you better have done laundry already because I am not sleeping in this dress. I feel ridiculous in it.”

Spencer’s eyes raked over Y/N’s frame, as if he was internally debating his thoughts on her outfit. His brow furrowed. “You’re date?”

“Asshole.” Y/N said, walking into the kitchen. She plucked two wine glasses from Spencer’s cabinet and two plates. “Arrogant and only wanted a quick fuck.”

His voice disappeared as he went into his room for a change of pajamas. They were freshly washed. She continued to listen to Spencer as she shut the bathroom door and changed behind. His voice was no longer muffled when she came out of the bathroom, but she did notice how Spencer’s eyes still were heavy with something unfamiliar when he looked over her baggy, old pajama-clad frame.

“You’re not the girl for that.” Spencer commented, reaching for the corkscrew. His large hands twisted around the device and the bottle of wine made a satisfying pop.

“You don’t know that.” Y/N countered, her defiance made a crop of red appear on Spencer’s cheeks. “Besides, that’s not the point. JJ’s pregnant. With that New Orleans guy’s baby?”

He nodded. It was as if grief washed over Spencer as Y/N changed the conversation. She knew that Spencer was harboring feelings for JJ. Jennifer was nearly perfect in every way. The only imperfect thing about her was that she didn’t realize how perfect Spencer was. He would’ve adored JJ if he got the chance. He nearly did.

“And how do you feel about that?”

Spencer groaned, pouring himself a healthy cup of rosé. “Unsure. It’s not like I’m going to confront her about this. She’s practically engaged to Will. And now there’s a baby in the picture? A baby who’s very well going to grow up seeing me as Uncle Spencer.”

He sounded exhausted. Y/N touched his hand and squeezed. She understood the pained loneliness that plagued Spencer’s voice. “I don’t love JJ anymore. It’s just, my whole life I felt like I was so far beyond my peers. And now? They all finally have caught up, this time the tables have turned. God, I’m excited when a girl smiles at me, let alone goes on a date with me.”

Weakly, Y/N smiled. She sipped her rose, “So it’s more of feeling like you’re far beyond in life? Despite having two PhDs and like three undergrad degrees? You’re one of the most accomplished men I know, Spencer. And we all move along at our own pace. Don’t compare JJ’s story to yours.”

He nodded, spooning a bite of the double chocolate cheesecake. “It’s just…I’m nearly 32. And now I’m watching JJ and Hotch and Morgan talk about babies and husbands and wives and houses. And I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be lucky enough to get that one day. Sometimes… I think I’m too me for anyone to fall in love with me.”

Y/N felt her heart shatter into a million little pieces as Spencer’s honest confession striked her entire system. She wanted to reach out and push away the stray curl that hooked itself in front of his eyebrow. She wanted to reach out and wipe away his tears. She wanted to tell her friend that if no one married him, she would.

She stalked off the to couch, needing a stable place to sit. Her chocolate cheesecake stuck to the roof of her mouth and the bitter rosé did nothing to remove it.

“Holy shit, Spencer. Do you not realize that you’d make any girl happy? You’ll find her one day, I know it. And if you don’t, we can just say fuck it and get married. I mean, I know it wouldn’t be romantic love, but we could at least live together. Through a big fancy party and get dressed up nice and getting drunk on mojitos with my best friend. My person? Sounds fun.”

“You mean that?” Spencer asked, half in disbelief and half in wonderment. “You mean that we’ll get married if neither of us have someone…say seven years from now?”

She must’ve drank more than she thought as she waited for Gary to ruin their date. “I meant it. But why seven?”

A smile toyed on Spencer lips. She noticed the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

“It’s my lucky number.”

Her lips were so loose that it threatened to crack open her heart. She had a nasty habit of wearing that on her sleeve.

She gave Spencer a sheepish look as his eyes met hers. He looked half between incredulous and hopeful. His fingers ran across the rim of his wine glass as the wine sloshed around. It mirrored Y/N’s stomach.

“Is this idea like bad shit crazy?” Y/N asked. “I mean it. I mean, why not. It’s not so different from what we do now. Just all the time. And I’d be thrilled to be spiritually required to spend more time with you.”

“Should we….shake hands or something. I’m not the biggest fan of that, but I think my wife would serve as an exception to the rule. To every rule I’ve got?”

Y/N laughed. She felt the wine creep up a nice, warm flush against her skin. It matched the light and easy way her limbs felt. It might have very well been the wine, but there wasn’t much of anything that could trump laughing with your best friend. Especially when that best friend slipped and called you his wife.

Her feet somehow ended up in Spencer’s lap. His thumb rubbed gently against her ankle, barely touching her bare skin. Yet it sent shockwaves that she didn’t quite understand.

The corners of Spencer’s eyes crinkled as he reciprocated that laugh. They shared it and Y/N had the strangest desire to bottle it up. She wanted to store this moment in her mind and come back to it. One day. Some day.

“We’ll get married,” Spencer started speaking as if it was a prophecy that he could set in stone, “if neither of us has anyone, we’ll enter this rather odd, rather complex, yet completely entirely normal and simple marriage in seven years?” His sweet, yet coy smile was boyish, it only reminded Y/N just how far away 35 was for her.

“Should we draft up a contract?”

“Have your lawyers contact my lawyers. I never sign documents without the proper legal support. In the meantime, could we settle on our first stipulation: never watching a new episode of our current favorite show without the other?”

“I agree to the terms and conditions you’ve set out.” Y/N said. She grabbed the blanket that rested on the back of the couch as Spencer turned off the lamp light.

“Oh and I washed the sheets in your room. I used the detergent you like. And your pajamas. The lavender vanilla one with the scent beads?” He flipped on an episode of The Twilight Zone.

She smiled from the way Spencer naturally called the guest room her bedroom. There was something very domestic and peaceful about him using her favorite detergent to wash the sheets in her room in his apartment. It resembled the exact something that she was craving: being taken care of.

She sipped her rose again, watching as her friend smiled at the gray scale painted on the screen. It was too bad she only had to weight over half a decade to feel it and not feel guilty and like she was lying to herself.

—

Taglist:

@reidsbookclub @boldlyvoid @mrs-dr-reid @reid-ingandweeping @candlesandsoftrain @foxy-eva @queermaxwooo

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction

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nyutasomething · 5 months ago

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IMAGINE HAVING A RELATIONSHIP WITH SIMON RILEY IN THE 18TH CENTURY !!!

YOU'RE A QUEEN, HE'S A FIELD MARSHAL.

i'm currently watching a series about Catherine the Great, and all her lovers were military men (well, we can totally understand why. we feel u, katya).

The moon was hanging low over the castle, casting silvery shadows across the stone walls. Inside, Queen y/n was leaning against the balcony railing, her heart pounding. "Field-marshal," she murmured, the name slipping from her lips like a plea.

“Your Majesty,” he replied, stepping into the moonlight, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Shouldn’t you be in the ballroom?”

“I find this environment quite overwhelming,” she expressed with a gentle sigh, as she turned her gaze towards the distant sounds of laughter and the gentle clinking of glasses. “I must admit, I would much prefer to be here in your company.”

He approached nearer, the atmosphere heavy with unsaid words. "You are aware that we are unable to—"

“Can’t what?” she interrupted, her voice barely above a murmur. “Love each other?”

"I must caution you that it may pose certain risks," he gently advised, yet his determination wavered under the intensity of her gaze.

“Everything worth having is,” she replied, her pulse quickening.

"Let us exercise caution," he suggested, gently taking her hand and placing a kiss upon it.

bot is here

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #ghost imagine #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley cod #ghost simon riley

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miryum · 6 months ago

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"The Stakeout"

Summary: Detective!Jason Todd x detective!Reader based on Jake and Amy's relationship

Series Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of violence (but nothing descriptive), guns and other police stuff

Series Masterlist

“Did you leave the precinct last night?” Jason set a mug of coffee next to Y/n’s desk.

“The internet’s out at my apartment. The neighbour I’m leeching off turned it off for a couple days to teach their kids a lesson and this is the only place I can watch Bluey.”

“The kids show?” Jason raised a brow.

Tim gasped and raced to Y/n’s computer. “I love Bluey!”

“Of course,” Jason rolled his eyes.

“Don’t you dare scoff at the majesty that is Bluey!” Y/n pressed a dramatic hand to her chest. “Clearly, you haven’t seen its brilliance. Sit down, baby Jay. You’re gonna love this.”

Both Tim and Jason crowded around the screen. Y/n pressed the keyboard and the iconic intro music played. Tim hummed along and Jason stared longingly at his book.

He hardly registered when the unicorn came on screen. “Children,” Tim and Y/n murmured with the unicorn.

The unicorn was spoiling a book about a princess and shoes. Jason wasn’t really paying attention. He could be reviewing files or reading books or bothering Damian. All valuable uses of his time.

“Wait, did you quote John Mulaney?” Jason realised.

“Baby Jay? Yeah.” Y/n shushed him, “now watch this cinematic masterpiece.”

“It’s a goddamn kid show. Any adult that watches this voluntarily needs therapy.”

“Yeah, I thought that was obvious,” Tim peered at him. “You’ve known us for more than four years. You hadn’t deduced that already?”

“Touche.”

“She calls herself The Queen of Crime,” Dick announced to the briefing room. “Or more well-known as Harley Quinn. She and her wife have broken into, set fire, exploded, and murdered more people and places than I can count.”

Y/n gasped. “Oh my gosh, gay crime queens? Do you think they would adopt me?”

“L/n, you would be an accomplice.” Tim frowned at his friend.

“I would go to jail for my criminal moms.”

“Anyway,” Dick rolled his eyes, a smile creeping at his mouth. “L/n and Todd will be staking out a place we’ve seen Quinn and Isley frequent. Cain will be their contact. Drake and Brown, I have another assignment for you that involves a murder.”

“A murder?” Y/n whined. “No fair! How come I’m stuck with Todd and Steph gets a murder?”

“I’m just better than you,” Stephanie shrugged. Y/n glowered at her.

“I’m sure you’ll make the stakeout incredibly frustrating and boring,” Jason patted Y/n’s arm from his seat next to her.

“Frustrating and boring: Title of your sex tape,” Y/n muttered, crossing her arms. “Dickie, you can’t expect me to live with Todd for three days! He won’t even do anything! He’ll just read and… I don’t know, what other nerdy things do you do?”

“Nerdy?” Jason shot back, “Says the person who references every TV show known to man!”

“Just so everyone knows,” Y/n raised a finger up. “The obsession this week is the Barbie movie.”

“Amen,” Steph clapped Y/n’s hand in a high-five.

Cass fistbumped her. “Margot Robbie is a goddess amongst men.”

“Speaking of goddesses: Julie Andrews.” Y/n said. Steph hummed in agreement. “Princess Diaries marathon this weekend?”

“Y/n,” Dick interrupted. “You’ll be on a stakeout with Jason.”

“You think that will stop me?”

“No,” Dick admitted. “But... we‘re done. Everybody just go back to work.”

“You remind me of the Hulk.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Jason looked away from the camera that was perched in the windowsill.

“You remind me of the Hulk,” Y/n repeated from her seat on a beanbag chair. She grabbed some goldfish and popped them in her mouth. The apartment where the stakeout was taking place was small and decrepit. When Y/n had first seen it, she’d said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t wanna get tetanus.” Jason had locked the door before she could escape. (“If you wanted me alone, Jay, you could’ve just asked.”)

“How so?” Jason fought the urge to roll his eyes before turning back to stare out the grime-covered window.

“Well, first off, you’re fricking huge, but also a nerd.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a destructive green monster.”

“I don’t know what you do outside of work.” Y/n shrugged. “But seriously, my dude. You need to stop working out. You’re making the rest of us look bad.” She reached over and poked Jason in the bicep.

“Are you flirting with me?” Jason smirked.

Y/n huffed and said, “you wish, Todd.” Thankfully, the walkie talkie crackled to life. “Talk to me, Goose,” Y/n snickered into the walkie talkie.

Cass replied, “Maverick, we’re getting intel that Quinn and Isley are headed your way.”

“Thanks, man. Iceman’s keeping a watchout.”

“Iceman?!” Jason scoffed. “What makes me Iceman?!”

“Because you’re all stoic and impassive and eventually, you fall in love with me,” Y/n explained.

“I don’t remember Iceman and Maverick’s romance,” Cass’s voice was staticy and Jason was surprised she was still listening.

“Come on,” Y/n’s eyebrows rose incredulously. “We could all feel the tension.” Cass hummed in acquiescence.

“L/n,” Jason shushed. “They’re here.” Y/n immediately quieted and turned off the walkie talkie. She went to sit next to Jason, making sure the camera was effectively hidden behind a screen. Outside, the pair could see a large truck pull up to the warehouse across the street. Out jumped Harley Quinn, her pigtails bouncing as she whistled. She skipped around the semi-truck and opened the door for her wife, Pamela Isley. Isley gave Quinn a kiss on the cheek and Y/n let out an ‘aw!’ Jason rolled his eyes and said, “just because they’re lesbians doesn’t mean they’re cute. They’ve committed many crimes.”

“Being lesbians automatically makes them adorable and exempts them from all their crimes.”

Jason shushed her again and started taking pictures, the camera softly clicking away. Quinn opened the back of the semi and Isley pulled open the doors of the warehouse. Cheerfully, Quinn stacked boxes for Isley to roll away on a dolly.

“What’s in the boxes?” Y/n wondered.

“Do you think we’d be here if I knew?” Y/n glared at Jason’s response.

Minutes passed, silent only for the snaps of the camera. Quinn and Isley continued to unload the truck and by the way they were piling them in the front of the warehouse, Y/n guessed that they were either moving the boxes soon or the warehouse was already filled. It wasn’t long before Isley slammed the truck door shut and blew a kiss to her wife. Quinn waved dramatically as Isley started the truck, leaving Quinn behind to man the warehouse.

“Are we good?” Y/n asked. “Did we get all the pictures? Can we return to civilization and its cleaning supplies?”

“The apartment isn't that bad,” Jason said. “And no, we have to wait to see what Quinn’s doing.” Y/n groaned loudly and flopped over on her beanbag. “I figured this would happen,” Jason began to dig around his bag. “So I came prepared.” He pulled out some paper and pens and threw them at Y/n. “Draw me a picture or write me a story.”

Y/n frowned at him. “What do you think I am? Five?” Jason shot her a knowing look and she muttered, “yeah, okay. That’s a pretty good idea.” Y/n sat down on the ground, mumbling about blastomycosis and mold poisoning. Jason silently wondered how she knew so much about diseases. Sitting back on her beanbag, Y/n uncapped a pen and started drawing. Or writing. Jason wasn’t really sure. He was more preoccupied with the case.

After fifteen minutes, (Jason had hoped it would distract her for longer,) Y/n proudly showed Jason her drawing. “I even wrote a story to go with it!” She presented another piece of paper, filled with her scribbly handwriting.

“What’s it about?” Jason asked, eyes slowly turning away from the camera and towards Y/n.

“It’s a tragic love story between a marshmallow and a cup of hot chocolate who can never be together because the hot chocolate would melt the marshmallow, but the marshmallow stayed with the hot chocolate, even though it was slowly dying, because it loved the hot chocolate.” Y/n taped her picture and story up on the wall.

“Shakespeare would be put to shame,” Jason said after a moment of processing. Y/n nodded along. “Romeo and Juliet, who?”

Y/n gasped softly. “Oh my gosh, I think I love you.”

“I thought that was already established,” Cass’s voice came through the walkie talkie.

Y/n quickly pressed the button. “You’re still there?”

“L/n, this is an open police line.” Cass was rubbing her temples. “We need to be in constant contact with you.”

Jason snagged the walkie talkie away from Y/n and updated Cass. “Quinn’s still at the warehouse. L/n and I request to prolong our stay to keep tabs on her.”

“Wait, we could still leave?!”

“I’ll ask Wayne,” Cass said. “Stay sharp.” The line crackled and went silent.

“Todd, why are we staying later than needed?” Y/n whined. “We could be back at the precinct right now.”

“Because this would be a big bust for us. If we shut down the Crime Queen’s operation, and maybe even catch one, that’d be a major operation off of the street.” He looked back at the detective. “Come on, Y/n. Think about it.”

Y/n grumbled, but relented. “Fine.” She went back to scribbling on the paper, angrily huffing out profanities every now and then and asking Jason how to spell certain words. (“How the hell do you not know how to spell equipment?” “It’s a hard word!”)

“Cass, I’m transferring some pictures to you,” Jason spoke into the walkie talkie, sometime around ten fifteen at night. “I’m not seeing any activity right now, but I’ll keep you updated.”

“We’ll keep you updated,” Y/n corrected. “We’re a team, remember, Todd?”

“You’re right,” Jason looked back at her. “I’m sorry. We’ll keep you updated.” He flipped off the walkie talkie and said, “if we’re a team, then do you want to take a turn at the camera?”

Y/n scrunched her nose. “Nah. I’ll just wait until you pass out from exhaustion to take my shift.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly. “Really helpful.”

“I know.”

It was late the next morning and Y/n was sitting dutifully by the window, letting Jason snore on the beanbag. She had the movie Deadpool on in the background, occasionally quoting things alongside Wade Wilson. “A fourth wall break inside a fourth wall break! That’s like… sixteen walls,” she mumbled, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket she had stolen off of Jason. A loud honking lifted her from the edges of sleep and Y/n bolted upright, cursing. A sleek, black limo pulled in front of the warehouse and Y/n immediately radioed in to Cass. “Hey, Goose, we have a situation.”

“What is it, Maverick?” Cass yawned, still following along with Y/n references.

“A black limo, licence plate…” Y/n took dozens of pictures. “PNGIN, just pulled into the lot. Sending evidence now.” She opened the precinct laptop Jason had packed and uploaded the photos. “I might need backup if an exchange is going down.”

“Copy that,” Cass said.

From the limo stepped a pudgy man in a three-piece suit with a large tophat. Y/n had to refrain herself from commenting on his appearance. “Jay, get up! Get up!” She kicked the beanbag chair and Jason awoke with a start, mumbling things about interrupting his sleep. “Oh my god, is that…” Y/n squinted through the camera lens, pressing the ‘talk’ button on the walkie talkie. “Cass! It’s Cobblepot! Cobblepot’s meeting up with Quinn!”

“-at?” It sounded like Cass said ‘what?’ but only clicked her button during the last half, surprise evident in her voice. “Lemme get Dick. And Wayne.” She added the Captain as if on second thought.

After a tense minute where Y/n had to kick Jason again, Dick came on the radio. “L/n, report,” he commanded.

“Cobblepot’s meeting up with Quinn. I’ve sent the photos. I’m requesting a soft backup. Let me see what’s going on, but I want officers on hand. We could stop something big here, Sarge.”

“Copy that. You’ll get your officers. Where do you want them?”

“A half a block away,” she said. “And Dick? I need ‘em now. I don’t know what’s going on, but Quinn’s coming out to meet Cobblepot.”

Cass’s voice returned. “Y/n, Dick’s going to lead the officers himself. His ETA should be about ten minutes. Sit tight.”

“Will do, as soon as Todd WAKES UP!” Y/n kicked Jason in the shin, earning a loud “ow!”

“I’m up!” Jason shot up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What?”

“Fucking Cobblepot! You’re about to sleep through our bust! Bitch,” she clicked her tongue, ”wake up!”

“Cobblepot?” Jason said blearily. He raced the window, squinting down at the scene below. “Holy…”

“I know!” Y/n punched Jason on the shoulder excitedly. He flinched away from her, acting as if it had hurt.

Y/n snapped pictures as Jason took over the computer, typing a report. Finally, after what seemed like ages, Cass said, “Backup’s here, just in case.”

“Thanks, Cain,” Jason said, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Quinn’s taking Cobblepot into the warehouse,” Y/n reported. “But I can’t see… do we have any footage of the interior?”

“Would we be here if we had access inside?” Jason groaned.

“Now I see why people avoid you in the morning,” Y/n grumbled back, shooting Jason a warning glare. She shoved a cereal box towards the man and Jason angrily shoved some food into his mouth. “Now you won’t be so fucking cranky,” she muttered.

“Stop fighting!” Cass demanded, “what do you see?”

“Nothing! Other than Cobblepot’s men standing ominously by his limo.” Y/n asked, “how come we don’t have limos? That would be so much cooler.”

Cobblepot stepped out of the warehouse, Quinn trailing behind him. He gestured to his men and a couple of them started loading boxes into the trunk of the limo. “We’ve got movement!” Y/n shouted into the walkie talkie. “If we’re going to arrest them, it’s gotta be now! We won’t get Isley, and she’ll probably break Quinn out of prison, but at least we’ll get Cobblepot.”

“You’re just soft for your crime moms,” Jason exhaled sharply.

Dick’s voice was hardly understandable through the radio, but Y/n and Jason watched from the window as Dick and his team surrounded Quinn and Cobblepot and his men. “I feel like we should help,” Jason mumbled.

“Do you have a zipline?” Y/n asked out of the blue.

“No… why?” Jason seemed hesitant to answer, concerned about the answer.

“Dang it,” Y/n shook her head. “It would’ve been easy for us to join the fight if we could just zipline down there. It’d look so cool, too!” She mimed shooting down a zipline and fighting all the bad guys off. Jason chuckled.

Dick eventually managed to apprehend Cobblepot and Quinn, the latter who threw a wink right to the window where Y/n and Jason sat. Y/n gasped and threw open the window, sticking her head out. “Hi!” she shouted down to the apprehended criminals. “Oh my gosh, you’re Harley Quinn! I’m a huge fan!”

“Hey!” Harley Quinn waved back before Dick handcuffed her. “Aren’t you just a sweetie pie?! Were you the one spying on us since Tuesday?” Her thick Brooklyn accent shouted up to the detectives.

“Yeah! That was me!” Y/n grinned. “I love you and your wife! Can you adopt me?”

“Oh, honey, we would love to!” Harley called. “But unfortunately, I may be going to jail.” She pouted sadly and then grinned hopefully. “Think you can do anything about that, sugar?”

Y/n frowned and said, “unfortunately, no I can’t, adopted mom. But, I can promise to turn the other cheek when my other adopted mom breaks you out.”

“Deal!” Harley winked again and said, “send me the adoption papers and I’ll sign anything.”

“I love you!” Y/n shouted as Dick shoved Quinn into the back of his police car, rolling his eyes.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Jason joined Y/n leaning on the windowsill, gazing over at her.

“Nope.”

#title of your sex tape #jason todd x reader #jason todd #dc x reader #dcu #detectives au #brooklyn 99 #b99 #b99/dcu #slow burn

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uselessmoonlight · 18 days ago

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Stranger part 1

Reader is Telemachus' friend, and when he leaves for his "diplomatic mission" he asks her to watch over his mother.

Later, once the king has returned, she stumbles upon an injured Poseidon.

Next / series masterlist

☆☆☆

Content specs: she/her pronouns used, afab reader, Platonic!Telemachus x reader, unrequited love, blood, fighting, nudity, illusion, possibly more?, trying to avoid using y/n, slowburn, suggestive themes, but no smut, english is not my first language, sorry if it's too much exposition, it's my first fic.

☆☆☆

From her position in the hall, she could hear Telemachus struggling to hold off the suitors. While the prince was having a physical battle, she was having a battle of the mind: abandon her post and leave the queen unguarded, or help her friend.

The hall in front of her was dark, about 30 bodies strewn about, suitors who'd had the bright idea to make a run for the queen's room once the fight started now laid on the floor. Could she, in good conscience, leave her spot, knowing so many of them had already tried to get to Penelope?

Another cry echoed through the castle, followed by a squelching sound. The longer she stood, the more worried she got. It was silent, completely silent, her heart dropped. In the darkness, a figure approached.

"Stay back." she commanded. "It is my duty to protect the queen, I will not show you mercy."

As the person came closer, she spotted another figure, and tightened the grip on her axes. "Do not come closer." She warned, softer this time, but not out of fear.

Adrenaline was coursing through her veins, it crackled like thunder and zapped like lightning. Her senses were ablaze. She may have taken out a dozen or three men, but she thought she could take on another 3 dozen with the way she was feeling, and she would enjoy it. Ares was on her side tonight.

As he came closer, she recognised him to be the beggar who recently showed up. The other figure remained a mystery. She'd shown him kindness when he first entered the palace, offered him food, a room, and a place to bathe. The suitors had been less than kind, unsurprisingly. Mocked him, threatened him.

She had not been surprised when he turned the old king's bow on them, turned a blind eye, and ran to her post. Now he was coming for the queen, her initial kindness was forgotten.

As the smaller figure came into view, she called his name. "Telemachus?" She wished nothing more than to run to him, to embrace her friend and check him for wounds, but she remained grounded. There was still a possible threat, although she started questioning if the old beggar truly was one. He'd helped the prince after all.

"It's okay, peach." Her friend said. The nickname was all she needed to drop her weapons. In a second, she was in front of him, holding his face in her hands and inspecting him. After finding that no real harm had befallen the prince, she gave him a bone crushing hug.

"I'm okay, but you have to let me breathe."

"Shit, I'm sorry." She said sheepishly. "I heard something happening, but i could not leave your mother's room unguarded. I thought you were gone."

"Yeah, I was on a missi-"

"No, Telemachus, I thought you were dead." Her words silenced him. "When all the noise stopped, i thought it was over, Tele."

This time, he was the one to give her a bone crushing hug. He repeatedly whispered in her ear that he was alright, that they were alright.

An awkward cough broke their reunion.

"Right." Telemachus exclaimed. She could not see it in the darkness, but she was certain he was blushing from embarrassment. "This is my father."

Now, it was her turn to be embarrassed, having just threatened the king of Ithaca. "I'm so sorry, I didn't, I had no idea. I'm sorry, sir, lord, your honour? Your majesty, your majesty!" She'd never stumbled over her words like this, by the Gods, if Thanatos had come to take her, she would've jumped at the chance. Though it would be a shame to die of embarrassment after just having fought so bravely.

"Please stand, peach, It is quite alright. In fact, I'm glad someone would protect my wife so fiercely." The use of her nickname had the two friends mortified, but neither said anything as the old king continued. "Speaking of my wife, I'd like to see her."

"Of course, sir, I'll have to help her with the door first." And off she went, not waiting for a reply. Into the storage closer next to Penelope's bedroom.

" Her name is not peach, father -" she heard her friend start to say, but the rest was muffled as she jumped from the window onto the balcony with a bit more difficulty than she had earlier this night. As she looked down, she saw three slashes from when she'd fought the suitors. Four suitors had come at her at the same time and had landed some blows before she'd defeated them. When she looked up again, there was a sword in her face.

The trembling hands of the queen held a sword and shield in front of herself. Penelope had been fully prepared to defend herself, even if her form was more than sloppy. Once the queen recognised her son's friend, she relaxed.

"It's alright, my queen. I'm only here to help you open the door." Said door had a chest, a desk, and various other objects pushed against it to keep it from being forced open.

"It is safe? What of the suitors?"

"They've been dealt with, you needn't worry about it, my queen."

☆☆☆

Not wanting to intrude on the happy family reunion, peach took her leave. She had been offered a place at the palace for the night, but she'd declined, not wanting her ears to bear witness to the long awaited reunion between husband and wife. She pitied Telemachus for having nowhere else to go tonight.

The trek to her house along the shore was not necessarily a long one, 30 minutes perhaps, but in the darkness, she treaded more carefully, lengthening her walk. By the time she reached home, the sun was returning to the sky. She shot a short prayer of thanks to the Gods. For allowing her to fight off the suitors successfully, allowing her to see the sun rise once more, and for the return of their king.

When her house came into view, so did the shoreline, where she spotted someone. A person sprawled upon the sand, between the distance and limited light she could not make out if it were a man or woman, but she could see that they were injured.

Upon closer inspection, they appeared to be a man, a rather muscular one, with incredibly peculiar wounds. Long flowing hair framed a bearded chiselled face. The man looked ethereal in a way, and rather peaceful for the amount of pain he must feel.

However tired she was, sleep would have to wait. This person needed help, and it was her duty to provide it.

#epic the musical #epic the ithaca saga #epic odysseus #epic!poseidon #poseidon #telemachus #poseidon x reader

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sideysvault · 1 month ago

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𓍼ོ Ad Astra Per Aspera 𓍼ོ (PT. 6)

Knowing Evil

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

wc: 1757k

Tags: [sfw] Arranged marriage, mature themes, angst, coldness, enemies to lovers, eventual fluff and smut, family drama, Aegon being Aegon, more comedic and lighthearted than usual.

Full Series masterlist here. read part seven.

────────

Seeing him stumble out of the venue was almost saddening. He had a rather ghostly look; Sunken eyes, yellowish skin and the most greasy hair she had ever seen. The Princess did not appreciate the King, but God, was he a pitiful watch.

The Silk Street themselves were as dirty as usual, the mixture of booze, vomit, and oil scents coming from the brothel made a rather strong contrast with the cool, light air of the night.

Upon recognizing her, Aegon almost immediately felt a sense of shock and disbelief, what was she doing here? Was his obnoxiously righteous sister-in-law conducting an illicit affair? This exciting new prospect was immediately rendered boring once he noticed the boxes in her hands.

Aegon was a seasoned drinker, you see, and even if he could not walk properly, he could still talk with only a small hint of his indisposition “Ah, so you are the one dressing whores and bastards in expensive silk.”

He laughed at her, like a child would, apparently finding her charity efforts endlessly amusing. Aegon then stumbled his way out of the door to give her an unrequited side hug. The Princess, disgusted by his drunken smell, swiftly spanked his hand away from her shoulders.

Probably too inebriated to be offended, he halfheartedly let out a “You dare put hands on me?”.

The Princess had way more pressing matters than to entertain the drunken failure that broke her husband’s heart. So, deciding to ignore him, especially with the knowledge that this was the only night that the kind and discrete guard was on duty, she made her way to the entrance of the brothel. Even if they were not particularly close, Prince Aemond’s disheveled look and poignant sincere shame still haunted her.

Going out of the walls in the depths of dawn had become a routine occurrence in her life. After all, she never felt like she was in any real danger, as no one ever recognized her as a member of the court, and her initial travels to the orphanage and interactions with the whores, —most of whom were the mothers of said orphans—, had always appreciated the bread, toys and garments. It made her felt secure and loosely protected. While she could not account for the actions of strange men, she felt fairly confident that she would not be violently harmed in any form.

Nevertheless, as she was handing out the boxed goods, she felt a pinch of concern about the King being confused for someone of a lower rank and robbed. Or perhaps, even worse, being recognized as the majesty himself and causing further damage to his already crumbling image. The Princess quickly apologized to the Madam for not having the courtesy of overseeing the donation herself, but the woman cackled at Aegon’s arguably pathetic state and nodded, dismissing the situation as an understandable one.

What the hell was he doing without company anyway? The improper behavior, being alone, clearly mentally disturbed —Although, she supposed that it was his natural state—. Would it be really that cruel to leave him to fend for himself?

Aegon had brought it upon himself, after all. And the affair could provide further fodder for scandal-mongering pamphleteers and common folk, already keen on portraying the King as a corrupt brute. Ever since the cruel public hanging of the Rat Catchers —Which both her and her husband had vehemently opposed to—, The King had left them more vulnerable than ever. Beset by severe food shortages, weighed down by taxes, resentful of royal absolutism and inspired by the Black's enticing old world ways, people were growing increasingly vocal in their demands for change. But Gods, she could not overlook the cruelty he had inflicted upon her husband, and the unfounded mockery that mirrored the barbarian judgement she had suffered as well. But she guessed she could not have The King wandering the streets in these troubling times. Fuck.

Having made her mind, she walked towards him and intertwined her arm with his, ignoring his disgusting state, she began to guide him towards the Walls.

“Come on, Aegon The Magnanimous, let’s get you to rest”.

He smirked through his teeth, but sternly spat out, “Do not mock me, woman.”

A wide smile appeared on her lips. He was even more useless than usual, and weirdly non-confrontational.

——

“Do not tell Heleana. She will most certainly tell mother, who is even more sanctimonious than you are.”

That is what took. The Princess decided to take him to one of the guest chambers instead of his own. She was now considerably less amused with the situation, as she had guessed that the walk to the castle would sober him up completely, but little seemed to have changed in his demeanor.

She sighed as she pushed him to the bed. He could really become a liability. For all she knew, Aegon could choke on his own vomit and perish, just as her uncle did. And, as much as she would like that to happen, she certainly knew that it would be morally wrong to allow it. Even if he was nothing more than a white-haired bastard of a demon.

And so she gave him water to drink, and washed his face and neck with cold water to help his mind come out of the fog. She must have made it evident on her face, or perhaps even in that shitty state he had been able to ready it from her gaze. Just as the Princess got up to fetch some clean clothes for him to change into before sleep, he said, “I did not ask for this”.

She impulsively rolled her eyes, immediately recognizing what he was referring to. Her husband had asked for it, but no one answered his prayers. And Gods, she may have been asked for it herself, if she was born a man.

Oh Aegon, arrogant and self-indulgent man. Why was it that the sad, defeated portrayal of him managed to pander to her tender heart? Despite all the advantages of his birthright, his little self-worth and faith and self-isolating behavior would probably be the demise of him.

“I know. I know you didn’t”. She wasn’t sure if she was saying this to Aegon, or maybe she was trying to soothe herself into accepting that he was —partially— correct.

“I see how you look at me. You, fuck, you are just like him.” The Princess also immediately understood who he was talking about. And she knew for a fact that Aemond did feel that way about his brother.

“That is not the case, Your Grace.”

Aegon moaned in exasperation. He grabbed the nearest pillow and sloppily threw it near her, not even trying to hit his target, a childish tantrum.

“Stop calling me that, I feel your ridicule every time you say it”

The Princess finally found the spare clothing in a drawer, and gave it to him as she turned away to face the wall. She actually did felt a pinch of regret upon hearing his words.

While he changed, with took a painful amount of time, the girl could hear him mumbling “I have no wish to rule. No taste for duty, I will find a ship and sail away, never to be found”.

Partially worried, as soon as he said he was done, she turned around to find a poorly dressed man. Apparently, Aegon could not deal with the trouble of buttons right this second.

After giving it some thought, afraid and cautious, she got closer to him to fix the mess he had made on his shirt. He still smelled of alcohol and smoke, but the odor was mainly contained in the floor, coming from his old clothing. He looked better. She thought for a moment before saying what had been plaguing her mind ever since she saw him.

“It is imperative for you to think of your family, of your sister”.

He nodded, once, twice, and then a third time for good measure. Annoyed, yet again, it was Aegon´s time to slap her hands away from his chest. The Princess furrowed her brows at the sight of the remaining four buttons she hadn’t been able to fix.

“I know. I fucking know. Do you think I am too stupid to notice?”.

She furrowed her brows even more and turned her gaze upwards, to look into his eyes. He was angry at her now, and his eyes looked teary. The King approached her, cornering the girl into the wall. His eyes turned an even darker shade of blue, now suddenly sober; crude, as he continued “That oh, so poor, so innocent Heleana will certainly become a scapegoat for nearly everything that is wrong with the dynasty? That she will be condemned simply for being my wife?. Just as my son was?”.

She hummed. She guessed the King wasn’t as much of a brute as she had thought. Her heart had compassionate inclinations that all the Targaryen seemed to be able to exploit, after all. The mention of Jaehaerys had the power to hurt even herself, and she had known the boy for only a few months. Heleana had always told her that despite his flaws, Aegon was still a proper father to his children. He must still be endlessly heartbroken. Burning in grief. She grabbed his hands and looked at him in the eye with an honesty that made him deeply uncomfortable.

“Aegon, look, perhaps you are the most significant example in which destiny will, at times, pluck a man, and with a commanding hand, have them overstep the bounds of their capacities.”

She knew that he will always remain a fervent supporter of absolute royal power. And, of course, an unrepentant enemy of the Blacks ideals, unable to compromise.

If that is to be so, he could at least conduct himself with some sense of valor and honor.

Aegon seemed taken aback by her words, taking a few beats to process what she had just said.

And then laughed in her face and told her to fuck off. She exhaled, irritated, and convinced him to puke into a bucket for good measure. She quickly informed him she was off to sleep for whatever was the rest of the night.

The Princess could’ve sworn she heard a ‘thank you’ coming from The King's lips as she was leaving. But it could not have been, as she turned around and saw him quietly rest his drunkenness off.

It must have been a particular noise produced by the wind.

────────

Notes: Two in a row? Lets goo

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anincompletelist · 21 days ago

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ㅤ♡ end of 2024/start of 2025 fic recs! ㅤ♡

my previous recs can be found under this tag!

happy new year everyone! :D I have been so far behind on my tbr list lately but I have managed a few that I've thoroughly enjoyed and felt like sharing! it is by no means a complete list - ha - but I grabbed a few I'd made note of in case anyone is looking for recs.

happy reading and a very happy new year to you all! x

in no particular order:

ㅤㅤㅤSweet Rivalry | bleedingballroomfloor | E | 11k

“Hunter’s entering again,” Alex explains before Henry can finish, “and somehow, that fucker beat both of us, even though he has half the skill of both of us combined. We’ve dominated the bake off year after year. If we want to see him go down, this is the only way to ensure that.” Henry blinks. “So you want to —” “Gang up so we can beat the shit out of Hunter, yeah. Were you even listening to anything I just said?” [Or, Alex and Henry are rival bakers day-to-day, but a newcomer in the Park Slope Christmas Cookie Bake-Off has them becoming a lot closer than originally planned.]

All my promise and my pride (all my fear and all my fight) | @kiwiana-writes | E | 10k

“And the thing is, I get it.” He grips his phone hard enough that he knows he’s risking cracking the screen again, barrelling forward before Henry can interrupt him with bullshit platitudes. “They’re both out there trying to fix the whole damn world to make it a little better for their trans son, but fuck, I miss being able to come home and having that be the one place I didn’t have to deal with any bullshit, you know?” The silence that follows is so absolute, Alex pulls the phone away from his ear to check that the call hasn’t dropped. “Henry?” “I’m here.” Henry’s voice is cracked and hoarse, and he must realise it at the same time Alex does, because he clears his throat before speaking again. “Alex, I don’t—did you mean to tell me that?” [Or, Alex is a stealth trans guy. That doesn't stop canon from barrelling ahead.]

(of everyone i ever knew) i'm giving it all to you | @alasse9 | T+ | 18k

[In a world where the be-all and end-all of relationships is determined by soul resonance, Henry can’t have a soulmate and Alex experiences soul resonance in such a disruptive way that he just doesn’t want one. Against all odds, this is their story.] So he obediently shuffles after June and Nora to say hello, trying his very best not to get distracted by all the connections his brain is shouting at him about. He’s actually trying so badly not to get distracted that he ends up not realizing it’s his turn to say hello to Prince Henry until he’s right there in front of Alex, holding out a hand, and it means he doesn’t have time to register much outside of wow, are his eyes really that blue? and that’s less of a smile and more of a grimace before their hands touch. And for the first time since puberty hit, it’s not a sensory shock, it doesn’t feel like someone’s soul is shouting at him. It’s peaceful. It’s— “Quiet,” Alex whispers. “Your soul is so quiet.”

hit me(n) baby one more time series | @bananzie | M | 15k

(no summary for the series as a whole but it's a&h as hit men! beautiful and captivating, and feel free to check out their entire whumptober as well if it's your thing -- it typically isn't mine but I ADORED all the works in the series!)

Whole Package Babe (I Like The Way You Fit) | @fairflowered | E | 3k

The thing is — they’ve talked about this. They’ve talked about it a lot, Henry fucking Alex. The mechanics of it, the things they’d need to order, if that was even something either of them wanted. (They wanted it).

King Alex and the Little Prince | @smc-27 | M | 16k

“We’ve a proposal. As a show of good faith, Her Majesty is willing to ally our kingdoms the old fashioned way.” Alex glares across the table. “What does that mean?” Philip tips his chin up. “There is a prince. He is yours if you’d like him.” Oh, for fuck’s sake.

and that's all for now! my goal is to finally get around to reading both more fic and physical books in the near future, so I will keep you all updated as I go along :D

#fic recs #my fic recs #rwrb fic #red white and royal blue fanfic #firstprince #alex and henry #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor

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syerra-637 · 11 months ago

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𝓒𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂 𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓼

(𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

_♡_♡_♡_

A/n : This follows from that post and the comment by @athanasialove. I couldn't stop there. If it's well-received, I could make it into a series.If you have any story ideas for this series, you can share them with me. My inbox is open :) Tw : Mention of death, injustice, nothing more? Number of words : 1338 Reader :I wrote it for a female reader, but maybe it could work for a gender-neutral reader and a male reader?

The sunlight filtering through the golden silk curtains gently caressed your face as you slowly emerged from your slumber. The morning warmth enveloped the room, gently pulling you from your dreams. You blinked, adjusting to the already well-advanced daylight.

Once on your feet, you were greeted by a cohort of servants, their soft steps resonating gently in the sumptuously decorated room. They hurried around you, surrounding you with care and attention. One servant skillfully began styling your hair while another offered you garments befitting your position.

As your fingers brushed against the delicate fabrics, a question crept into your mind. "Where is Sukuna?" you asked, your voice filled with curiosity. The servant styling your hair looked up, her expression filled with respect and reverence.

"His Majesty is in the throne room, Your Grace," she replied with a soft but firm voice.

You nodded, silently thanking the servant for her answer.

As you prepared to make your way to the throne room, the urge to wander through the royal gardens overcame you. The delicate petals of the cherry blossoms danced in the light breeze, creating an atmosphere of tranquility. "Sakura," you murmured, captivated by the ephemeral beauty of these delicate flowers.

Guided by curiosity, you veered off the usual path, venturing further into the lush pathways of the garden. It was then that you noticed a slave, their gaze fixed on the delicate tasks of tending to the gardens. The distinctive symbol on their hand attested to their belonging to Sukuna.

"Slave, do you tend to these gardens?" you asked, a hint of interest in your voice. They humbly bowed, confirming their role in preserving the beauty of this place.

"Yes, Your Grace. I am honored to contribute to the splendor of the royal gardens," they replied respectfully, indicating the presence of others sharing the task.

Your gaze swept over the surroundings, discovering a team of slaves carrying out their duties. As you stood there, surrounded by the lush nature and by these men and women bound by fate to Sukuna, a silent reflection crossed your mind. Despite the marks and chains that bound them, there was a dignity and pride in their work.

With a smile, you continued on your way to the throne room, leaving behind the soothing murmur of the cherry blossoms.

Before the grand doors, guarded by soldiers imbued with the magic of curses, you were about to enter the throne room. However, with an elegant gesture, you halted them in their tracks, interrupting their movement to open the imposing doors.

"What is he doing?" you asked, your curiosity guiding you. One of the soldiers, respectful but attentive, replied: "His Majesty is in audience, Your Grace."

An amused glint sparkled in your eyes as you reacted with a hint of humor. "In audience? He seems to be in a very generous mood. I shall wait. It would be a shame to waste this unique audience. He will likely not grant another until next winter," you declared, injecting a touch of mischief into your words.

The soldiers, accustomed to the intricacies of Sukuna's court, bowed in respect. You stepped back slightly, choosing to wait in the antechamber, letting the mystery and intrigue surround this exceptional audience. The murmurs of the court faded, leaving you alone with your thoughts, mentally preparing for the forthcoming exchange with the powerful king of curses.

The piercing cry that echoed through the palace corridors sent shivers through the peaceful atmosphere of the antechamber where you patiently waited. The desperate pleas that accompanied it resonated in your mind, plunging you into a state of tension and apprehension.

"Mercy, Lord!" begged one voice, while another sobbed, "I repent, please forgive me!"

Your heart clenched at the sound of these heart-wrenching pleas, and you felt overwhelmed by a profound sense of worry. What was the meaning behind these desperate cries? What misfortune had befallen Sukuna's court?

Taking a deep breath to calm the feverish beats of your heart, you rushed towards the throne room, resolved to face the situation with dignity and determination.

Despite your desire to distance yourself from the tumultuous affairs of the court, your innate sense of compassion always urged you to intervene on behalf of the oppressed, even when their fate seemed sealed by Sukuna's whims.

Once the doors of the throne room were opened, you entered with confidence, feigning a false tranquility on your face. As you gracefully approached the throne, an ironic thought crossed your mind: "Oh, wait... this is also my place."

The murmurs of the court subsided as you approached, gazes turning towards you with respect and anticipation. You stopped before the throne, where Sukuna sat majestically, his imposing aura filling the room with his undeniable authority.

With Olympian calmness, you ascended the steps leading to the top of the throne, ignoring the intrigued glances that followed you. You stood before Sukuna, his imposing majesty not shaking your determination in the least.

"Hello, my love," you murmured with a radiant smile, deliberately ignoring the tense atmosphere that surrounded you. "Have you seen the cherry blossoms? They are in bloom," you added, your voice tinged with a slight teasing tone.

A heavy silence enveloped the throne room, broken only by the murmur of whispers and the exchanged glances among the courtiers. Then, you gave a meaningful look to the man on the ground, whose fate seemed to hang by a thread.

"I am sure this man has done nothing grave enough to deserve death," you declared boldly, your voice resonating in the silence. "But we all know that your sense of justice is quite strange."

Your audacity, though shocking to some, elicited little more than a resigned shrug among the courtiers. After all, coming from you, such boldness had become almost mundane, a testament to your self-confidence and independence of mind in the face of court conventions.

Sukuna's cheeky smile did not escape your sharp gaze, and you were gratified by a hint of satisfaction at his amusement with your bold retort.

"Oh really? Am I not the most just of all?" he retorted, his tone tinged with slight irony.

You couldn't help but smile slightly in response. "Perhaps you are," you conceded, "but only in your own terms of justice."

The atmosphere in the throne room seemed to relax slightly as the carefully chosen words you spoke slipped like razor blades through the air. Sukuna, well aware of the subtlety of your insinuation, burst into deep laughter, filling the room with its powerful echo.

Honestly, you realized that only someone like you could dare such boldness in the presence of the great king of curses. If it had been anyone else, uttering such words would have been an instant political suicide. But for you, it was just another day navigating the murky waters of Sukuna's court, where every word and gesture was carefully weighed and calculated to maintain a precarious balance between life and death.

"Well then, to prove my great generosity, I shall let this vermin go. But never set foot here again. As for the audience, I shall end it now," declared Sukuna imperiously, thus putting an end to the turmoil that had gripped the throne room.

As Sukuna rose from his throne, he took your hand with unexpected tenderness before lifting you up like a bride. You were surprised by this gesture but allowed yourself to be carried away by his momentum, letting yourself be guided by his imposing strength.

"Where are we going?" you asked, curious about his intentions.

"To see the cherry blossoms," he replied with an obviousness that made you smile. With such an answer, you could only acquiesce, knowing that the beauty of the cherry blossoms in bloom would be the perfect setting for this moment of shared complicity between you and the king of curses.

Hand in hand, you left the throne room and the tumultuous court behind you, heading towards the royal gardens where the cherry blossoms awaited.

#sukuna ryomen #sukuna jjk #ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #Jjk x reader #soft sukuna #Soft sukuna x reader

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 2 years ago

Text

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 5: Resolve

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Hello, all! I know, it’s so soon! But this one is a cobbled-together piece of stuff you’ve already seen, just padded out a bit more. I figured I might as well push it on out now, so here ya go! Featuring Jason Lannister for the very first time, to finally bring all this shit together a bit more cohesively. As always, thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs for reading though this and reassuring me it isn’t total shite!

TRIGGERS: incest, purity culture, age gap, general Daemon grottiness, allusions to non-consensual sexual situations.

According to most, Daemon Targaryen is a man in possession of little capacity for feeling beyond what is required to partake in lechery and barbarism. He knows himself; his disparagers are not entirely wrong. Except for one important, essential truth—he would die for his family. He loves his family.

Love, as he understands it, is what he has always felt when looking upon his brother, upon Rhaenyra. No matter the strife that has torn him from his kin time and time again, he can freely acknowledge that such sentiments will remain everlasting.

A kicked hound is one most loyal, he thinks with no small degree of bitterness. Or perhaps the meanest hound is more loyal. Either way, I am the hound—and my master, the king.

Love is what has wrenched harsh and twisting in his heart whenever he laid eyes on you, a toddling girl-child eternally eager for the cossetting attentions of your uncle, your kepa—and he had always been kepa, never Viserys, no, your father had never received an honour beyond being called ‘papa’ like any common pauper—now a stranger in so many ways.

The garden and the morning repast had served to ignite the wellspring of all his wildest desires, delivering to him seemingly all he had ever wanted in a prospective bride—young and beautiful, obedient and good-tempered, Valyrian of colouring and of status. But you had seemed smaller than your younger self, trapped in a prison of your own making, hidden beneath layers and layers of chaste courtesy and painstaking banality. And then, accompanying you to the Dragonpit had given him a curious glimpse into the power you kept hidden, the ancient strength of your lineage slipping through the cracks in your genteel veneer.

Regal. Arcane. These are the words that had come to mind watching you interact with your mount, none other than the famed Cannibal himself. Something of the majesty of the Conqueror lay within you, waiting for the necessary spark to kindle the flame. Your exchange with Athfiezar—your silent fearlessness, your devotion to your savage beast, your unassuming poise—reminds him that, for all your equally meek and mild-mannered nature, you are still Targaryen. You are still his sweetling.

It is this that elicits a consuming curiosity to know more.

You are an interesting puzzle, a strange contradiction, one whose buttermilk skin and pert teats and spit-shine lips should herald as a welcome to sample the delights hidden by the fabric of your darling little gowns. Yet, you act not as a silly young thing learning of her sway over men—teasing with fluttering lashes and bit lip and lilting tone as Rhaenyra had—but as a docile girl disinclined to press the limits of propriety as all maidens do. You ride the most savage dragon in the known world, and yet there is no such quality in you that echoes your mount’s disposition; instead, a loveliness that is near to cloying, pure and unadulterated and surely too good to be true. You are a fucking princess, and yet you are perfectly content to fade into the periphery, drawing little notice to yourself and seeking none from those around you, not even your own blood. A scholar, quick-witted and erudite, but somehow still so sweetly unknowing of the depravities that rule the minds of men who lay eyes on you.

You fascinate him. And his newfound realisation does not lessen his temptation to fuck you—to ply you with praise and charm and no small hint of avuncular affection (the reminder of your shared blood thrills him to the bone as always) so that, over time, you might be swayed to give your maidenhead to him—but, rather, that it results in a metamorphosis, a muddling, his longing mingling the base needs of the flesh with a rekindling of his fondness for you.

Which is why he cannot stand the presence of Jason Lannister.

“Why are you entertaining this farce?” Daemon asks, fists clenched at his sides. “A pompous fuck like him has no business anywhere near her.”

“Whatever is the problem, brother?” Viserys says distractedly, hunching over his miniature of Old Valyria and studying the replica of the Targaryen manse on the outskirts with intent. “Jason Lannister is Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. By any standard, I would think he is the best contender for her hand.”

That fucking model of his. Daemon resists the urge to smash the king’s stone city into rubble, though doing so might grant him the attentiveness he is sorely lacking from the man. “Are you not hearing me? He’s an arrogant cunt. He’d bore her in a sennight, let alone whatever hellish span of time an entire marriage would last.”

Viserys hums noncommittally. “She will make do”—he waves Daemon off—“as all noblewomen must when their fathers command them to marry. That is her lot in life. Besides, Lord Jason is one of the wealthiest men in the realm, and I am told he is rather pleasing to a lady’s eye. She could do worse than he.”

His brother’s remark is a fair one—of the trio, Jason is the preferable choice. And what a fucking miserable choice it would be.

He rolls his eyes. This is going nowhere. “And Tyrell? Your idiot son? Are they the ‘worse’ you speak of?”

Between that foppish peacock, his spiteful little twit of a nephew and the prancing lion, the latter just barely scrapes by as the best of the bunch.

“Enough, Daemon.” The king sighs, finally deigning to look up from his pile of rock. “These are the suitors she herself has chosen. I care not for the particulars, only that the girl should be wed before her eighteenth name day. Each of them possesses some quality I am sure she finds worthwhile…” At that, he pauses, brow furrowing. He squints up at Daemon. “What is your interest in the matter, anyway? It has naught to do with you.”

Shit. Daemon makes an evasive comment—something about sullying the purity of their noble lineage—and departs as quickly as he can, eager to escape the risk of Viserys’s suspicion falling on him. It would not do for the man to suspect his intentions toward yet another of his daughters.

He does not intend to seek you and the lord out, truly, but it nonetheless does not surprise him to realise that, upon freeing himself from the wrathful spiral of his own musings, his feet have taken him to the very same garden where he had first laid eyes upon you again after so many years, where you are now enduring the attentions of the insufferable Lannister patriarch. On this occasion, Cole is nowhere to be seen, and the entry is instead guarded by one of the Cargyll twins.

Daemon spies you on the path just inside, a careful distance placed between you and Jason. Though he cannot make out your expression from his vantage point, he observes well enough the flourishing bow the lord proffers in your direction, the polite curtsey you extend in return, his smug prancing step as he leaves your company. He sees the manner in which your shoulders droop, your head bowing as you turn to wander past the great tree and out of sight. My poor girl.

And then his view is blocked by a garish wash of red and gold.

“Prince Daemon,” Jason says with a haughty simper. With a curt nod, Daemon wordlessly returns the salutation. His lack of warmth is noticed. The Lannister lord hesitates for a moment before returning to his condescending civilities, forcing a relaxed stance. “I was most glad to hear of your return.”

He doubts that. There is little love lost between him and the lord. Jerking his chin toward the garden, he asks, “Leaving so soon, are we? I had thought the entire afternoon was devoted to this little outing.”

Jason chuckles awkwardly. “Well.” He scratches his beard. “The princess has another engagement to attend to. Something about a tutor.”

Thank the gods for that Lysan fellow. They had never met, but Daemon is certain he’d like the man well enough.

“Doesn’t concern you?” he asks, scarcely bothering to conceal the scepticism from his tone. At the confusion on Lannister’s face, he clarifies. “That she’d rather spend time with her tutor than with you?”

“Why would it, my prince?” is the answer, self-assured as ever. “He is old, and frail. Best for her to spend as much time with him as she can before she leaves for Lannisport.”

That genuinely irritates him, and not simply the notion of you being shipped off to the lurid monstrosity that is Casterly Rock. Even he knows that your meetings with your tutor are less obligations and more gatherings of friendship—your spirit would surely crumble if you were denied your dearest companion after being coerced to marry.

Daemon suppresses a sneer. “Your confidence is… admirable.” If misplaced, he wants to add.

“There is little competition to be found,” Jason says with a toss of the head. His tawny hair rustles in the gentle breeze, giving him the appearance of the sigil his house has claimed. Fucking ridiculous. Then, the man has the audacity to clap a palm against his arm. “Never fear—I shall take utmost care of her. She’ll want for nothing as my lady wife.”

He shrugs off the over-familiarity, stepping out of reach. “For a time, perhaps. And in a decade? Two? A princess of the realm has no business playing nursemaid to her husband in his dotage.”

He is older than I, he thinks. And if she is truly considering him above the others, then…

“I might be the eldest of her suitors, yes,” the man says, a tense smile disguising his offense poorly. “But I have a rather substantial inheritance, unlike the Prince Aegon, and my constitution is more… pleasing than the Lord Tyrell, I’m sure.” His mouth curves into a knowing smirk at that, leaving Daemon with no uncertainty as to what he really means. That little— “I would not dismiss Jason Lannister from the competition just yet. She will choose me. I suggest you accustom yourself to reality, Prince Daemon.”

He grunts dismissively, incensed. There is no reply he can give in this moment that won’t incite the Lannisters to break faith with House Targaryen; and so, he chooses to remove himself from the odious man’s presence entirely, stalking past with nary a word of farewell.

You sit where your younger half-sister had a scarce moon’s turn ago, eyes fixed toward your lap, turning an ornament about with your small fingers. As he nears, the lion salient glimmers in the sun, gold against gold in dazzling vulgarity. Of course, he’d gifted her something with his own fucking sigil on it. What a worthless bequest.

When he calls your name, you hardly react. Your gaze flickers up to him for a mere moment before falling once more, resuming your surveyance of the item in your grasp. There is a pensive expression lingering in your frown, the crease in your brow. It tells him all he needs to know of your true feelings for the Lannister lord, regardless of the man’s own delusions.

“Why—you look positively miserable, sweetling,” he says, settling himself beside you. You glance up at him again, sullen pout puffing out your lower lip. Though your disposition is so downtrodden, it is tempting to press his thumb to that lip, to push inside and feel the wet warmth of your tongue pulse against his flesh in a coquettish tease. “Not enjoying being courted? The gifts, the attention, the romance…”

You take the bait beautifully. Starting at his reference to the pendant in your hold, your nostrils flare exasperatedly. “No. No. I—I just—” You stop, shaking your head. “Never mind.”

“Go on,” he cajoles gently, lowly. “Tell Uncle Daemon.”

It is all the encouragement you need. “There is little romance to be found in this—this charade.” You sigh, eyes fixed on some minute detail past his head. He’s struck by the melancholy in your voice. “These men—Lord Jason, Lord Denys, Aegon—they do not want me. They want an idea of me. A Targaryen bride with pale hair and Valyrian blood. One who will give them children they shall make little effort to raise, a silent doll to clasp onto and show off at feasts and balls… as though possessing me is somehow meaningful. They do not—they do not see me.”

It’s here your voice cuts off strangely. He wishes it hadn’t, for he finds himself enthralled by the mournful monologue that paints a picture of the loneliest girl in King’s Landing. There is something yearning and haunted in that saccharine stare of hers, he thinks. A babe with her arms held out, wailing at the world as it leaves her abandoned in the crib. It’s an eerie echo of a conversation that took place a decade prior, though the lead role lacks the infantile petulance of the previous star.

He finds himself retracing those steps almost without realising.

“Idīnnon dēmalio syt verdilla mērī issa. Dīnakson toliot, gaoso gaomagon kostas.” He is testing, prodding, waiting for what might result from his efforts. Marriage is only a political arrangement. Once you are wed, you can do as you like.

The words make your cheeks flush fetchingly and your brow wrinkle once more, glancing back at him apprehensively. Pretty pink girl with a pretty pink blush; how far down does it spread? You swallow—pause—look away, wrestling with a thought. You peep back up at him.

“Se skorverdon jessivo aōt kesrȳsi jiōrtas?” you ask with surprising cynicism. You exhale loudly, staring at some fixed point in the distance. “Ābrazȳri buttā, riñar daor, mērpāves… Tolī jaelan.”

And how much joy did this bring you? you say. A wife you hated, no children, loneliness… I want more. The quiet longing in your voice is palpable.

He grimaces at the mention of his bronze bitch—he’d rather not know how widespread the knowledge of the circumstances around her… accident… had been in the wake of his departure.

“What is it you want, then?” he asks, switching back to the Common Tongue, the corner of his mouth already contorting in anticipation of the naïve response. True love, a happily ever after… We don’t get to have happy endings, he thinks to himself.

“I want someone who loves me,” you say, pressing on crossly at the huff of laughter that escapes him. “I never said I would love him!”

The pessimistic elucidation takes him aback. Again, it is not exactly what he had been expecting. Full of surprises today. He tips his head consideringly at you, inviting you to continue.

You hesitate for a moment.

“I… They say my father loved my mother. I believe it, but—” You swallow, the corners of your mouth turning down as you mull over your words. “They say he had a choice when baby Baelon was born. That he could cut her open to get the babe out, but that it would mean her certain death.”

Gods above. Where in the seven hells had you learned that piece of information? Viserys had kept the circumstances of Aemma’s death under tight wraps, never even deigning to mention it to his own brother. It was pure happenstance that one of the maids he enjoyed fucking at the time had been present on the unfortunate day.

Your eyes glisten as you speak, limpid pools of lilac glowing like fire in the light. “I do not think I could ever choose my own life over my child’s—but they say he did not even ask her, that he just… held her down while they—How could I ever trust a man to raise the babe I bore him if he would be willing to butcher his own wife in her childbed?”

He watches as you clench your eyes tight, set your jaw and exhale a few shuddery breaths. When they blink open, they are no longer so tear-bright. Daemon suddenly admires you for it, for the way you so ruthlessly suppress weakness. He wonders how often you’ve been made to force back your pain for the good of your family.

“What happened to your mother was a terrible tragedy, sweetling.” He reaches forward to finally grip your small, pale hand in his. It is cold and dwarfed entirely by his own. “But you cannot live in fear forever.”

You make to pull your hand away. He closes his grip tighter upon it, coercing you to look up at him properly.

“When hope is gone, what choice left is there but fear?” It is a whisper, carried on the breeze, and the thinly veiled misery pains him in the chest, right in his heart.

I thought that beating thing was black and dead by now, he thinks to himself.

You shake your head, smile. The picture of the melancholy maiden fades from view as you affect an appearance of energy once more, gentle and muted as it is. “I know my father loved my mother, and so love is no guarantee of loyalty. But it would be helpful, I think.”

“You see love and loyalty as intertwined, then?” he cannot help but ask. He is intrigued by this rare showing of spirit, of vitality, a resurrection of his baby niece from long ago. It is you, finally—his little girl, only now you possess the curves of a gold-gilded whore and the thousand-year gaze of an ancient, arcane being.

“Do you not?” Your head is tilted like an inquisitive bird’s, artlessly assessing. “You cannot have one without the other. Loyalty without love makes for an easy traitor, and love without loyalty makes for an unhappy marriage.”

He laughs again at the latter part of your pronouncement. A sweet, trusting little filly waiting to be broken in.

“There are many ways to love someone, princess.” He ogles you shamelessly, savouring the affectation of outraged bewilderment painting your countenance. “I imagine you’ll find few of them in the marriage bed.”

He waits for you to question him—to ask him what he means, to ask him to explain, to teach you, show you—but instead, you pull back, taking all the warmth from his palm with you.

“I dislike your implication, Uncle,” you say stiffly, returning your hand to your lap and nestling it between your thighs to retain the heat.

Fuck.

He backtracks raising his hands in a jesting show of defeat. “I meant nothing by it, gevivys.”

Beauty. It is an apt title. An underwhelming one, even. Surely there is little else more beautiful than the sight you make here, now, a rich blush spreading along the unblemished expanse of your chest—regrettably enclosed by pale damask just above the protrusion of your tits—the planes of your throat, not quite travelling up to decorate your cheeks.

You sigh. “You never do.”

Daemon lets the conversation lull, deciding to instead look upon the little revelation before him. You are an interesting puzzle, one whose decorum in the face of his gentle compulsion—that same persuasion he had so often utilised to get fetching girls to strip bare for him and show off their equally-as-fetching cunts—had instead left him lacking. The body of a slut and the mind of a scholar, all wrapped up in wide eyes and honey-sweet words and wild hair the shade of Old Valyria. Of home.

A wild thought seizes him. If he leans forward, he could do it. He could grip you by the back of the neck and pull you to him, press his lips to yours and coax you past your panic and fear and into a hot, sweeping rhythm, a push and pull of tongue and teeth that would set you both alight. And from there, how simple would it be to murmur pretty praise as he lowers you down, raises your skirts up, cleaves you open until your blood wets his cock with the proof of his claim, incontestable, not even by the king himself? The deed would be messy, perhaps distressing and no doubt painful, but it would solve several issues at once. He would be free to do as he likes with his lascivious desires after you are made to wed him, and you would be free from your pitiful suitors and given a husband worthy of you. In time, the hurt and shock and fright would fade, he knows it.

He could. He could. He—

The spell is broken. Your attention is diverted by the yells of a dark-haired boy as he bowls his way to you, throwing himself across your lap with a cry of your name. Daemon tries not to glare at young Lucerys as he tries to roughhouse with you. Having somewhat learned the schedules of his family, it baffles him somewhat that the child is not at his daily lessons. Should Laenor not have him now?

The thought must conjure the man himself, the Velaryon scion appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Laenor’s expression is forbidding as he strides over to you and his son, silver locs swinging with the velocity of each step. With his glare affixed to his face, he reaches a hand down to you in silent command, staring daggers at Daemon all the while.

What the hells is his problem?

You take hold of your goodbrother, bewildered, and allow him to tug you gently from the bench beside Daemon. Lucerys slides from beside you with a rustle, easily revolving around to dart toward the grass. You are already grabbing at the boy’s wrist to stop him running off.

Daemon watches Laenor attempt to rearrange his countenance into something less violent. “Would you take Luke off to the training yards, sister?”

A look of vague incomprehension crosses your face at the question. At least she senses the oddity, too, he acknowledges.

Laenor’s head turns down to where he sits, and it is then that it dawns on him that his nephew-by-marriage has very possibly been watching him stare at his baby niece’s tits for longer than he can claim plausible deniability of.

Ah, shit. The darting, mistrustful gaze suddenly makes sense.

“Of course, Laenor,” you say sweetly, biddably.

Daemon cannot help but wonder what else you might comply with if gently persuaded. He glances up at you from where he sits, smirking as you turn to him.

“It seems we must part for now, sweetling,” he tells you. He ignores Laenor’s grimace from behind you.

“It does.” You shift lightly. It is clear to see that there is something about your shared conversation that has unnerved you. The notion sends a trail of perverse excitement through him. He wonders what other reactions he might prompt out of you with gentle teasing. “I—thank you, Uncle. For listening.”

The words are honest, free of artifice. It is surprisingly warming to hear. When you make to depart, he calls you back.

“What—no goodbye kiss for your beloved uncle this time?” he asks, hoping he’ll bait you into action. He determinedly disregards Laenor’s huff, eyes trained on you as you swallow with trepidation before quickly making the short few steps back to him.

Your knee settles on the seat beside him, clearly meant to be no more than a brief resting place so that you may carry out his implicit request and leave—if not for the way in which your skirts gather around your leg in a manner assured to result in your toppling over should you attempt to rise without fixing them. Daemon turns his head to yours as you free yourself from the tangle. Up close, closer than he would ever dare get usually, he can see each lash that frames your eyes, the hairs that sprout from your brows, the slick cherry bloom of your mouth—a whisper-sweet gather of plump, plush fruit he wants, needs, to take a bite from.

Would you let me, little girl? he wonders.

You gasp, a short little breath of surprise, and lurch away lightly at the closeness. A brave little thing, you return to him, pressing those precious petal-soft lips to the skin of his cheek. Your covered breasts press involuntarily against his arm.

Fucking hells.

“Sȳz bantis, kepus.” Good evening, Uncle, you say in that light little accent of yours, an unintended provocation of his basest yearnings.

With that, you bundle the boy up in your capable little hands and make for your destination, the Cargyll knight falling into formation behind you.

“Care to explain—well, all of that?” Laenor asks.

Oh—yes. Daemon pushes himself from his seat, deliberately stalling while he thinks of a response that isn’t what the fuck how the fuck when the fuck and why.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he says idly, slyly, glancing over at him.

“No!” His goodnephew leans forward into his space. He is taken aback by the vehemence in his tone, uncharacteristic of the bumbling, affable man. “You don’t get to do this to her. Not this one. Not this time.”

“Whatever do you think I plan to do to her?” Daemon laughs, wondering at the answer himself.

Whatever would she let me do to her?

Laenor sighs, steps back.

“Look.” He nudges him to walk alongside as they make for the garden’s entry. “She’s not one of your whores, Daemon. She’s just a girl. She’s not the type to play your twisted little games, so leave her be—please.”

He is warmed by the defence of your goodbrother, an admission of familiarity and care that is sure to have flourished since the man’s entrance into the family some years ago.

“What makes you think I have any intention of—how did you put it—playing games with her?” If he were a little less honest with himself, he would be affronted by the manner in which Laenor has jumped straight to an accusation. But Lord Flea Bottom’s reputation is inescapable, even after so many years. “Perhaps my objective is pure and wholesome.”

“Right.” Laenor snorts, shaking his head as he folds his hands behind his back. “You’re far more likely to fall in with her horde of suitors than to believably claim familial interest.”

True. And yet… why not? He’s conceived all manner of plots to satiate his wants, from drunken fumbles in the dark to his half-baked impulse from but a moment ago. Unlike his previous conquests, though, he doubts the need will dissipate after a single fuck. You are too important to him—his precious girl turned darkest desire, the only woman he could ever deign to carry on his line with.

Viserys has been pressuring him to seek out a bride. He mightn’t be happy with the prospect of his brother asking for his daughter’s hand, exactly, but there is surely no debate that he is the best contender. Not Jason. Not Denys. Not fucking Aegon. Daemon. And, well, if the asking should go poorly—how simple would it be to whisk you away to Dragonstone, to speak the vows and seal the deed before it can be undone? There is no risk this time, no Iron Throne to lose, no treaty or agreement that cannot be broken…

He can see it now. Your sweet little face peering up at him, marked with his blood, lip dripping red with the pledge of entangling your souls together in savage Valyrian custom. Your pretty little eyes wide with maidenly shock as he breaches your untried cunt, tight and pulsing and hotwetwarm, binding you to him irrevocably. The slow waddling of your gait as you round with child, his child, his sweetest babe bringing forth life of her own, belly ripe with seed and leaking his spend—

“Laenor,” he says slowly, eyes glinting as his lips upturn in a wide grin, “I do believe you have the best ideas.”

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/120880855

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fanaticsnail · 1 year ago

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Shag - Part 3

Part 3 to the Swing and Sway Dance Series!

There is no smut in this chapter, just truly teasing out the dynamic between the three of you within your new arrangement.

This chapter was brought to you by @feral-artistry's beautiful artwork, teasing this thought from my brain with her wonderful drawing. Who could resist that taunting pout?

Word Count: 3,197

Masterlist here.

Warnings: kisses, touches, no smut. Just throuple-dynamic things, small hints at prior encounters.

The terms were laid out between the three of you: the clown was still first and foremost your captain and you remained his prized acrobat; the shining star and the spotlight beaming onto him to showcase his majesty. The warlord of the seas was granted free reign to lord over you, but never truly rule you. There were a few times where an overlapping tension arose, but never truly resolved itself; lying dormant and ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

Buggy required constant reassurance that you were absolutely his; you belonged as a major part of his crew, your act with Jac being one of the main attractions to his show under his travelling red and white tent. Hands upon his cheeks, gentle kisses laid against his brow, sitting yourself facing him atop his lap as you smoothed the unruly blue strands beneath his red and white bandana, uttering affirming words of affection for him. Whispers of “darling,” and “dearest,” fleeing from your painted lips against his own as you caressed him tenderly beneath you.

Mihawk needed no such encouragement from you; ultimately knowing he could come and go as he pleased with just a smirk falling from his lips and a sneer of teasing directed towards your captain as he laced his arm around your waist and hoisted you against his openly displayed chest.

The dynamic shift of balancing their energies ultimately fell upon you. Mihawk wanted truly to have an obedient woman, someone he could direct and encourage: a trophy for his lap at affairs of importance and a confidant to share his intimate feelings with over a glass of finely aged wine. Buggy was a lost puppy; eyes always searching yours with minor pleading and need for you to be with him always.

Mihawk ultimately knew you would always belong to Buggy, but he had hoped to share this arrangement with the blue-haired clown for as long as you allowed him to. The sway and pull you held over these men was truly impeccable; the Buggy-Pirate crew commenting on it within the green room constantly.

All criticisms and words falling from the mouths of members of your crew in anything other than complete and utter support were not only hushed by the command of your captain; but also your acrobatic partner, Jac. He was your loyal watchdog, constantly checking in with you to ensure you were not overwhelmed in the romantic displays between the men. He was your knight and your rock as you navigated the balance between the two of them, and would immediately bark and gnash his teeth if anyone paid you insult to how you shared yourself between the two powerful men.

The first time there was a call for parley between the two of them was when they began to openly use your body to demonstrate who truly owned you as their partner; who held your truest affections and your full attention. Reassurance and submission did nothing to halt their advances. Fine pieces of jewellery adorning your neck or shirts representing memorabilia and loyalty to the Buggy-Pirates did nothing to satiate their desire to truly keep you completely to themselves.

Mihawk, paying no heed to the fact that you were required to perform on stage, would openly litter your skin with passionate welts of lust against the flesh exposed on your neck and down towards your cleavage. If he chose to grace his presence to witness your performance with Jac, he would arch his brow up with a smirk as soon as Buggy noticed your skin peppered with marks drawn from his lips; his passion displayed openly for all to see.

In response to Mihawk’s fervent exchanges with your body in its open display, Buggy would sooth over the marks with his own lips to trace over the flesh tenderly, while also wearing an exuberant amount of blue body glitter as he held you flush against himself in the thralls of passion.

Paint would stain your cheeks, lips, clavicle and stomach all the way down to your waistline; the tint refusing to come away with water and soap as you scrubbed at the flesh, overzealously to rid yourself from it. The glitter was impossible to fall away from your body and hair; Mihawk often noticing it would transfer onto his own dark locks after you spent a night with him while returning from the arms of your captain the night before.

The parley was not initiated by you nor the two men, but from Jac who was the mediator for the “situationship” you found yourselves falling within. The strain of balancing the men was impeding your ability to perform well, your central balance falling off and no longer being able to manage itself against your acrobatic partner. Jac truly was your greatest ally as you navigated this new venture with the two powerful men.

“You need to work a better arrangement out,” Jac uttered, sternly to the two men as you sat between them at the rectangular table, “I apologise, sir,” he nodded to Buggy, “I am a member of your crew first, but I am also her performing partner. I can’t have her overburdened with all this,” he gestured between the three of you, “and not have a compromise reached to balance it appropriately.”

You sunk back in your seat, pursing your lips and arching your brows in the centre of your face. The two men scowled at Jac as he spoke, but neither made to impede their will over his berating and chastising words; knowing them to be the truth.

They knew it was not a healthy arrangement; Buggy’s gaze falling over your form as you held your eye contact firmly against Jac’s feet. Mihawk held an intimidating stare at your acrobatic partner, looking through his peripherals to meet with his lover, noticing the close attention her chosen spouse was paying to her also.

“And what do you suggest?” Mihawk offered in a bored tone, shifting his gaze onto the crystal wine glass placed in front of him; reaching forward to grasp it within his index and middle finger while steadying the stem with his thumb, “we all sleep together?”

“Yes,” Jac nodded his head, firm in his resolve and unwavering in his dictation, “exactly that.”

“What?” Buggy uttered darkly in question, his voice laced with venom at the sheer notion.

“You share in every other way,” Jac challenged his captain, stepping forward and towering over the table, “look, I’m not suggesting you all fuck each other-.”

The hairs sprung upwards on the back of your neck, eyes wide and shocked at the crassness of your acrobatic partner. The tinge of red flew to the apples of your cheeks, the tips of your ears and pooling at the centre of your chest. Mihawk’s hold on the wine glass tightened as Buggy narrowed his eyes at the thought.

“-Just bed-share,” Jac suggested with a shrug while holding his gaze staring down the warlord of the sea, “her in the middle, you both at the sides. You might find yourselves enjoying the dynamic.”

“And if we don’t?” Buggy chimed in, arching his painted brow upwards, “what then?”

“Then,” Jac stepped forward once more, his thighs meeting with the polished edge of the table as he lowered his lean over it, “this needs to end. It’s not healthy, and I need her to be at her peak performance specifically for safeguarding purposes.”

Mihawk rose a crystal glass to his lips, maintaining eye contact with your partner as he gulped back the crimson liquid. Buggy’s frown deepened at the thought, not truly desiring the prospect of sharing a bed with Dracule Mihawk alongside the woman he came to cherish.

“Or,” Jac shrugged with a downturned smile, “you could all shag?”

Mihawk caught a small choke as he brought the glass down from his lips, the red liquid burning in his oesophagus. Buggy’s eyes held a bitter rage within them, baring his fury up at the broad acrobat.

“The dance, right?” you spoke up beneath your breath, raising your chin upwards to look at your partner warmly, “shag-dancing?”

“Of course,” Jac expressed gleefully, a warm smile rising to his cheeks at your words, “I could have the band play something for you to share the dynamic, something up tempo like we did all those nights ago.”

“That could be fun,” you nodded, looking first to your captain who’s teal orbs beamed at you joyfully before falling his sights to the broody warlord behind you, scowling at him as the notion truly fell over him.

Mihawk remained indifferent, glancing through the corner of his eye at you to assess how respondent you were to the notion of truly sharing yourself with the two of them, completely all together.

“It will help you all find a rhythm,” Jac added, only truly attempting to convince his captain, as the broad-hat adorned warlord hooked his arm around the back of your chair in support. The painted clown leaned in towards you, placing a hand atop your thigh as he did so.

“Is that what you want, sweets?” his brows upturned and almost innocent as he searched your eyes for confirmation, “to dance? To be shared, truly?”

“I don’t know,” you uttered reactionary, “you already both own me. I’m yours,” you reached your hand over towards the dark-haired, honey-eyed warlord while tilting your gaze over to him, “both of yours,” you confirmed. Mihawk leaned in his body towards you, stooping his dominating presence over you as he made to seek out your lips in a kiss; halting as he gazed at the clown through the corner of his amber eyes.

“I’ll leave you to flesh out the details,” your acrobatic partner smiled at the three of you, bowing his head towards the floor and making his grand exit from the small drawing room of the large red and white tent.

You felt your captain approach your cheek from behind, pressing a small kiss against the smooth flesh before pressing his own cheek flush against yours and staring at the swordsman. Your breath hitched in your throat at your captains orders, spoken in hushed tones against your jaw.

“Kiss him,” he whispered darkly, pressing his lips against your jaw, “I need to see it.”

You hesitated, looking deeply into the eyes of Dracule Mihawk; flittering your gaze between his honey-coloured eyes for any reservations in you following the order of your captain and lover. Mihawk narrowed his eyes, baring his gaze down at your captain before softening them and unclenching his jaw as soon as his eyes met yours.

He moved his body closer still, moving his arm from its steady hold on the back of your chair to fall behind your neck and draw himself into you; his lips moving tenderly against your own. Your eyes remained opened staring at the closed lids of the bearded warlord as you felt the small scrape of stubble atop your cheek from Buggy. The three of you remained in this position: your blue-haired captain gawking through his clenched jaw at his spouse and her lover engaging in a tender kiss.

Although he immediately thought to compete for your attention, he instead found his eyes glazing over and his hand moulding itself tighter against the flesh of your thigh; feeling as if he was truly having an outer body experience as he witnessed you deepening your kiss with Mihawk.

He felt through the placement of his cheek flush against your own as you parted your lips to receive the assaulting tongue of Mihawk’s between them. He found himself closing his eyes and truly engaging in the emotion displayed between the two of you, snaking his hands around your waist from behind as he moved his chin down to fall at your shoulder; his lips meeting tenderly at the exposed flesh you revealed through your attire to him.

Mihawk’s brows furrowed as he deepened his ministrations against your lips, his fingertips raking the follicles upon your scalp beneath his touch. He, at first, ignored Buggy’s presence and focussed solely on you and the way you responded so eagerly to his touch. He snuck a glance through half-opened lids and found the clown pressing feverish and hungry kisses against your shoulders and neck, trailing his painted lips up to your jaw from behind once more.

He turned his sights to you now, acknowledging truly your desire and emotion behind your closed lids and a moan escaping from between your lips; falling freely into Mihawk’s mouth. His eyes began to roll back as he brought his other hand to rest against your free jaw and raise your head upwards to allow for a deeper and more intimate connection.

Mihawk felt you hesitate against his grip, the first time you had ever shown apprehension towards his domination; prompting him to almost completely withdraw himself from your touch. You chased his retreating lips with your own, bringing your hand up to lace your fingers beneath his dark curls and rise to stand from your seated position.

Buggy was unsure as to where he was going, but was happy to chase you; your hand grasping at his mustard-coloured cravat to pull him into you as you hooked your legs over the lap of the warlord and sat atop him. The blue-haired, clown-captain began to stand awkwardly beside the intimidating aura of the warlord as he watched him engage with rough and passionate kisses with his acrobat. A small aura of dread fell onto him, apprehension following your feverish and passionate kisses against the lips of the mighty warlord.

Sensing his retreat, you broke from the lips of Dracule Mihawk and clutched tighter against the necktie of your captain, pulling his lips into you as you engaged with his red-tinted mouth; passionately encapsulating his skin and tasting the grease-paint beneath it.

The dynamic shift between the two men was so intoxicating, you found yourself beginning to fall under the enchantment of their complete duality. You unlaced your fingertips from Mihawk’s hair, choosing to drag them upwards to collect more of the blue-haired clown to draw him into yourself, dominating him with your lips to almost bully him into submission: something you found your captain to be quite fond of during your isolated bedroom tussles.

Mihawk felt a groan escaping his lips, stifling it as it exited in response to the sight of you engaging in a more dominant role against the lips of your captain. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, his hands helplessly falling to grip your thighs and steady you against himself. He chose not to engage you as you locked your lips against the torso and head of Buggy the clown, trailing your lips to fall against the clown’s jaw and neck; forming a haste and desperate path down towards his collarbone.

Buggy and Mihawk locked their eyes together at that point, almost persuading each other to back off from their arrangement. The feel of your feverish kisses against Buggy’s clavicle and the raking of your pelvis against Mihawk’s thighs were enough to persuade them otherwise as they gave into their emotions and the sensations you made available to the two of them. Buggy’s eyes rolled back as he grit his teeth, never one to ever shy away from an audience. Mihawk focussed his gaze on the swirling of your tongue against the tender skin of Buggy’s neck, empathetically experiencing how truly sensual the kiss felt as if it was against his own skin.

You were left completely shocked. Never had you thought these two men alone would hold a candle to you; let alone you sat atop ones lap while you passionately engaged with the other.

Buggy reached his gloved hand below your chin, breaking you from your connection against his skin and leading you towards the awaiting lips of Mihawk. You began kissing his bearded jaw and trailing a path upwards towards his mouth, capturing him in a warm and welcoming kiss as you would if you were truly alone. Mihawk held his watchful gaze against the teal-coloured eyes of the infamous genius-jester as he apprehensively smirked at the sight laid before him, moulding his lips against your own for the second time.

A small moan fell from your lips as you broke your lip contact from the warlord and circled your nose against his.

“I’m up for a shag if you both are,” you giggled, nudging your nose against the warlords before turning your attention towards your captain and pressing your lips gently against his blue-stubbled chin.

“The dance, right doll?” Buggy asked in a small warning tone, prompting another giggle to flee from your lips.

“I can take whatever you both can give me,” you teased him, an apprehensive moan escaping from Mihawk’s lips; surprising the three of you with its presence. You all turned your attention towards the broody warlord, his amber eyes falling to your paint-smeared lips. You softened your eyes, looking to the reddened lips of Mihawk, as he too accepted Buggy’s painted lips through your bridging kisses; presenting true artistry between the three of you.

“You’re sure, darling?” Mihawk asked you, seeking any apprehension from your eyes at his question. You nodded in affirmation, a warm smile falling to your lips in adoration and affection.

“If you’re at all uncomfortable,” Mihawk continued, bringing his palm to rest against your cheek, “let us know and we’ll stop.”

You leaned into his palm and shut your eyes at his warm touch. Buggy’s eyes softened at witnessing the exchange between you. He found himself truly in awe at the fact that he was not only engaging with you intimately, but to be the rival of a warlord romantically was exceptionally flabbergasting.

“Let’s go then,” you said once you reopened your eyes. You sought out your captain’s gloved fingertips with your own and brought his knuckles to your lips; pressing a small kiss against them once you found them, “my quarters are the most neutral of the options presented to us currently.”

“Agreed,” Mihawk stated almost too suddenly, stunned at his eagerness to engage with the two of you.

“I guess that’s for the best,” Buggy nodded with a melancholy smile. Sensing his apprehension, you immediately stood from your place atop Mihawk’s lap with furrowed brows.

“My darling,” you began, smoothing over his cheeks and jaw with your hand and uttering firmly, “if you are uncomfortable, you will let me know.”

“Oh, honey, I’m not uncomfortable,” he cooed darkly at you, his eyes blown wildly with lust, “I’m just keen on where exactly we’re going to begin.”

Mihawk hummed in agreement, too rising to his feet and circling his arms around your waist.

“Lead the way,” the dark-haired warlord spoke against your jaw before releasing you and taking one of your hands away from the painted cheek of your captain and clasping gently within his own. You turned your head towards the warlord, looking up at him through your eyelashes before capturing the white gloved hand of your captain and began leading the two of them towards your quarters to see where the night truly took the three of you.

#one piece #opla #opla fic #one piece live action #x reader #buggy #captain buggy #buggy x you #buggy fic #buggy the clown x reader #mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk x you #mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader x buggy #buggy x reader x mihawk #dance series

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scribbleseas · 9 months ago

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in love & in war, drabble 2: the one where you meet him

Description: Join Ciel, the Earl of Phantomhive, as he embarks on one of the most difficult challenges of his professional life: getting you to fall in love with him in order to become the next chairman of TransAtlantica— your father’s vast shipping empire.

Warnings: None, save for some explicit sexual content down the line! This is just a lighthearded series for fun! Think Bridgerton :)

Author’s Note: I’m sorry for the wait! I dropped this series premiere and academia decided to just become torture from then until basically now! But now I’m a bit more free to get some writing, and hopefully I can get my content consistent again! I’ve missed you all so much. I hope you guys like this drabble! I wrote it in one sitting so I will probably make some edits/additions down the line, you know how it is lol.

Also, if you would like to be put on a taglist for my fics, please comment and I will tag you for each update! Or if you only want to follow specific fics, you can let me know in your comment and I will make individual taglists for each fic :).

Happy Reading,

Dan <3

⇐ PREVIOUS DRABBLE | NEXT DRABBLE ⇒

MASTERLIST

Y/N Y/L/N

“You filled my entire dance card?” you lamented, feeling your resolve crumble as you scanned over the small piece of cardstock paper’s lineup of 20 names, each aligned with a planned piece from the ensemble: Lord Alexis Cuthbert, Mr. Nigel Crawford, The Honorable Geoffrey Wilson… The list included a plethora of noble lords and heirs to either significant corporations or well-respected aristocratic bloodlines.

“That is in accordance with the terms of the deal, yes,” your mother insisted, simpering at you while Daphne hooked long diamond teardrops in your ears, set in gold to match the thick necklace resting on your chest. “There were many house calls made about this specific inquiry, and they were all qualified young men.” By the tone of her voice, you could tell she felt she was doing you a favor.

But truly, meeting a man during a dance was excruciating. There was no respectable escape if the conversation was painfully dry or offensive. All you could do was pray for the ending measure of the music and make a swift exit.

You sighed, turning your attention back to the list: Mr. Jack Morrison, Lord Clarence Abery, The Honorable George Ackland…

“I understand. Thank you,” you surrendered, knowing fully well that there was no changing this list without disrespecting those on it already. You were fortunate that your parents were giving you the freedom to choose your suitor in the first place. Most of your peers had been betrothed since their birth, promised to a relative or a family friend as one half of a smart match.

Mr. Neil Gayton, Lord George Cuross…

You were the Earl of Richmond and founder of TransAtlantica’s only child. That was two inheritances—even if you couldn’t assume all control. Your positions should have locked you into a smart match from the start, but your parents decided to give you a chance at a love match, too. A chance at finding real love just as they did: through a cultivated list of requirements.

As painful and awkward the prospect was, it certainly wasn’t the worst outcome for a woman in your position.

“Lord Ciel Phantomhive?” your eye caught his name before you could properly descend through the list because you couldn’t believe it was there of all places. You knew the Lord Phantomhive to be incredibly private, skipping most if not all social gatherings and public appearances. The public rumored that he guarded his appearance closely because he was one of Her Majesty’s advisors and private investigators. You were most accustomed to seeing his name in stately cursive at the bottom of correspondences with your father and his associates.

“His butler called on his behalf the other day,” Daphne answered for your mother, smiling apologetically for interjecting. “He said he will be attending the charity ball tonight and wishes to meet you.”

“He is more than qualified and interested,” your mother said, “your father has always liked him.”

“Father likes his business strategy, no one knows him,” you answered, letting the dance card fall from your wrist limply. There was no merit in analyzing the names on it— you knew there was no escaping the evening.

Your mother rolled her eyes, unwilling to engage with your technicalities. “Come now. Our guests are trickling in. We should greet them with your father,” she offered her arm to you. You accepted, allowing her to guide you out of the suite with Daphne in tow. Whenever TransAtlantica co-hosted events at the Langham Hotel, your family rented the penthouse to finish preparations without having to make a commute from the estate.

. . .

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability. Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability, Ciel Phantomhive reminded himself with every step closer to The Langham Hotel’s grand ballroom, trudging through formalities and tepid greetings in the populated hall leading to it. It was the phrase he used to justify all of this unyielding frustration at each step: listening to Sebastian as he attempted to break down the confounding science of charming a young woman into comprehensible steps, and now, burdening his already-fraught calendar with unnecessary social appearances just to put himself in Lady Y/n’s path.

Unnecessary social appearances such as The British National Society for Aid and to the Sick and Wounded in War’s annual ball in partnership with TransAtlantica—one of many charitable foundations that the shipping company partnered with. TransAtlantica covered the costs of a lavish evening and invited their extensive networks of business moguls and the aristocracy to partake in raffles throughout the formal night. All proceeds went to the medical organization, and all publicity went to the company.

Until this year, Ciel was content with having Sebastian send his regrets to TransAtlantica alongside a hefty donation to maintain goodwill. But now, maintaining goodwill with this corporation and the family behind it would no longer suffice. He needed to make a personal appearance both at the ball and in the middle of Lady Y/n’s dance card. After Y/n cooly rebuffed him after moments of light teasing Sebastian made the appropriate arrangements with one of the maids to put Ciel.

While Ciel was well aware of the stubborn reputation proceeding her, few dared take such a tone with him. And for so little. Defensive, she was! Was it such a crime to be transparent about how it was careless to step onto a street without looking both ways? If Ciel hadn’t saved her at the perfect moment— even if Sebastian orchestrated the timing — she would have been hit!

“Find Lady Y/n when it comes time for your waltz,” Sebastian reminded Ciel as they entered the ballroom, “you are only on her dance card for a single number. The point is that you make a better impression this time.” The bloody butler prodded at Ciel’s lack of romantic finesse— a talent that a sleazy demon might have in surplus. Apparently, approaching her first and taking the time to see himself onto her dance card would prove Ciel’s interest in her.

“And of course, you must remember your apology, sir,” Sebastian’s words were coated in honey, the most obvious tell of his amusement. The prospect of his master having to express his regrets. “You bruised her pride,” he explained.

In response, Ciel sent him a fleeting gaze, heavy with irritation. Exhaustion after hours of coaching and correcting, endless explanations as to why Sebastian insisted that Y/n could never connect with him properly if he failed to acknowledge her grievances.

“I will,” he answered simply, clenching his jaw at the thought of verbalizing anything along the lines of ‘I apologize.’ He never had to apologize for his actions—not ones that were truly malevolent, and certainly not ones that were decently-natured. Although it seemed the exception was for the daughters of incredibly prominent figures whom he needed to charm. So much so that Sebastian had Ciel practice the series of words in front of a mirror.

Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability.

The phrase had Ciel’s shoulders relaxing into proper posture, his tense jaw relaxing with reluctance. He took a gradual inhale in, scanning the room for Lady Y/n. He found her in moments, catching her pale green gown and its gold accents shining in the warm chandelier light. She was engaged in a jubilant exchange with the wife of Selwyn Westley, the owner of a prominent watch company.

“Very good, my Lord,” Sebastian chirped, merely watching Ciel build his resolve. He’d seen the Earl tackle a number of more threatening offenses: vengeful angels, homicidal circus clowns, and corrupt monopolists with less agonizing. “There is absolutely no time to waste,” he added in reference to the rest of TransAtlantica’s suitors (they were longshot candidates, at best) as they readied themselves among their own servants. Several men’s eyes lingered on the small dance card that hung from Lady Y/n’s wrist, looking to secure a spot in the moments before the first dance started.

It was that particular thought that had the corner of Ciel’s mouth twisting upwards, satisfied. Courtship could never be left to chance. It was a strategy— a war. How could they hope to defeat him when they couldn’t even manage to get themselves in front of her?

. . .

Y/N Y/L/N

“And that’s when I told him: I think I left them in the carriage!” Inara Johnson laughed riotously, briefly touching your arm as you laughed, mirroring the young woman’s impish grin. She had been recounting a sordid story about her courtship with her husband since it seemed your mother was quite liberal in spreading the word about your season beginning. Even still, Mrs. Johnson was quite a breath of fresh air after you suffered nine suitors trying too hard to impress you.

“I can’t imagine what you could have done without a spare change of clothing!” You managed through laughs, ignoring the pinch in your cheeks after hours of simpering and entertainment. You were only about halfway through the merriment, the orchestra completing a lively movement to start transitioning to the first waltz of the evening.

You only had a few moments to find your next suitor: Lord Ciel Phantomhive.

“I should find my husband for this waltz! I certainly hope you find yours quite soon, my Lady, I’ll be looking forward to your wedding,” she chuckled, parting with you after a playful wink.

“Enjoy the night,” you nodded, unsure of how to start your search for a faceless man as Mrs. Johnson found Mr. Johnson in seconds. He’d only been paces away, engaged with your parents about something you couldn’t quite pick up.

You took another look at your card to ensure that Ciel Phantomhive was indeed your next dance partner, but just as your gaze caught his name again, the man who pulled you from the carriage approached you. The very one that you were content with never laying eyes on again.

“Lady Y/n, just the perfect timing. Were you looking to join this waltz now?” He dared to ask, his sapphire eye just as breathtaking as it had been, his lips turning in the same mildly amused manner. Trying to appear aloof. “Or were you uninterested in sharing your time with the likes of mediocre destitution such as myself?” he asked, repeating the words you threw at him.

Was he trying to get a rise out of you?

You felt your face warm from his attempts as you fashioned your falling expression into a sparking grin. The future-Countess-of-Richmond-grin that you relied on so much. There was no losing your temper in this environment without mortifying your family name.

“Unfortunately, my dance card is full,” you answered with false kindness, feeling the young man see straight through your pleasant deception. That was one of the only lines a young noblewoman had to tell a man to leave her to her lonesome; it was well-known by all of polite society. “Perhaps another time. Though I really do need to find my next—” you started, starting to take a step to walk around him, but he side-stepped in your path.

“—After I saved your life last week, I thought you might find time for a dance,” he interjected, causing the remnants of your Countess smile to falter. “That’s why I had my butler secure this waltz with you.”

Your blood ran cold, your smile finally melting off your face. He couldn’t be…could he? It would only make sense, you supposed. A person astute enough to even impress your father.

“I was scheduled with the Earl of Phantomhive,” you forced yourself to answer placidly. You readjusted your expression, unwilling to give the man the satisfaction of visibly surprising you.

“Then you found me already,” Lord Phantomhive replied, all too satisfied. You didn’t even find him! He found you!

You failed to conceal your thoughts, judging by the condescending mirth in his grin. “Shall we?”

. . .

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

“I— yes, I suppose we shall,” Lady Y/n cleared her throat, despite herself. She laced her arm with Ciel’s as he guided her to the center of the ballroom, more than certain that they were attracting attention, even if most people couldn’t connect his appearance to his name. The very reputation that filled a room enough to substitute his physical presence, most of the time.

Technically, he didn’t have to bow to Y/n because he outranked her, but as Sebastian insinuated, apparently Ciel needed to nurse her shallow pride.

Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability.

Taking Y/n’s hand, Ciel led her into the first steps of the waltz. She seemed more interested in studying him than starting a conversation, mechanically following the dance while her mind was elsewhere. He allowed her to dissect the performance he put on for her for a few long moments before speaking.

“I wanted to take this opportunity to extend my sincerest apologies to you, Lady Y/l/n,” Ciel said, visualizing the script that he and Sebastian formulated. He had to make the words seem genuine as if he’d given them enough thought to be considerate, but not so much that he was reciting them. He guided Y/n through a turn, feeling her back tense under his hand.

“I should have helped you find the man who took your things rather than demean you with quips that failed to land,” Ciel continued, taking her continued silence as a bid to continue. His skin crawled at his words, betrayal bristling down his spine. He didn’t apologize. It was fundamentally wrong. And yet, for TransAtlantica, he would. Perhaps this company was the Earl of Phantomhive’s only real love match. “I know I seem far from deserving, but I do hope for your forgiveness. If you give me the opportunity, I hope to show you that I can be,” he continued, fashioning a similar helpless frown that Sebastian used to appeal to frustrated women.

Y/n’s face was unchanged, the same politely engaged expression with clear notes of frustration layered beneath. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy—she was a petulant heiress unused to not having her way with people. She hummed, tilting her head as she took another moment to dissect his expression. The movement caused her long earrings to sway, drawing Ciel’s attention to the length of her neck and the complicated waves she had her hair styled in.

“You should have helped me,” Y/n agreed gruffly. “A proper gentleman would have, after all,” she mused.

Was the apology not gentlemanly enough? Ciel felt it exceeded expectations.

“I would…treasure the chance to prove myself to be a gentleman, then.” He answered, using part of a line Sebastian fed him. The demon did not have any foresight into the future, but after investigating Y/n with the intensity he would look into a criminal with, he had decent intuition regarding how these planned interactions would unfold. Sebastian accurately assumed she wouldn’t accept that apology.

“The chance to prove yourself?” Y/n repeated, her interest piqued at the proposition. Finally—a new emotion on her face besides detached politeness. “That sounds like quite the endeavor, my Lord.”

“It may very well be, should you let me accompany you on a promenade next week,” Ciel answered, watching her face redden. “If you might overlook my…” his mouth was drier than cotton, “deficiencies.”

He nearly choked on the word. Bloody Hell.

“Perhaps I might find time,” Lady Y/n answered, and Ciel’s heart soared for all the right reasons. He had a chance at the corporation, after all. It seemed acting was just as suspiciously close to lying as Sebastian had insisted.

Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability.

. . .

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narcissarina · 11 months ago

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Darkened Desires

Prologue and Chapter 1: The sun || Chapter 2: The moon || Chapter 3: The moon || Chapter 4: The sun || Chapter 5: The sun || Chapter 6: The moon || Chapter 7: The moon || Chapter 8: The sun || Chapter 9: The sun || Chapter 10: The outsider || Chapter 11: The moon || Chapter 12: The sun || Chapter 13: The sun

Pairings: Mafia!Scaramouche × Barista!Reader

Word count: 1,363

Warning: Trauma, deaths, seeking professional help. Slight smut, praise. Cock warming, pet name?

Thank you for enjoying this series. Slight smut at the end. Next chapter will be only smut and probably a plot. Thank you for getting this far in the series:)

Chapter 14:

THE MOON

I fought my way from these degenerates, dead bodies on the ground. Blood splatter from the enemies smeared to my expensive tux, my only mission here to get my beloved sunshine home and safe.

The Tsaritsa has been demanding her whereabouts and sending off an unrealistic number of men to investigate and look for traces off of her. Her Majesty has been getting panic attacks these past few days—Ajax couldn’t get a wink of sleep as he was trying to calm the Tsaritsa. She’s been sobbing violently.

I could only stood there, as vulnerable as Her Majesty is. I’m not there to protect her, to stop them from taking her away from me. I failed. But it’ll be different this time, it has to.

I barged in a room after shooting the man who bought her.

And there she is, curled into a ball—shivering from fear and coldness. “Sunshine?” I called, my voice low and soft. I step inside the room, slowly making my way to her—not making any sound as she’s sounds asleep.

God, she looks… horrible, but still beautiful. But in a horrible shape, she had nightmares. My poor baby.

Her lips quivering, she’s sobbing in her sleep—I took her in my embrace. Rocking her body back and forth as if she’s a little scared toddler, I carried her out the room. Covered her ears to cancel out the noise of gunshot and screams.

She weep and try rolling over in my arms but she couldn’t, gotta shop and give her new clothes, this shit looks uncomfortable to sleep in but I kept wondering how she did it.

We got back in the car, her whole body had been lie down completely and make her use my thigh as her pillow.

“Scara?” I heard her call out with a sob, but she still has her eyes shut and still sobbing in her sleep.

I could only hold her hand tightly, brushing off a strand of her from her face—that’s the only way I could think of to assure her that she’s safe and that I’m here. “The monsters gone, and I’m here.” I whisper, loud enough for her to hear as I feel her breathing slow in a steady pace.

The whole ride was quiet, she rolls over and keeps nuzzling close to me to the point that she’ll squeeze me to death. I only laugh and hugged her close as I knew she’s seeking comfort and warmth, that the shitty place she’s been sold to can’t even provide her something more thick of a clothing so she couldn’t catch a cold.

We arrived back at Her Majesty’s place, I gently pull myself away from her—making sure that she didn’t wake up. The Tsaritsa on the other hand, noticed that we finally got back and she came out stomping with only bare feet.

“Her Majesty! The ground is too dirty, please wear a slipper or something!” one of the guards shouts with worry.

“Is she safe?” The Tsaritsa shouts with worry and stops right on my track, I sigh and nodded, “no need to worry, she’s face. I reckon that she had experience something traumatic.” I spoke, gently taking her out of the car and carrying her bridal-style.

“my poor girl.” The Tsaritsa sobs as she caress the top of her head. I nod and she nodded back, agreeing that we should put her in a room where it’s warm then ask the maid to change her to something comfortable and warm to wear.

I sat at the edge of the bed, my eyes still staring at her sleeping form. I lean to kiss her cheeks, eyes, her warm tears and the side of her lips. “I won’t leave you out of my sight ever again.” I promise, got up and left the room.

She had always been staring off to space, disassociate herself from reality and weep in her sleep. I consult her to a therapist—hoping that she’ll get better in no time, she needed help and I am there every time she needs me.

She’d stare at me and I would smile at her, hoping that it’ll give her comfort and that every thing is going to be all right, no one will catch and hunt her. And that I am sure of it.

I can’t even imagine how she endure those pass few days, but all I knew that she didn’t get hurt or got force something against her will.

Every time I leave the room to give her space, she would stare at me by the door. Then whines as she tries to make me come back and sit against the edge of the bed, she said it doesn’t matter if this is still safe—she felt like she could still be potentially in danger.

I could only chuckle at her silly little words, but also understood why she say something like that. She’d gone through so much trauma and been expose to something she shouldn’t be seeing.

Every time I visit her room, I’d bring any stuff animal and plush of her favorite characters to give her more company when I’m away at work, I also asked Ajax to look after her in my absence. Ajax told me they had a stare-off for an hour as she couldn’t pry her eyes away from that guy.

Ajax was creeped out but shrug it off and decides to have a little play with her, to make her trust him and that he wouldn’t hurt her.

When I get back, she’d welcome me in bed and put the stuff animals and plush away and invite me over. I rest up on her bed, my legs stretched as I feel a little rustling to my side. She’s trying to snuggle against me without trying to interrupt my nap.

She had become clingy and vocal, and then.

She’s finally getting back to her normal self, more alive—cheerful, vocal, and eating much more food. But the thing is, she’d cling to me as if she’s indirectly hinting that she’s now mine.

We lie in bed and she’s in my sweater, snuggling and keeps me close to her embrace. I didn’t budge but I smiled and wrap my right arm over her shoulder and connect my lips to her temple as she takes a little nap, “getting more comfortable, Sunshine?” I softly asked, she nodded and looked up at me.

“thank you.”

“For what?”

“for finding me and staying with me even when I got difficult to handle.”

I chuckle at her statement, “that’s not true.” I object her words, “if you’re difficult then the Tsaritsa won’t be wasting her time stressing out and constantly getting worried. Ajax wouldn’t accompanied you when I told him to.” I hum against her temple and caress her cheeks.

“Are you going to confess your love to me?” I teased and boop her nose, she covered her face against my chest which made me yelp.

“mhm.”

I laugh at how adorable she’s being right now, “fuck, baby. You’re gonna give me a boner. Will you blow me if I got hard?” I tease again.

She nodded and look up at me with those gorgeous god damn doe eyes, I’d roll those eyes at the back of her head again. Making her cum harder than the last time I fucked her when I’m injured.

I lean my head back at the headboard and laugh at her, I feel her leave my chest. Thinking that she’s gonna get herself some drink, but no. I hiss and frown my bros as I saw her got down to my belt and unbuckle it then unzip my pants.

She pulled my boxer down and let my cock free, it wasn’t that hard yet—she held it with her cute hand and pumps it a few times, her mouth open and tongue out.

“Damn baby, cock warming me up?” I hiss and try to reach out to her but she slap my hand away and let her do her job.

I chuckle and tie her hair up to a bun, “careful, hun. Don’t bite my dick off now.”

“Open wide.”

Link:

Chapter 15: THE SUN

#genshin impact #dark romance #darkened desires series #genshin smut #tysm for enjoying this series😭😭🙏#scara x reader #scaramouche smut #scaramouche fanfic #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #genshin scara #Chaoter 15 will be smut #probably #i need sleep rn #help #still got school hahahaha I'm fcking dyinggg

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lettersfromaphrodite · 2 years ago

Text

[8.45]

― pairing : Hyunjin x fem! reader ― content warnings : angst with a happy ending, smut, fluff, royals au, Hyunjin is a Prince, arranged marriage, medieval settings, ⚠️exhibitionism/voyeurism, don’t read if you don’t feel comfortable with it⚠️unprotected sex (wrap it up y’all), fantasy au ― word count : 5.467

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

👑 ROYALS! STRAY KIDS SERIES

Chris // Changbin // Jisung // Hyunjin // Seungmin // Minho // Felix part one | part two // Jeongin

The Princess’ unfaltering decision of refusing her arranged marriage was definitely the most entertaining talk of the Castle for the whole month of January.

Nobody but you – her lady in waiting, knew the reason why she was so stubborn with her choice, and your mouth was sealed in loyalty to what was your future Queen - and regardless, always treated you as her friend. You spent every day with her, and in the evening, you would brush her hair as he kept talking about her beloved Duke with a dreamy and enamoured voice, giggling and blushing as she told you every detail about how their forbidden meetings went. You couldn’t help but smile at her, the secret hope that her love would bloom and come true, even if you knew that probably, their secret encounters would never lead to a marriage.

What you obviously did not know, was that while the Princess kept throwing her temper tantrum, the Royal Council kept having meetings, secretly deciding to send a maid in her place, in order to get married to the foreign Prince. Needless to say, said maid was you.

As the King and his Counsellor told you about it, you instinctively sat back in horror on the velvet chair behind you, a hand placed on your hammering heart.

«Your Majesty,» you breathed, your voice shaking weakly as you spoke. «I don’t think I am suited for-»

«I will not tolerate any dissent on your part.» his gruff and authoritative voice interrupted your sentence, and you close your eyes in silent resignation, a lone tear escaping your eyes. «You spent enough time with my daughter to know how a Princess shall behave.»

«Don’t you want to serve your Kingdom?» the Counsellor added, and few men from the royal council murmured among themselves intelligible sentences which you obviously couldn’t understand. You shook your head, giving in, knowing you couldn’t do otherwise.

As you wish, your Highness.» and with that, you excused yourself in order to storm back into your room, not bothering to justify to the other maids and butlers working at the Castle why you were so pale and on the verge of crying.

As soon as you accepted, the news spreaded around even faster than the fact that Princess Illezra was dating a Duke, and that was the main talk for the whole month of February, which you spent refining your manners, since now you had to act like a proper Princess. Illezra developed the habit of sleeping with you, holding your hand and repeating soft «I’m so sorry.» to which you shook your head every time.

«Don’t blame yourself,» you’d say. «I’m just scared.» Illezra would nod, just to repeat the same sentence every day right before falling asleep, and the two of you fell into a peaceful slumber with your fingers tightly interlocked.

Truth was, you weren’t just scared, you were terrified. First of all, you had to pretend to be someone you were not for your whole life, you were being forced into a marriage which you definitely didn’t ask for and most importantly, you didn’t know what your future husband looked like.

For all you knew, he could be a boy around your age, but the chances of him being an old, bald unattractive and evil man were also pretty high. The other Kingdom’s silence was disturbing; they never sent a portrait of your future husband, not even once.

«What if he’s handsome and he thinks I’m ugly?» you whined, pinching the bridge of your nose. «What if I screw up?»

«Language, your Highness!» Illezra giggled, mocking what she had been told countless times. «You’re gorgeous,» she said, sitting behind you on the bed in order to brush your hair, «and if he thinks otherwise, he’s an idiot.»

«What if he’s old and-» you whined, on the verge of crying once again. «I don’t want to think about it, I can’t bring myself to think about it.»

The day of your departing came sooner than you thought and so, during a chill March morning, you were sitting in an expensive carriage headed to your neighbour Kingdom, your heart sinking in your stomach the further you got from the town where you’ve lived all your life. You tried your best to avoid thinking about your future husband and your future life, and so you opted to engaging a small talk with the butler assigned to stay with you until the day of your marriage.

«What if he finds out everything?» you asked him, anxiety bubbling up in your stomach as you met his sharp yet kind gaze.

«He won’t.» he smiled politely, «No one from their Kingdom ever saw the Princess before.» his words somehow managed to reassure you, and before you realized, almost a day of travelling went by.

The first thing you noticed when your personal butler helped you out of the carriage was that their Castle looked way more expensive than the one you lived in, and the second one was the tall boy with jet black hair which was looking at you with an unreadable expression.

The King immediately welcomed you, introducing himself and the Queen as well, before gesturing to the boy.

«He’s Prince Hyunjin,» he said, «Your future husband.» you politely bowed to him, and he respectfully reached out to kiss the top of your gloved hand.

«Those portrait didn’t do any justice to your beauty.» he said, basically only for you to hear, and the unexpected kind tone of his voice made you wonder if he had been forced to say such a cliché pick up line. Your introductions went smoothly, and the Queen informed about a welcoming banquet being hosted in few hours, so you decided to take up her offer and freshen up.

The first thing you thought as you stepped into your new room was that there was an obvious mistake; the room was huge and decorated with furniture that looked so expensive that you wondered what the Queen’s room would look like. You were particularly happy about the small balcony attached to your room that directly faced the garden, which you would soon find out to remain enlightened all night, thanks to the numerous torches spreaded around.

When shortly after, two maids came to dress you up and do your hair, you thought you could make it work.

When you were sitting at the table while a significant number of people were occasionally staring at you before mumbling things among themselves, you thought you could never make it work.

«Relax,» Hyunjin’s unexpected soft whisper distracted your ministrations of staring blankly at your fork with a bite of food on it. «I promise we’ll excuse ourselves right after the desserts,» he added, before naturally placing his golden caliche in front of his lips, hiding his mouth in order to keep his words even more secret. «They’re probably saying you’re beautiful and wondering when we’re going to produce a heir.» he added, his tone somehow annoyed as he pronounced the last part of the sentence, making you almost choke on your bite of food before you mimicked his action of coveting your mouth with the golden chalice placed in front of you.

«Isn’t it a little bit too soon to talk about an heir?» you asked, noticing that while talking, both you and Hyunjin managed to inch closer, and you also couldn’t help but notice how insanely good he looked up close.

«It is,» Hyunjin chuckled, «but the Royal Counsellor is desperately waiting for heirs.» he smiled at your confused face, before adding a quick «The one completely dressed in purple and looking like an ogre. I bet he’s looking at you.» you tried not to giggle as you met said men’s gaze, before looking back at Hyunjin’s smiling face once again, and he playfully winked at you.

Your heart felt a little lighter knowing that your future husband was at least friendly, and you felt even better when, exactly as he promised, Hyunjin politely excused the both of you before leading you towards the garden.

«Thoughts on the welcoming party?» Hyunjin asked, sitting next to you on a marble bench cornered by small bushes of white roses.

«Definitely… intense.» you offered a small smile, not used to so many people looking at you while studying your every move since you’ve never been a Princess in the first place.

«We’re both obviously new to this,» Hyunjin nodded, before scratching the back of his head in a shy manner. «But I promise I’ll do my best to make it work.» you smiled at him, silently thanking the heaves for your luck, before reciprocating his promise.

If three months ago, the day you cried yourself to sleep at the unexpected news, someone would have told you that you’d be finding yourself falling in love with your future husband, you would have probably curse at them in a very un-lady like manner.

But yet, there you were, involuntary playing hide and seek with Hyunjin in the small maze inside their garden, trying to find a decent hiding spot while trying to hold back your laughter.

«Really?» Hyunjin asked as he almost appeared out of thin air, walking out from the turn next to yours. «You think I wouldn’t catch up?» he asked, and with a rush of adrenaline, you sprinted out from the blind spot where you were hiding, only for him to almost immediately stop your foolish and useless escape by tightly holding your waist; knowing that there was no use trying to outwit him when he probably knew the maze’s pattern by heart, you gave in with a small yelp as soon as your back crashed against his body due to him pulling your frame to his. With a small pout, you let Hyunjin turn you around, his arms still loosely hugging your waist.

«I could walk around here with my eyes closed,» Hyunjin said, faking an arrogant tone, a slight pant in his breath matching yours.

«So?» you asked, your hands on his chest and your gaze locking in a silent challenge.

«So,» Hyunjin’s voice lowered to a mumble, «Running away from me is useless.» he added, and his lips slowly inched towards yours, searching in your eyes any kind of doubt or refusal, leaving you all the time in the world to walk away from his embrace. Hyunjin never found a trace of doubt in your eyes, and so you stood on your tiptoes, closing the space between you and felt Hyunjin smile into the kiss as he held you closer to his body.

That kiss was the first one of many, countless, infinite kisses shared between the two of you, with innocent hearts full of love.

Even if you loved and trusted Hyunjin, you never told him the truth; even if you thought that you couldn’t live a lie for your whole life, you still couldn’t bring yourself to face the consequences of him finding out about your identity.

Deep down, you knew that Hyunjin didn’t fall in love with you for your status and you doubted he would care whether you were born in the royal family or not, but you also knew that this kind of lie was classified as treason, and you couldn’t bring yourself to face Hyunjin’s disappointment towards you.

Illezra kept sending you letters, and you had a very secret correspondence with her, which apparently was trying to let her parents accept her relationship and make her a Duchess so that her and her lover could be together. Despite being happy for her, these letters were the constant reminder of your lies, and Hyunjin never said anything as he saw you glancing sadly out of the window. He would simply hug you, kiss your head and mumbling that since you were homesick, as soon as you got married, he would love to visit your kingdom, too. Hyunjin’s kindness made you wonder if you really deserved him.

Approximatively six months after your arrival, strange rumours started to spread out among the royal council. Needless to say, those rumours completely revolved around your identity, but you’d never heard about them until eventually, it was too late.

By now, Hyunjin had sneaked into your bedroom a countless times, only to leave in order to return to his before morning came – his room was adjacent to yours, so he just needed to open a small door and throw himself in the bed of the communicant room right before his butler came to wake him up.

As cliché as it was, you believed you could never get enough of the feeling of Hyunjin’s warm body against yours, and for him, it was just the same. There was something about Hyunjin moaning your name as he came while trying to keep his voice low that you couldn’t help but love; there was something about the sense of intimacy of Hyunjin passionately making love to you every night that you could not help but wish for those moments to last forever.

Happiness proved itself to be such a fleeting feeling, as one day you returned to your room, only to see Hyunjin partially leaning against your desk, an unreadable expression on his face while holding an envelope you immediately recognized.

«What are you doing?» you asked, your voice trembling in fear as your hands weakly gripped the door’s golden handle behind your back.

«Why are you reading my-» with a rush of emotion, you tried to approach him with the intent of taking the letter out of his hands – even if you knew it was probably too late, when Hyunjin held his hand in mid-air, signalling you to stop.

«This letter comes from the Princess,» Hyunjin said, and your heart sank as you heard his cold tone, «which is very weird, because I’m marrying her in three days.» you felt the blood drain from your face, Hyunjin was about to find out the truth and all you could do was standing there, petrified. You held Hyunjin’s emotionless gaze while tears started to cloud your view, realizing that Hyunjin was blocking you out and showing you the face he showed to everyone else, and not the innocent eyes full of emotion you fell in love with.

Hyunjin effortlessly broke the royal sealing wax while still holding your gaze, the small noise of wax being torn was the only sound echoing in the room.

«Dear Princess,» Hyunjin began to read Illezra’s neat calligraphy, «I deeply wish your marriage is working out, and your fiancée is half as good as mine. I will never stop reminding you that I’m sorry, and that I’m infinitely thankful to you for taking my place.» Hyunjin scoffed, before throwing the letter on the table without bothering to read the rest of it. «Care to explain?» his harsh tone softened for a moment at the sight of your panicked state, but his disappointment was too great.

Hyunjin politely waited for you to talk with his hands crossed in front of his chest, as if the gesture would have helped him to keep in one place the world about to crash on him. You did not know why, but still you could not bring yourself to say a word; the thoughts of having disappointed both the man you loved and your kingdom were the only thoughts swirling around your head and with another scoff, Hyunjin stood up, walking past your frame and in his room without sharing another word.

For the first time since you arrived there, Hyunjin locked the door connecting your rooms, and you broke down in silent tears, kneeling in the middle of your room oh a Thursday morning, three days before your marriage.

You knew that you both did not have any task for the day, since you could hear Hyunjin moving around in the room next to yours. You spent half of your day sitting next to the door, not even bothering to change in more informal clothes, before few drops of common sense decided to silently make their way back into your head.

«Would Illezra go down without a fight?» you whispered to yourself. «Neither am I.» you sighed and stood up, walking to your nightstand and taking out a small key and a big amount of letters tied up with a silk ribbon from the top drawer.

«I have a spare key, Hyunjin,» you said loudly as you approached the door, «And I’m not afraid to use it.» you politely waited, deciding that if he didn’t unlock the door by himself, you would have done that. You were about to marry, but most importantly, you were in love; you’d never let anything walk between the two of you.

Surprisingly enough, Hyunjin unlocked the door few seconds later, and you stormed into his room and immediately sat on his bed, facing him, which was staring at you, confused at your sudden bravery and wondering why you decided to bring so many letters along.

When Hyunjin first asked you to explain, you wondered for a moment about lying through your teeth, but who would want a marriage based on lies? Certainly, not you.

Therefore, with that thought resonating in your head and in your heart, you told Hyunjin everything. With hesitant steps, Hyunjin slowly sat next to you on his canopy bed, as he listened to anything and everything you had to say; you told him about how the news crashed down on you and how about since then, you have felt pressured of living by the standards of living and behaving like people expected and imposed you to do. Hyunjin held your hand as your confession of you being terrified of this whole situation, but also the fact of not wanting to get married to a stranger.

«You could have been anyone,» you said, wiping another tear that effortlessly escaped your now puffy eyes, «I was terrified of you being old and ugly and evil.» you admitted, a small and sad smile appearing on Hyunjin’s lips which you didn’t see, too busy playing with his fingers interlocked with yours.

Hyunjin politely waited for you to finish your outburst, while never letting go or stop caressing your hand. «I can’t find a reason to blame you, but» Hyunjin’s gentle voice said. «I want to know if you meant what happened between us, or it was just part of what your King ordered you to do.» he asked, and as your eyes locked for the first time after you walked into his room, you saw Hyunjin looking so vulnerable you felt your heart tremble.

«It wasn’t a lie.» you quickly shook your head, relaxing a bit seeing Hyunjin’s soft smile once again. «I could never lie about loving you.» you admitted, and Hyunjin hugged you, affectionately kissing the side of your head as you wiped the last tears escaping your eyes.

«Then, I don’t care, the rumours will eventually stop.» Hyunjin sighed. «You’re going to be my wife, and married couples are allowed to keep secrets.» you nodded, hugging him back and wondering what were the chances of you finding such a gentle and caring boy as Hyunjin as your future husband.

«I’m sorry, too.» Hyunjin broke the comfortable silence that enveloped the two of you, now cuddling on his bed – with some difficulty, due to your formal clothes. «I was too focused on the fact that you lied, that I didn’t consider that you had more than valid reasons to do so.» Hyunjin’s words were soft and sincere, and you instantly cuddled closer to his chest, whispering not to worry.

«I never believed I would fall in love,» he chuckled, talking more to himself, «And yet, here I am.»

«Here we are.» you gently pointed out, and he simply answered by kissing the top of your head.

«Yeah, here we are.» Hyunjin mumbled softly, few moments later.

Now, if you thought that Hyunjin’s Castle and the room you have been given were expensive looking, you definitely did not expect the wedding to look so… extravagant.

If you were still living as a lady in waiting, your marriage would have been a humble ceremony into the town’s chapel but as a Princess, you were about to walk into the Capital’s Cathedral, your path surrounded by sumptuous and expensive decorations and unknown faces focusing on any detail from your hair to your dress, which made you look like as if you walked out from a fairy tale – a bit too much for your tastes, but Hyunjin’s face as he saw you was enough to forget everything, from your doubt about the veil being too long, to your discomfort at being once again the centre of attention, to your fears about tripping on your feet.

«You look stunning.» Hyunjin mouthed as soon as you stopped in front of him, and you instantly rolled your eyes as a wide blush covered your cheeks.

The ceremony went smoothly and rather quickly, unlike what you expected. Hyunjin kissed you longer than he was supposed to, with both his hands on your cheeks, and since then you couldn’t focus on anything else but the lingering taste of his lips on yours and the feeling of absolute happiness you felt anytime your eyes met.

«Organizing a surprise in three days is almost impossible, but I hope you’re going to like my special gift.» Hyunjin smiled as he led you away from the crowd of people attending your wedding reception, and your brows furrowed in confusion.

Hyunjin slightly turned towards you only to offer you a wink, looking even more handsome now that he had unbuttoned the first two buttons of his white shirt; even if you asked him few times what he meant, he never gave you a proper answer, and so you trusted him, until he led you to the marble bench where you comfortably sat under the moonlight on the first night you met.

Hyunjin abruptly stopped and you almost crashed against his body, but managed to stop just in time; you were about to ask him why did he stop so suddenly, when your attention was caught by a very familiar figure now standing up from the bench.

There was no way you could confuse her petite figure, the way she held her fan, or simply the way she brushed his gown exactly two seconds after she stood up; after all, you spent years living with her, and you knew that probably at some point, even your heartbeats were synchronized.

«Illezra?!» you asked, dumbfounded, but also feeling your heart speed up with excitement; you looked at Hyunjin, asking for a silent confirmation that you weren’t having hallucinations due to your corset being too tight, and as soon as he nodded, you ran towards her.

Illezra immediately hugged you close, her sweet perfume enveloping you and making you feel like you were in the privacy of her sumptuous bedroom instead of a Castle’s garden, you hugged her even closer, and the two of you stayed like that for a while. The hug you and Illezra shared held a silent conversation full of “I’m sorry”, “I’m glad this worked out”, in base of how tight you were hugging each other; a small cough caught your attention, and you shifted your attention to the figure behind Illezra, before detaching from her, which still tightly held your hand.

«You’d be happy to hear that we can freely hang out with Duchess Illezra and her husband, from now on.» Hyunjin’s soft voice said as he gently wrapped his arm around your waist.

«Duchess?» you incredulously asked her, your eyes widening in surprise. Illezra simply nodded, and officially introduced you to the Duke, which you’ve heard her talk about for countless nights.

«I owe you a lot,» Illezra said, clutching your intertwined fingers against her chest, but you simply shook your head. The four of you spent part of the afternoon by yourselves, before joining once again the other guests and excusing yourselves for having ran off; you could not stop thanking Hyunjin for this surprise – you never thought you could meet Illezra in public ever again, but he simply shrugged anytime you mentioned it, leaning in to peck your lips in a soft and sweet kiss.

Despite the day went great and you felt the happiest you’ve ever felt, there was a thing you actually feared: your first night as a married couple. You and Hyunjin have made love a countless number of times by now, hidden in the shadows of your bedroom, but you knew about a particular fucked up tradition that royals had.

Apparently, both for good auspicious and in order to verify the first night of marriage was consumed, the heavy curtains of the canopy bed would be tightly closed while outside; few members of the court would wait for the couple to finish their intercourse.

Of course, both you and Hyunjin weren’t exactly happy about it, but you both knew that refusing this stupid ceremony meant that someone could have contested the veracity of the marriage.

Hyunjin sat right in front of you on the soft mattress of the room you’ll be sharing from now on, his legs crossed while mirroring your posture, looking at you with an amused yet shy smile. You shrugged, covering your eyes in embarrassment knowing that a layer of fabric was separating you and your husband from indiscreet eyes; you opted for re-adjust your positions in order to cuddle, chuckling at how surreal this situation was.

«I’m really not fond of having an audience.» you mumbled, caressing Hyunjin’s hair while he had his head on your chest; you felt him nod against your skin.

«Neither I am,» he admitted, shifting just enough to place his chin on top of your breast to look at you. «We don’t have to do anything, if you’re not comfortable.» he added, and you loved how considerate he was being once again. You sighed a little too loudly, immediately covering your mouth since that sigh could be misinterpreted, and Hyunjin’s head followed your chest’s movement with an amused smile on his lips.

«As long as you hold my hand, I suppose I’m gonna be okay.» you furrowed your brows, running your hand through Hyunjin’s long and soft hair, and he closed his eyes in bliss at the sensation of your fingers playing with it.

«We can stop anytime,» Hyunjin mumbled, supporting his weight on his arms while hovering above you, «and just jump on the bed while moaning randomly.» he added, barely above a whisper, and you couldn’t help but giggle at his childish yet mischievous expression.

A thing Hyunjin was exceptionally good was keeping promises; for the whole night, he kept holding your hand, from the moment his fingers were buried deep inside you, to the moment where his length was moving with hard and deep strokes. Hyunjin had one hand buried in the mattress, right next to your head, while the other was tightly intertwined with yours; while your free hand was tightly placed in front of your mouth to muffle your moans, despite the sound of the bed creaking and slamming against the wall was giving away pretty obviously that you decided to act up to your duties.

Hyunjin was staring at you with hooded eyes, silently loving how your body was so responsive and sensitive to his touch; his eyes glanced to his left, and he stilled his hips inside you with a harsh thrust, making you whine while arching your back and closing your legs around his hips in the desperate attempt to make him sink deeper. Opening your eyes, you saw Hyunjin’s mischievous eyes focusing on the hand in front of your mouth, before he eventually shifted to partially support his weight on his elbow, his sweaty and hot body now pressed flush against yours, making you instinctively clench around his length.

«Let them hear, sweetie.» Hyunjin sinfully mumbled against your hear, slowly placing his right hand over the one you had on your mouth in order to slowly moving it away, allowing you to decide if you were comfortable with it. Once again, Hyunjin saw no trace of doubts in your eyes as he slowly leaned back, and he just smirked, moving his hips in order to create some friction between your bodies; you shut your eyes with a deep intake of breath, his stiff length filling you up just perfectly. «Let them know who’s make you feel so good» he added, leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck as his warm, big hand delicately caressed your body only for it to stop under your left tight just to lift it up while slightly spreading it even more. «Who’s making you this wet.» Hyunjin’s soft moans in your ear were about to make you see stars, and you sank your nails in his left hand – which was still interlocked with yours, as he proved his point with a harsh thrust which only made you whimper a loud «Please.»

Hyunjin’s cocky attitude only came out when you were having sex, so the fact that he kept moving in slow strokes while raising his eyebrow and mumbling an innocent «Please, what?» didn’t surprise you, on the contrary, it made you even wetter, if possible. If you thought that there was something fucked up about part of the royal court waiting for two people to finish their sexual intercourse while standing outside a canopy bed staring at some closed curtains, you also believed that there was something fucked up about both you and Hyunjin obviously enjoying it. There was something about Hyunjin’s body – how perfectly it moved against yours and how you felt like two puzzle pieces finally connecting, which always had the ability to bring you on your knees, figuratively and metaphorically.

«I’m yours, please.» you whined, already too far gone to properly answer to Hyunjin’s request, but he complied nonetheless, and he started to move at a slight faster place while holding your left leg higher, in order to have a deeper access into you.

The surreal situation you were in, added to Hyunjin’s praises on how good you were and how perfectly tight you felt, accompanied by the harsh movements of his hips, quickly helped you to build up your orgasm, and in return, your loud moans and pleads added to the fact that you kept writhing in pleasure under your husband’s body in order to feel even closer to him, quickly helped Hyunjin to quickly approach his own. Hyunjin came with a loud groan, his brows furrowed together and his eyes tightly closed as he buried himself inside you, and that vision alone triggered your orgasm as well. Hyunjin welcomed you back from your post orgasm state while rubbing your noses together, and you leaned in to peck his lips with a soft giggle while your heart softened at the feeling of your hands still locked together.

Both of you turned your attention to the sound of steps hurriedly exiting the room, and as the door closed, leaving you two finally alone, Hyunjin captured your lips in a sweet and passionate kiss, his long strands of hair resting on your forehead in the process; you gently pushed on his shoulder, signalling him to roll back, and he eagerly complied, careful to not slid out of you as you were now sitting on top of him.

«Always so eager,» Hyunjin mumbled, his hands naturally gripping your hips as your mouth came in contact with the bare and sweaty skin of his neck, marking it up to your heart’s content. Now, you finally had the night for yourselves.

The following day, you and Hyunjin couldn’t help but giggle to yourselves as apparently, the court’s member couldn’t hold your gaze any longer.

«Do you think we somehow scared them?» you whispered to him, hiding part of your face behind your pastel green fan.

«Probably,» Hyunjin chuckled, «And this is why I believe,» he said, circling your hips with his strong arms, «That in order to remind them who’s in charge, we should renew our vows every ten years.»

«You’re an pervert,» You blushed, hitting his shoulder with your now closed fan, «Once was more than enough.» Hyunjin hummed, giving you a playful smirk, «You definitely looked like you were enjoying it-»

«Hyunjin!» you laughed, placing a hand on his lips, in order to prevent him from finishing his sentence, and you quickly glanced around just in case someone could have heard. Something wet met the palm of your hand, and you retreated it, looking at Hyunjin with an incredulous yet amused expression.

«Did you just lick my hand?» you asked, and Hyunjin shrugged, before you both laughed together.

At least, your marriage wasn’t going to be boring.

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

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#fanfics #stray kids scenarios #royals au #stray kids fanfic #stray kids smut #stray kids series #stray kids x reader #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin fanfic

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