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emilykaldwen · 5 months ago

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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Nineteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Author's Note: It's been a really hard month, ya'll, but here we are! We made it. Agonizing over this chapter positively drove me mad, but so many thanks to @vampire-exgirlfriend and @darkwolf76 for their love, support, and eyes on this to help me feel a little less insane. Go give them both some love!

CHAPTER NINETEEN - When It's Pulling Me Under

Alicent breaks and tries to mend. Jace tries to find Helaena. A twist within the thread.

“Cassandra Baratheon has bled.”

The queen’s rooms were quiet. Rich green and black drapes hung open as wide as they could to allow the light in, but the panes were closed to the cool fall breeze. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, dancing along the decorative stone swirls along the mantle. The usual gaggle of women that occupied the room had been absent these past few days - her court having dispersed to deal with multiple assignments for the daily running of the castle and the wedding. Alicent looked up from the parchment before her, releasing her lower lip from the intensity of her gnawing teeth. Her gaze met Lady Lysa’s from where the elder woman looked up from her own sheaf of parchment.

“I will go and speak with Lord Beesbury on these matters, Your Grace,” she said softly, rising in a whisper of apple red silk, her usual caul replaced by a barbette and veil given the cooler weather. The way the woman turned her head, reaching for her papers, reminded Alicent of her own mother in such a swift and sharply unexpected moment, that Alicent’s chest clenched and stole her breath. Lysa Fossoway was her beacon of normalcy over the past years, but she was not her mother.

How desperately she wished her mother was here. How keenly that feeling sharpened as the other woman left and Alicent remained here, alone, with Lord Larys Strong.

His firefly-handled cane thumped softly against the rich rugs scattered about her solar and he took a seat on the chaise, settling himself down like a vulture, waiting to feast. On her secrets, on her thoughts, on wherever his tightly guarded whims struck him. Yet, she had few that she could call confidant, even if she dare not call him friend.

“Good.” The snap of the wooden pen box punctuated the single word as Alicent put away her ink and tucked away the parchments that Larys so curiously watched. “Lord Borros insisted that we have this engagement sealed before the new year and the wedding.”

It felt like when Viserys dragged himself to High Tide to present himself to Lord Corlys to beg his heir’s hand in marriage for a sullied Rhaenyra . It was beneath him, it was unbecoming, and it was exactly why, Alicent felt, Lord Borros felt he could demand the way he did.

‘I am not beholden to my father’s oaths, but I will not be taken for a fool’, the man had said. No sons of his own yet, Alicent knew that it was not his fear of being taken for a fool that had brought him blustering and demanding, but the fact that his sister, his only sibling, had sons. Both, to Alicent’s knowledge, were unwed. There existed a possibility for Helaena, one she would have to revisit later.

For now, her attention focused on the fact that it appeared Borros Baratheon thought that Vhagar would be enough of a deterrent for his sister’s sons to claim the Storm Throne from his own children.

“So that is what is to be then? Aemond to the storm, to match the tempest inside of him.” Larys tilted his head in the thoughtful way he had, his hands folded along the top of his cane. “Better, maybe, than risk quenching his fire in the snows perhaps.”

Alicent furrowed her brow. “Snows?”

“Only a turn of phrase, Your Grace. There are many eligible women in the realm to tie our Prince to. The Stormlands keep him close, rather than the cliffs of Casterly Rock or even the isolated northern houses. Northern houses, such as House Karstark offer little, while Storm’s End grants you a realm. Better than his sister as well, although I have not heard Prince Aemond express those wishes in some time.”

Alicent rolled her eyes and went to pour herself some of the mulled wine from the carafe by her window. “House Karstark, or any of the other Northern Houses, would do little for Aemond.” As for Helaena, she too had noticed her son’s waning insistence over the past few months in regards to such a betrothal. She hoped that he too realized the futility of such an endeavor.

“And it isn’t as if Lord Borros could not take another wife should-”

The clatter of her goblet on the table cut off the direction of Larys’ ponderings, and she turned on him, a sick and ugly feeling in his chest. “It is unseemly to speculate or wish for such things, my Lord Confessor,” she said tightly. “My son will marry Lady Floris. Aemond will have a position and income here at court, regardless of what the future holds,” she whispered. “He will make a fine Hand.” When her father could no longer be Hand to Aegon, Aemond would be an ideal successor.

“And Daeron could serve the crown much like Ser Criston. Now everyone is taken care of.” A soft chuckle filtered into the room and sent a shiver up Alicent’s spine. “You have done well for your children, Your Grace. It is good that they at least have a mother who cares for them so.”

“Someone has to. If my son is not his father’s heir, then he should be taken care of. The realm knows too well the idleness of second sons and unhappy brothers.” She shook her head, unflinchingly meeting Larys’ disquieting gaze and the amused curl of his mouth. “If the king would not even be amenable to the idea of Aegon being his sister’s heir, then something must be done.”

A pulse of a headache thrummed behind her eye. Aemond chafed already beneath his brother, beneath the duty that had spurred him to his lessons, to his training, but she knew Aemond would want more. He hungered for more and she could not give it to him. Would her ambitious boy be content with his child married to Cassandra’s heir? ‘He would have to,’ she thought, though her fear persisted. This was the cost of duty.

“Have you only come to speak of Lady Cassandra’s state of non-pregnancy, or have you come to drop news that Helaena is with child.” The pointed non-question was sharper than she might have normally intended but the onset of having to tell Aemond, her angry, precious son, would give her a fit the way anything difficult aggravated her husband and king.

“All goes accordingly, my Queen,” Larys said, nonplussed, and if anything, the amusement was lingering there. Alicent hated the small feeling it gave her. No, not small, she realized; not small as how her father or even Viserys made her feel.

Larys made her feel trapped.

“Very good then. If there’s nothing else, Lord Larys-” The sharp, heavy knock on the door mercifully broke into the tension and Alicent could barely contain her desperate tone. “Enter!”

Gwayne was the most welcome sight behind the door, his doublet so deep green as to be almost black, the fabric of his gray shirt poking between the ties of his sleeves. The silver buttons were stamped with the High Tower and the flames atop it. The angles of his face reminded her so much of Aemond, but she could see all of her boys in that face. The sharpening of Aegon’s jaw, Daeron’s nose. Warm, brown eyes took her in before looking over her shoulder as Larys scraped his way to standing.

“Ser Gwayne,” the lord greeted and she felt, more than saw, her brother stiffen slightly. Gwayne had not been here long, but his dislike of the Master of Whispers had been a decisive one. Her brother was firm in his manner, much like their father; once lost, no good favor could be regained.

“Lord Larys. I’ve come to pull our Queen from these shady interiors to take a turn in the fresh air. I’m sure you also have much to attend to.” Not that the solar itself wasn’t brightly illuminated, stained glass windows sending streaks of colored light about the room, and Theraxis, Abby’s cat, was sprawled in a patch of warm light that the stained glass windows turned his gray fur purple and orange.

“Who would I be if I kept her Grace from spending time with her much missed brother,” Larys said, inclined slightly to Alicent. “I shall take my leave then. Good day to you both.”

As soon as the door shut, Gwayne’s blue eyes, their mother’s eyes, pinned her.

“I mislike you having private conference with that man. Where is Lady Lysa? Or Cole?”

Alicent raised an eyebrow. “You mislike.”

“I do.” He seized an apple from the basket on the table. Brown hair, once sandy blonde as Daeron’s in youth, fell into his eyes. He kept it short, as Aegon, and the sight of him had her wonder if things would be easier had her eldest looked more like her. “He is a foul man, and I do not like the way he watches you.”

She rolled her eyes at her brother’s protestation. Touched as she was by his protectiveness, it was too many years too late. “Well, Lord Larys is the Master of Whispers for a reason. There is a certain unsettling that comes with the position.”

Gwayne rolled his eyes this time and bit into the apple, the fruit crunching loudly. “I still do not like it.”

“You do not have permission to pass judgment and disapproval as you made the choice to leave.” Resentment rose ugly in her throat, her voice not her own; a fragile thing, a girlish cry. Her nails scraped along her wrist as she turned away from him to her desk, eyes unseeing as she reached for the first paper. “I had to make my own protection.”

“Ali-”

“No,” she snapped, shaking her head. “You left.” Then I lost Rhaenyra. “And do not claim it was your injury. You couldn’t wait to flee back to Uncle Rodrik. How sad it must have been for you to instead be sent back to the Tower.” Instead of staying there, with her, so she would not be alone, so their father would not be so bold as to push and press and bear down upon her. Bitterness dripped from her voice and the sound of tearing filled her ears. Alicent looked down to see how she’d torn the acceptance from Dragonstone for their presence at the wedding.

She felt like she would be sick.

A strange sound escaped her throat. It sounded like a growl or a wounded whine. Alicent could not be certain. What she was certain of was Gwayne’s arms wrapping around her from behind, holding her bones together as she felt like she would shatter. Her brother said nothing and for that she was grateful.

Fear tangled between her ribs, pulling them apart and compressing them just as tightly so she felt like she couldn’t breathe no matter what. Gwayne held her tightly, held her bones together, kept her body from bursting into a thousand shards. She gasped for air, tears hot in her eyes but refusing to fall. At some point, they ended up on the floor, the deep green of her skirts pooled around them as she leaned into her brother and he rocked her much as he did when she was young, when they would play knights and dragonriders in the gardens, when mother was there, and she’d fall and scrape her knee, or he had whacked her too hard with the stick, or Rhaenyra was angry when her moods got the better of her.

“I’m sorry,” Gwayne said softly, so softly she could barely hear it and her nails bit into the thick fabric of his doublet.

“You could have stayed,” she cried, her fist hitting his bicep. “You could have stayed, I needed you!” Her brother had nothing to say to that, he only squeezed her tighter as she finally wept, her fears tumbling out of her. “Why did he do this to me if they do not matter to him? They’re his blood too and he never cared, he never cared. He begged for sons! He begged for them and I gave him sons and it didn’t matter so what was it for?”

Alicent wept bitter tears, pushing and biting her fingers into her brother, who sat there, quiet and unmoving as she tore into him. The months, the years bubbled up in her, all the shattered dreams and the fear and the confusion, the immeasurable pain that had stripped away everything inside of her until she was whatever she was now, a stranger to herself. “They’ll kill them, Daemon or whomever seeks to curry favor with Rhaneyra, and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care and they treat me as if I’m mad.”

She wasn’t mad. She knew that she wasn’t, everyone knew that she wasn’t, but much like the king never put Lord Corlys in his place all the times the man stormed out of the Small Council, Daemon perched as a vulture on Dragonstone for months without recourse until he stole an egg, Rhaenyra escaping recourse and being covered for her indiscretions. Had Alicent’s own children be fathered by Ser Criston, to pass off as trueborn children, her own fate would not be so kind.

Why had no one sought to protect her, the way the king, mercurial in his affections towards his eldest child to begin with, still protected Rhaenyra?

Alicent did not know how long they sat there, the gasping and the tears, the undulating pressure around her middle ebbing and increasing until it finally started to fade. Gwayne’s hand slowly stroked her back in soothing motions, his cheek resting upon her head. As the silence grew and her sobbing eased, her brother finally spoke.

“I’m here now,” he said. “And if you wish me to stay with you instead of accompanying the boys to Harrenhal, I will.”

She shook her head. “Aegon will need you. Guide him, help him. He’s doing so well, I’m so afraid that he will slip…”

“You are afraid of everything, aren’t you?”

Alicent scoffed, wet and stuffy nosed. “I am being realistic. I need someone there who will tell me if I need to intervene-”

“Alicent.” Gwayne shifted, his voice sharp enough to draw her attention and she looked up at her brother, meeting his blue eyes with her own brown. Gwayne had their mother’s eyes, the Reyne eyes. Would her grandchildren hold those eyes as well? Or would Aegon’s Valryian gaze overpower them? “Let him grow. Let him have a chance away from here.”

“And if something happens to him?” Her lower lip trembled and she bit down on it so hard it hurt. Her brother’s mouth twitched in a smile. Sad, fond.

“He cannot thrive if you are tangled around him like a choke vine.”

“And what of father?” she whispered, harsh and unnerved.

“I’ll handle father,” Gwayne reassured, or attempted to do so, but Alicent felt the fear pulse inside of her, the uncertainty at what felt like a foolish promise. His eyes searched her face for several moments and Alicent, unnerved, reached up to wipe her eyes with her handkerchief and tried to gather her wits. “Alicent? Do… do you want your son to be king?”

Alicent’s heartbeat thundered in her ears and she pulled back from her brother to stare at him. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out and she shut it with a click of her teeth that longed to nash and rend those around her. A fresh wave of tears burned in her eyes but did not fall this time. She pressed her handkerchief into her eyes, took a deep breath, and felt in her bones.

“Aegon may not want it, but it is the only way to protect us. Viserys will not. Rhaenyra will not. I tried. I did, and I never thought she would hurt the children but…” Alicent shook her head, the fear still there, still acrid and painful. “Her callous disregard of my son, her brother’s maiming. And what they did to Laenor?” Her voice was a whisper, the fear, the shock of it that still stuck with her. “It was Daemon, to be sure, but Rhaenyra knew. And it’s that which terrifies me. Rhaenyra doesn’t have to give the command, or even raise the blade or-or bring Syrax to exact her justice. Daemon and whatever other lords seek to curry her favor will do what they think needs to be done, and that is to keep my children from being a threat, from being beacons of rebellion regardless of them being part of it or not. And if none do it for her, she will be forced to do it.”

Aegon may not want his sister’s throne, but Aemond? Her precious boy had received a grievous injury, but his sire, his father and king meant to protect him, had not cared. That night on Driftmark showed the court how utterly vulnerable Alicent and her children were, and her father had been right. She had to fight for them in a way she never had before. Aemond had risen to the challenge beside his mother, a protector, but also quiet and feral in ways that frightened her, in ways that sometimes reminded her of the way Daemon Targaryen used to stride about - a siren song of strength compared to his elder brother.

If to truly protect them meant putting her first boy, precious in his own ways, her little Aegon who was finally smiling again, on the throne? To protect them? Then so be it.

Let all they’d been through, let all she had been through, be worth it, let it mean something. Mother and Father above, please just let it have been for something.

“They speak of the great insults done to our House,” Gwayne said softly, leaning against the foot of her bed, one long leg sprawled out before him, the other bent to lean his arm on. “To not name your son heir, then why take his Hightower bride?”

“I wonder, had he married Laena Velaryon, if he would have named her son heir,” Alicent said, frustration edging into her voice. “Corlys Velaryon would not tolerate his grandson not on the Iron Throne-”

“Which is why House Velaryon has not broken with Rhaenyra,” Gwayne finished with a snort, but there was no amusement in it. “The Sea Snake wants to make a name for his house. These Valyrian politics - but what man doesn’t?”

“Viserys doesn’t,” Alicent rolled her eyes and Gwayne met her gaze, the pair of them snickering like children. She felt the tension in her chest ease with the laughter, better than tears, and pushed at her brother’s knee. “It’s guilt over Aemma Arryn’s death and the king is a stubborn man. He is easily run roughshod but when his mind is made…” She shook her head. “Had father not pushed, maybe it would have changed. But father made him feel like a fool, and Viserys cannot abide that.”

“It was not just father, though,” Gwayne pointed out. “Our house pushed for it, yes, but whispers and confusion have run rampant through this realm since Aegon was born. Women do not sit the Iron Throne. Seven Hells, Jaehaerys held a council because he could not decide between a granddaughter or grandson. What power does House Targaryen truly have if they must beg the lords of the realm to decide their succession when it should be clear, the way the rest of the realm does?”

“Dragons,” Alicent pointed out softly. There were so many dragons now, many from Vhagar, a few from eggs that Meraxes had laid - she recalled from Aemond’s excited speeches, a thick tome of dragon lineages clutched in his arms. “They have dragons.”

Gwayne’s hand reached up, fingers warm against her forehead as he pushed away a loose curl. “You are just as fierce,” he told her. “If not more.”

“Stop,” she muttered and pushed at his knee before they rose and she smoothed the wrinkles of her skirt.

The children were scattered that morning. Helaena was in the gardens with little Floris and likely Jacaerys skulking after her as he’d taken to doing when council meetings weren’t in session. He had behaved well enough, from what she had seen and what had been reported to her. Bastard born he may truly be, Jacaerys had always treated her daughter kindly. There was frustratingly little she could do with the boy now, for word would trickle back to Viserys, who would feel like he needed to roar to make himself feel in control before retreating back to his lair.

She knew that Aemond kept watch, although her boy as of late had been distracted. When not in his studies or the training yard, he was hardly to be found. Which left Aegon and Abrogail, and at least she knew precisely where they would be then.

The weeks following the festivities had seen a change in her son, and one that Alicent wasn’t sure how to feel. The dalliance with the Lefford girl aside (no bastard had taken root, and the girl had been given a place in her household until such a time a match could be made), as well as whatever foolishness he’d engaged in with Cassandra Baratheon, Aegon had performed admirably. His spectacle making tried her patience, but won admiration through the court. No longer her little boy, her first son, Aegon had come into himself in a way that Alicent had not thought him capable of, and feared that it would not last.

For all the pain that ached and clawed inside her ribs at the sight of them, the displays of affection between her son and Abrogail had also proven fruitful, and she did not sense any facet of artifice between them. When her son smiled down at his betrothed, an easing sensation coursed through her, as if the tightly spooled coil inside of her was able to release gently.

Relief. Relief that this might, in fact, work out better than she hoped.

Perhaps the girl had been right in defending Aegon, yet Alicent still held her breath, did not let her relief grow unbound. Aegon often threw himself into new pursuits, at least once upon a time. He’d let it consume him and just as she thought she found what he needed to truly take responsibility, the novelty wore off and then there they were, back where things began, her son drunk and dunked in a horse trough to sober him up.

They found the children in the small, family dining hall. Abrogail’s ladies were clustered on a set of low chairs and chaises that had been brought in. Lady Desmara Crane and Lady Merei Thorne sat on either side of Lady Wylla, silk and lace across all their laps as they worked on Abrogail’s trousseau. The Riverlands girls that Abby had taken for ladies had returned home in order to get their own things and order, and would meet the wedding party at Harrenhal. Alicent regarded their dresses - all different, and made a mental note to ensure that uniforms denoting their statuses as ladies-in-waiting were taken care of when the seamstress came for the next wedding gown fitting.

The dancing master stood at the edge of the parquet floor where her son and cousin stood, the minstrels in the corner with the Targaryen drum and other instruments. The room was cool in the early afternoon, the torches out, the curtains fluttering gently in the fall breeze. Samwell was sweet voiced, and had been in court since her wedding a score ago. He was not a particularly tall man, still plump, but the years had sharpened the roundness of his face. He still composed, but now served as a dance master, leading the court in new dances. Samwell had taught the children as well, and as Alicent watched him, his feathered cap of red and black striping bobbing in time with the music, it felt as if she were transported to a godswood and a song she never wanted to hear again.

Samwell’s exasperation was palpable, and Alicent could see the pink flushed along Abrogail’s face all the way up to her hairline.

“You go left,” he instructed her sharply, the cane he held to keep the tempo cracking loud enough to cause the children and herself to jump. “The prince turns right, as the flow of air. You are receiving him, my lady.”

“Left,” Abrogail repeated, fingers twitching in the pale blue damask of her gown. Aegon gestured in the direction she was meant to go in and the music resumed. Aegon had the steps down, but Abrogail struggled to follow the beat that was so different to the normal court dances. Alicent wondered if it was some memory of Old Valyria that thumped through her son’s veins, for she recalled that Rhaenyra and Laenor’s rehearsals had gone quickly. Alicent had mercifully been saved from such a dance, for the king had not wanted to perform it again.

A short ‘Ow!’ escaped Aegon and he jumped away as Abby apologized for stepping on his feet. Alicent sucked in her lips to hold in a laugh as Abby glared at him, snipping at him, “You are ridiculous.” Alicent clapped her hands and the music stopped, bows and curtsies from those gathered before her.

“Thank you, Master Samwell. I think that’s enough for today,” she said, watching Abrogail’s shoulders sag in relief. “You may resume on the morrow. No progress can be made when one is so frustrated.” She watched the girl open her mouth and then shut it quickly, eyes downcast. As the minstrels gathered their instruments, Alicent released her brother and approached the pair. Aegon had moved closer to Abrogail, curling a long, red curl around his finger.

Whatever her son was saying to her, Alicent could not hear, but she took the time to appreciate their closeness in a way she had not allowed herself to before. They had behaved themselves admirably in the weeks of festivities. Even as jealousy curled in her gut from the shattered dreams of her girlhood, the worries that had plagued Alicent’s days had eased as she saw how well they had gotten on, how favorably many in the realm looked upon them. Many had come to her, speaking highly of the match, how clear the pair were fond of one another.

How rare that very thing was in so many unions across the realm.

Alicent feared. She feared from the moment her eyes opened to past the time her eyes closed, feared for the safety of her children, and their happiness, unfairly, she knew, was not at the top of her concerns. To know that this might keep her son safe, to know that for the first time in years too many to count on her own hands, her son looked happy…

“I am half convinced the dance only makes sense to those with Valyrian blood,” Alicent said, a small smile crossing her face as she attempted to reassure her cousin. Abrogail’s features scrunched up uncertainty.

“Should we also not do a Riverlands dance as well?” The uncertainty left her, a small curl of a mischievous smile crossed the girl’s face as she eyed Aegon. “I’d like to see how well you perform that.”

Alicent pursed her lips at her son’s indignant look. Abrogail was not pregnant, there had been no scandals, no whispers. Whatever the girl had done to influence her son appeared to be working, the words she had said in such anger had taken root as Alicent had hoped. Aegon had thrown himself into good presentation, regardless of whatever dalliances her son had engaged in with Lady Cassandra.

“You are marrying a Targaryen, and with that comes certain expectations and obligations,” Alicent said carefully, her fingers running along the deep sleeves of her deep green gown, fingers tracing along the golden embroidery of the cuffs. “The might of the Targaryen House will be on display.” The girl nodded, eyes averted respectfully and Alicent watched her son continue to wind one of the long, red curls around his finger. He tugged on it, drawing her attention.

Alicent looked away to watch the minstrels leave the hall, the door closing with a soft thud behind them, the ladies continuing to work on their sewing. “Your brother is not here? Nor Helaena?”

“Daeron is with Helaena in the gardens. He has no interest in dancing,” Aegon rolled his eyes as Gwayne did. “He’s twelve.”

“Aemond is in the training yard with Ser Criston,” came Abrogail’s soft addition, reaching up to bat Aegon’s hand away from her hair. “He’s training for the wedding tourney.”

Aegon snorted. “Even though he complains how tourneys are nothing to real war.”

“Do not think you’ll escape the training yard with me,” Gwayne teased him. “Just be grateful I won’t have you out at sunup, given your newlywed status.”

Abrogail flushed. “Is-is everything alright, your Grace? Did something happen?” Aegon’s eyes swiveled curiously from the girl to her and Alicent smoothed her hands over her skirt.

“We would announce it at dinner, but I had hoped to speak to Floris.” she shook her head. “Lord Borros has agreed to the betrothal between Aemond and her. Obviously not for a few years - she is only a girl, but it will at least give time for her and Aemond to get to know one another.”

‘You had been only a girl’, Alicent thought. It was why she had fought so hard against her father to wait just a little longer before betrothing Aegon and Abrogail. To give the girl more time, the way her mother would have wanted, the way that it had not been afforded to her. She would do what she could for Floris.

And hopefully give Aemond time to come around to the idea.

Alicent sighed. Hopefully, her second son would be in a more receptive mood after hours having Ser Criston exhaust him with drills. “I shall go find your brother and hopefully catch him before he flees for Vhagar. Floris will be easy enough to speak to, if her sister hasn’t found her already.” She reached out, stroking Aegon’s hair, pushing the silver strands out of his eyes. The way he stiffened did not go unnoticed, and her heart ached with guilt. Her hand dropped, her smile tight and Aegon gave her a slight bow, Abrogail bobbing her own curtsy, a murmured ‘Your Grace’ whisper soft.

The moment Jace saw Aemond dominating the training yard, he felt his stomach drop and promptly went right and through the tunnel towards the gardens. While things with his uncle had been only filled with tension, Jace knew when to pick his battles and that was one he did not need to dive into.

The terraced gardens of King’s Landing featured in some of his earliest memories, when things were simpler, when the animosity and the tension hadn’t suffocated them all. In the gardens, the rest of the world fell away, much like how he felt when he rode Vermax, his jade wings skimming the waves of the sea, the salt wind in his face. The suffocating stench of King’s Landing was not so bad here, and while one was never alone - too many servants, too many lingering lords and ladies, all to ever truly be hidden - it was still a reprieve and Jace made his way down to the third terrace where the fountains were. With the fountains were mud, and he knew that Helaena would be there with her jar to dig up little things to feed her collection.

The first thing Jace heard was the laughter of children, and he spied Floris Baratheon swinging a stick rather aggressively at Daeron, whose eyes were wide in shock at the battle cry she let out. A grin broke out across his face as he gathered himself, and swung his stick back with equal fervor. Baela’s ladies - minus his step-sister who was still at High Tide - were gathered on the stone terrace along with Helaena’s new lady, eating cakes and gossiping.

Helaena herself crouched beside some of the large stones, a jar beside her as she rolled over one of the stones. Her hair was bound in a simple silver braid hung over one shoulder, her deep green gown embroidered with silver moths turned muddy and damp from the wet ground. Jace watched her pick a worm from where it clung to the stone and set it carefully away.

“Fish with feathered fins,” she said as Jace approached and he noticed her gaze was focused on her work, fingers twitching, the words nonsensical. He had not seen the expression on her face in years, had thought, mayhaps, her moments had abated over time as she grew older.

It was not the case. It was not something the princess had grown out of, and he remembered with clarity of a frantic, sobbing fit she’d had when they were children. Helaena was meant to be handled gently - Jace remembered his mother saying as much when they were young, not long after Daeron had been born. He should treat Helaena kindly, and respect when she did not want to be touched, and be mindful of loud noises. And so he did, stern with Luke when he would screech in excitement or indignation, snap at Aegon when he raised his voice. It had been the two of them playing in the halls of the Red Keep, playing a game of hide and seek, and he’d found Helaena, frozen in the hallway to his mother’s room, tears streaking down her face, clutching something to her. It had been nothing, but she would not drop her arms, and not knowing what to do, Jace had gotten his mother. Belly round with Joffrey, she’d come out, concern etched on her features and together they sat on the ground with Helaena, his mother not touching her but speaking to her in calm tones.

“The rats, the rats, the rats are coming,” Helaena had whispered in a frantic mantra.

“The rats will not hurt you, hāedus. I will go to Lord Lyonel and we will ensure there are more ratcatchers employed. I promise.” His mother said firmly and clearly, not dismissing the concern, her gaze towards him.

“And if we find a rat, we will get Abby’s cat to help catch them,” Jace had promised with a nod.

She was not crying here. She was distant from the world around them, and focused on something that wasn’t the little bugs she was dropping into the jar. Helaena was so far away and Jace kneeled beside her. The ground was wet and cold and promptly began soaking into the wool of his trousers. He ignored the uncomfortable sensation and remained beside her, curls in his eyes and reached for the scurrying little bugs to drop in the jar.

“Fish with feathered fins and storms of ivy,” she whispered. “Not that one. The red ones get ignored.”

Jace started when he realized she had addressed him in the middle of her whispers and dropped the red pill bug back onto the soft earth. It eagerly burrowed back into the soil, vanishing without a trace.

“Shall we find you a fish with feathered fins?” he asked her softly, a slight jest in his voice as he attempted to draw her back into the present moment. Helaena did not reply to him but shifted the jar better between them and he went about pulling up the next large stone to pull the bugs from beneath it.

“Promises shatter in ice,” Helaena said.

“What?”

Heleana drew back to sit on her heels, the rock falling back in place and her hands covered in mud. Her gaze appeared to fix on them and Jace watched her quietly, the sounds of Daeron and Floris’ laughter filling the garden. It felt ominous to him, the feeling rushing in like water behind a broken dam.

Tentatively, Jace lifted a hand to rest on her shoulder. “Helaena, come back to me,” he urged gently, thumb stroking against the soft wool. “You’re going somewhere and I haven’t any idea how to follow you.” He would if he could, for he knew that whatever plagued Helaea was a frightening place that she should not traverse alone, even tethered to Dreamfyre as she was.

All he could do was reach for her, and hope that she heard him.

Helaena slowly blinked, as if the act itself was something she had to remind herself or force herself to do. Jace swallowed and chanced a glance over his shoulder. Daeron and Floris were still chasing one another with their sticks, and the ladies were occupied with their chatting. He frowned with an uncertain feeling. Should her ladies not be attending her? Or did they think it best to leave her be? A sharp inhale of breath drew his focus back to Helaena. She pulled away awkwardly, hands fluttering and fingers flexing.

“I…” Helaena looked lost, confused, and she stared at him but did not meet his eyes, mouth opening and closing, words unable to escape her. Jace shook his head and kept his hand to himself in her clarity of not wanting the touch.

“You’re alright. You’re safe here.”

“Helaena?”

Abrogail’s voice carried past the hedge and she came around the bed, mouth tight, gripping tightly to Wylla Karstark’s hand. The dark haired woman looked pale, face tense as she followed.

“See?” Jace said, hoping it would comfort the princess. “Abrogail’s here.” Would that help? He felt impotent, helpless, useless in the worst possible way.

Abrogail and Wylla dropped to the other side of Helaena, the mud and damp soaking into the hems of their skirts. “How long has she been like this?” Abrogail asked, voice quiet but firm, blue eyes searching the princess’ face before looking at him.

“Since before I came.” Abrogail reached for one of Helaena’s hands, spreading her fingers out and gently stroking each of them to keep them from bending back into the anxious claws they had been. The ease of the motion spoke to how often they’d done it, Abrogail pressing her thumb gently into Helaena’s palm to ease the rigidity.

“Helaena? What is the matter?” Abrogail leaned in and Helaena did not meet her gaze but drew back, pulling her hand away and clutching both to her chest. A sound escaped her throat, small, a growl perhaps? Or a whimper? Helaena’s silver braid swung and she sharply changed direction, shifting to her knees to grab Wylla’s hand.

“Silence doesn’t mean the grave,” Helaena hissed. Wylla’s gray eyes were wide, brow furrowed in confusion as Helaena leaned in, pinning Wylla in place like a moth on one of her boards. Jace could see how tightly she gripped the other’s hand.

“Your Grace?” Wylla whispered and Helaena grabbed her now with both hands, shaking her head. Abrogail met Jace’s eyes, confused, before her gaze went to the ladies sitting on the terrace. The confusion turned to incredulity.

“Have they been sitting here this whole time?” she asked him in a calm voice, and the familiarity of it hit him in the chest. Her voice was calm, but there was nothing calm in the words. There was a quiet anger simmering beneath those words, brightening her gaze, and it reminded him so much of Ser Harwin that it took his breath away. Gentle and fierce.

Jace knew immediately that she meant, and he felt his own jaw tick as his understanding of the situation shifted. He nodded, holding her gaze, feeling a tempest inside of his chest. “I’ll stay here,” he promised and Abrogail’s gaze softened along the edges, her hand reaching out as if she meant to cup his cheek before she stopped herself. Hand still in the air, her fingers curled and with another nod, she gathered herself up to do whatever it was she meant to do.

“Don’t.”

Abrogail stilled, awkwardly half standing, Helaena’s fingers gripping her wrist. “What?”

The princess dropped a hand from Wylla to reach for Abrogail’s wrist. “Don’t,” she repeated, her head tilting, her mouth pursed in annoyance. “Don’t do that.”

“But, Helaena-”

Helaena yanked Abrogail’s arm hard enough that the unbalanced girl toppled over with a wet slap and Abrogail grimaced as the mud and wet soaked into her more uncomfortably. “They are supposed to be tending you.”

“And they are. I sent Margaery away before Jace came by.” Helaena sounded more exasperated than the annoyance that filled her actions and she gestured for Jace to hand her the jar of bugs. “You mustn’t lecture them.”

“I-” Helaena gave her a look and Abrogail shut her mouth, chastened. “I’m sorry.” In the quiet after the words, Daeron gave a shout and Jace saw him hit the ground hard, his stick sword flung out of his hand as Floris Baratheon stood over him, her own sword pointing right into his face. The ladies cheered and clapped for Floris, and offered their sympathies to Daeron. Helaena huffed and let go of Abrogail’s wrist.

“Jace was here and I was fine. Thank you, Jacaerys.” His cheeks flushed beneath her unblinking gaze, chest warm, even as the confusion of what had all happened still stormed inside of him. “He came exactly when I needed. Not too early, nor too late. I am capable of expressing my own needs.” Abrogail flushed for different reasons, fingers twisting. “What is it?”

Abrogail looked to Wylla. “The queen came to our dancing lessons-”

“Was it about how you keep stepping on Aegon’s feet?”

“I didn’t step - No!” Abrogail’s nose wrinkled with annoyance. “‘Tis not my fault dances are so complicated and that my feet do not behave. No.” A deep breath, another look, this time in the direction of Floris and Daeron. “She said that Aemond and Floris are now betrothed, she was going to find Aemond and then you.”

The silence held. Then, “Even though Wylla and Aemond have been kissing everywhere?” Helaena asked.

“But she’s eleven,” Jace protested.

The words hung in the air while it was Wylla’s turns for her cheeks to flush and Abrogail to stare at her. Jace also looked at her, surprised that Lady Wylla would even want to voluntarily get that close to Aemond, let alone kiss him.

“You’ve been kissing Aemond? And you didn’t tell me?” Abrogail’s incredulous voice was hushed so as not to pull the attention of the others.

Wylla shrugged helplessly. “It hasn’t been everywhere,” she muttered beneath the attention. “And this isn’t the point. I…” Wylla shook her head. “Prince Jacaerys is right, Floris is a little girl, does she mean to send them both to Storm’s End?”

“At least it isn’t Cassandra,” Helaena said with a frown. “No, they will not be sent to Storm’s End. Floris is my ward. She will stay with me for as long as I can keep her.” A sigh. “Floris has many years before she is to be married. Who's to say the betrothal will even last?”

Wylla looked uncertain. “You sound sure of yourself.”

Helaena looked at her. “I’m not. But Lord Borros is feckless and mercurial, he may change his mind if it means he cannot betroth Cassandra, or if he has a son.” Jace did not know if those were truly Helaena’s opinions on the matter, or if she was mimicking what her mother had said.

“Can you not break it as you did yours?” Abrogail asked. Helaena shook her head.

“Breaking my betrothal to Aegon should never have worked, and it was because our grandfather already found it distasteful that he convinced our father to break it on the eventual promise that Aemond and I might marry, and that also isn’t happening. Obviously.”

The look on Wylla’s face was one of confused near-disgust, one that Jace had seen in many outside of their family. Most found it objectionable to imagine kissing their own siblings, and Jace himself could not imagine kissing Luke if his brother had been born a girl, so he perhaps understood that.

Besides, none would find it strange if Helaena was only his cousin, for the blood they shared was the same in that regard.

“Floris will not mind if you keep kissing Aemond, Wylla, do not fear that,” Helaena continued, tightening the lid on her jar.

Wylla sputtered, glaring at Helaena. “Respectfully, Helaena,” she said, not even giving her the proper title, and Helaena looked up from her jar. “I do mind. I will not be some paramour, or continue some ill-fated dalliance with your brother just because Floris doesn’t mind. Floris is eleven and she deserves to be treated respectfully, not to mention I deserve it. I will not be shamed, or the newest subject for court gossip.” She sniffed, and Jace could not tell if she was trying not to cry, or if she was so angry she could spit. Abrogail rested a hand on Wylla’s back, lower lip caught between her teeth. Helaena shut her mouth, brow furrowed, and looked at her jar of bugs. “If Aemond suggests such a thing, I will cease everything. I will not allow him to do that to me, nor anyone else. I will push him out of a window for such a thing.”

Jace smothered his laugh into a cough at the imagery of such a threat, and had to keep from offering to assist the lady.

Helaena pressed her lips together, a little snort escaping her. “I would like to see that. He does need it sometimes,” she allowed. “I will see what mother says when she comes.” Her fingers drummed against the jar, and still, Helaena did not meet anyone’s eyes, still caught in whatever in between space that plagued her, but her words were more present, and that was truly what mattered.

Sitting there on the cold, wet ground, Jace wondered what his mother would say about all this. He had been sent to King’s Landing not just to serve on grandfather’s small council, but to be her eyes and ears amongst the viper’s nest. Any piece of information, no matter how small, could possibly become crucial to her cause. But as he sat there, Helaena’s hand drifting to rest near him, it felt like a further betrayal to reveal the conversation, even though he had, more or less, been a part of this. It wasn’t as if it had been overheard and none of the women knew he was there. They had none, and spoken openly regardless.

He could put off writing. At least for now.

AND WITH THAT! We are on our way to Harrenhal! I'd love to know what you loved about this chapter, and what you're looking forward to! Any questions or curiosities? ALSO! WE are sooooo taking bets on what (if anything?) is going to go wrong at this epic Westerosi Royal Wedding. And if you aren't sure what to say, drop a dragon emoji in the comments so I know you were here <3 and as always, thank you for being here. I appreciate each and every one of you.

[Next Chapter]

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jinjinxedsoul · 2 months ago

Text

When The Sun Loved The Moon - Aegon II Targaryen

CHAPTER 6. UNSPOKEN FEARS

warnings: smut, slight breeding kink, hand job,infidelity (? (Jaella and Harland but mentions of Aegon being with someone else, but they're both fine with it idk middle ages were wild), last scene is not main characters centered but I loved it so I kept it.

A/N: I didn't intend on leaving the smut scene but my bestie insisted so I did. Again, my smut may suck but hey practice makes perfect. Also, yes, I changed the title. Anyways, thank you for reading this I really appreciate it 💕

131 AC

At sixteen, she had yet to find a worthy suitor; in reality, there had been many, but she always found some scandalous flaw that led her to decline their marriage proposals. Rhaenyra didn’t seem too pleased with this, but she remained silent when Daemon reminded her that she had been the same in her youth. The prince was also not very happy with the young and not-so-young men who presented themselves seeking Jaella's hand.

Desperate to find her a good husband, it was decided to organize a grand event to receive the suitors, where they would be evaluated by the princess and the prince to consider the best of their options. Although, without a doubt, Jaella already had her proposal of marriage and made sure that invitations were sent to Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond since both were still single and worthy candidates for her hand. Of course, the princess's interest was solely focused on the elder of the two brothers.

“It seems foolish to me,” the princess commented while her hair was being brushed.

Harland, who had been tasked with bringing news about the event, let out a small laugh.

“I don’t think your mother and Prince Daemon think the same,” he said, shrugging. “It’s an event in your honor; you should be excited. You like these kinds of things.”

“It’s an event to have me chosen as if I were cattle,” she corrected, frowning. Then she waved her hand to signal her maid of honor that she could leave, which the girl did immediately. Once they were alone, Jaella continued speaking. “I don’t need to be chosen. I know what I want.”

“And what is it that you want, princess?” Harland asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at her through the mirror.

Jaella kept her gaze fixed on the mirror, observing her own reflection for a moment before responding.

“Aegon,” she said finally, with a certainty that left no room for doubt.

Harland approached her carefully and took the brush that Jaella’s maid had left, replacing her in the task.

“A knight brushing the princess’s hair?” Jaella asked, allowing him to do it, enjoying the difference that Harland’s less skilled hands made compared to the previous ones.

“Aegon wants you too,” he said, completely ignoring her question. “But until the king and queen accept the marriage proposal, I’m afraid there’s little you can do about it.”

She hummed in agreement, nodding slightly at the boy’s words behind her.

“There has never been a formal proposal,” Harland frowned, looking at her with confusion. “Apparently, my wishes are not that important, and my family has never dared to formally ask for my marriage to Aegon.”

“And... I suppose the princess has a solution for that.”

Jaella smiled widely.

“My mother and Daemon are reluctant to marry me off to him. Perhaps it’s because they don’t trust Aegon as much as I do.”

“Which is quite reasonable,” Harland said, annoyed, earning a light smack from the princess.

“I’m sure Aegon has told his mother more than once that he wants to marry me, but she will never accept it. So, it’s up to me to handle the matter myself.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” he asked, his curiosity palpable.

Jaella turned slightly in the chair to look directly at him, her expression now filled with determination that made Harland’s chest swell with pride.

“I’m going to make my own proposal,” she said firmly. “I won’t wait for others to decide for me. Aegon and I know what we want, and if my mother and Daemon aren’t willing to make it happen, then I will do it myself. I’ll speak with Aegon, and we’ll find a way to present our request in a way that they can’t refuse.”

The young Arryn sighed and nodded gently with a smile, daring to give the princess’s hair a soft stroke, earning a bright smile in return.

“Rest assured, I’ll support you in whatever you need.”

“Perhaps you’ll need to chop off Ser Criston’s head,” she joked, wrinkling her nose.

“Nothing would make me happier,” the slight tension in the room dissipated with the joke. “Is there anything the princess wishes to do today to avoid the fateful destiny of getting involved in the preparations for her engagement celebration?”

“There actually is...” A couple of knocks on the door interrupted her, but instead of bothering her, they made her smile. “Come in.”

“Princess, the ship that will take you to Kingswood is ready.” Decran Stark had entered the room respectfully but relaxed when he saw Harland was there. “Will Lord Arryn be joining us?”

“Of course,” said the silver-haired princess. “When have you ever seen him away from me?”

Harland gave Decran a teasing smile, which the young Stark chose to ignore. During their time at Dragonstone, both young men had developed a closeness with the princess, as one would expect. However, it was clear that there was a noticeable difference in how Jaella treated each of them.

They were frequently seen together in the Conqueror’s Garden or, when the weather was warmer, playing by the sea. They also shared some history lessons and often sat down to read after dinner. It was no secret that the princess enjoyed the company of the two young men more than that of her ladies-in-waiting.

“I suppose he’s never far enough away.”

“I’ll soon be sworn to the princess; it’s what’s expected of me.”

“Well, I could be the one to marry her,” Decran said, smiling smugly at the princess.

Harland let out a chuckle, and Jaella’s cheeks flushed pink. She was accustomed to the meaningless bickering between the two, but she still hadn’t managed to let Decran’s bold remarks affect her. It wasn’t that she was so enamored with him that she considered him a marriage option, but she did like him and was aware that the northern lad had become much more attractive with age.

“If you don’t stop talking about my future marriage, I’ll leave you here, take the boat, and go away for two moons without anyone knowing where I am.”

“Please don’t,” Harland pleaded, visibly distressed. “I like my head where it is.”

“Then let’s go.”

═════𖠁 ═════

The purpose of the trip to Kingswood was to enjoy a day of hunting, but it was well-known that the princess was not very skilled in this discipline, so it meant that she would spend the day playing with Moonfyre while Decran and Harland hunted.

“When do you want to return?” asked Decran, sitting next to her and earning a hiss from the little dragon playing in Jaella’s lap.

The silver-haired princess quickly tried to calm her down.

“Tomorrow. I don’t plan to stay any longer than necessary. I just want to relax before facing the storm,” she replied, shrugging and suddenly turning to confront the northerner. “Do you want to ask me something, Decran?”

“Nothing too serious, princess,” he reassured her with a smile. “My brother, from what I know, is in the capital. I would like to pay him a visit, if it pleases you.”

“I have no objection,” she answered with a reassuring smile. “You’ve already done enough by hunting dinner for us. I’m sure Harland will take good care of me, and there are some guards watching the surroundings. I’ll be fine.”

Decran left the small camp as the sun began to set, and Harland was grateful for it. He really couldn’t tolerate much of the attention the northerner lavished on the princess, finding it desperate, though it was clear that jealousy was fueling his growing disdain for the young man.

It was no secret that the princess favored the young Arryn over the Stark, though many attributed it to the fact that Jaella was closer in age to Harland. The reality was that there was another reason behind the young princess's favoritism.

Since her last visit to King’s Landing, when she had shared the bed with Aegon for four uninterrupted nights, her desire for pleasure had nothing but increased. It had been barely two moons since their return when she found herself fervently needing the prince’s attention again, who was too far away to meet her needs whenever she wished.

Perhaps it was the lack of affection from her uncle that had led her to share the bed with Harland for the first time, but it was not the reason she allowed him to continue visiting her on some nights.

She knew that Aegon was aware of this, but it did not seem to bother the prince that his beloved niece sought to satisfy her desires, even if it was not with him. Aegon appeared to take pleasure in knowing that Jaella was desired by others, that she had the power to attract anyone to her bed. It was as if, in his mind, his sense of possession over her was reinforced by seeing her desired by another, a reminder that, at the end of the day, it was him that Jaella always returned to.

Moreover, over time, Aegon had come to understand the young Arryn, even daring to call him his friend when referring to him. He liked Harland because he did not seek to overshadow him or steal the princess's affections, which were so precious to him. The falcon knew his place and understood that he could never compete with the dragon.

Harland, for his part, knew that his place beside the princess faded with the appearance of the sun in the sky, but this did not trouble him. He loved Jaella and knew that she loved him in her own way, which was enough for him. While he could not have her completely, it was far more than many men could ask for.

“Did you bring the cages?” Jaella asked.

Her face was dimly lit by the torchlight, but Harland could clearly see the smile that spread across her face. The young man nodded and handed over the cages carefully while she tried to catch the small, glowing insects flying around the bushes.

“What do you need these for?” Harland asked, looking at her with curiosity.

“They’re for Princess Helaena,” she replied with a shrug. “The climate on Dragonstone doesn’t support many of these beautiful insects. Jacaerys said that a couple of days ago, two of her fireflies died, so he asked me to bring some.”

Once they had the insects secured, they returned to the makeshift camp they hadn’t strayed far from. They had a bit of bread and warm wine for dinner before going to sleep, making sure to settle Moonfyre in the special cage they had brought for her to sleep in at night.

It wasn’t long before Princess Jaella called Harland urgently. Unable to sleep, the young Arryn assumed she would need his attention, and he wasn’t wrong; the young Velaryon had asked him to kiss her.

The young falcon was quick to obey his princess's wishes and had ended up in her tent that night, ready to do whatever she asked of him.

"No," she had whispered when his hand tried to slip under her dress.

Harland obeyed immediately and a smile took hold of Jaella's lips; in private, the young Arryn was much more submissive than Aegon and although she liked her uncle's possessive attitude, she truly enjoyed the stillness that Harland offered, his willingness to let himself be guided by her desires without insistence or demands.

Jaella was lying on her back between the soft sheets and furs, her legs around the boy's waist and her arms clinging to his neck as he moved on top of her, seeking to relieve the tension in his crotch.

The Velaryon ran one of her hands through Harland's soft brown hair and then caressed his cheek, drawing him towards her to kiss him. A new thrust made her sigh and laugh, taking the opportunity to gently bite the boy's lower lip.

"Calm down" she warned him jokingly "Tell me what you want."

"I need you"he murmured "I want to be inside you"

"You won't" she sentenced, making a pitiful moan leave Harland's lips "But I want to give you pleasure"

Jaella's hand ventured between their bodies, until it reached the brown-haired man's crotch, getting lost under his clothes. Harland trembled pleasantly and the silver-haired girl smiled with satisfaction as she saw the younger man's grimace transform into one of pure pleasure.

The princess gave a light squeeze around his erection, drawing out a small moan that made her own body shudder; her hand began to move up and down his length.

"Princess" he whimpered with his eyes closed.

"That's all you'll get tonight, Harland" she warned him, continuing with the same tortuous rhythm. "Imagine you're inside me if you want it so much."

Harland's hips moved involuntarily, thrusting against Jaella's hand, making the princess's smile widen.

“Again” she said, stopping her movements.

He moved again in an attempt to keep up, his moans becoming more intense as he tried to adjust to the same rhythm as the girl beneath him, his lips parted and she rushed to kiss him almost desperately.

“Keep going” she ordered him mid-kiss, pulling his lip a little harder.

The younger boy's labored breathing prevented him from speaking, but he did his best to make himself understood.

“I can't hold on any longer” he gasped, hiding his face in the curve of the princess's neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses to her lips. “ I need... ”

“ You won't have any more” she reminded him, giving him a light squeeze. “It's not my wish to torture you either, but you won't enter me tonight. ”

His erratic and desperate movements continued for a few more seconds, until Jaella dared to pull his hair with a little more force than necessary, then she approached his ear and shamelessly began to moan, causing him to resume his movements in an attempt to coordinate them with the sweet sounds the princess was uttering.

“I want you to fill me with your seed” she moaned, leaving a languid kiss on his cheek. “Don't you want that?”

“Y-yes” his movements became faster and his brow furrowed for a moment.

Harland's lips parted and formed a perfect circle, a broken moan escaped from his mouth and Jaella felt his warmth empty into her hand. She smiled satisfied and he let his head fall on the princess's chest, with her free hand, she caressed his hair slowly while leaving languid kisses on his temple.

It was rare the time that the princess allowed him to take her; that did not matter to Harland, what he truly treasured were those moments when he could rest at her side while she caressed and kissed him.

“The prince will be upset. So close to King’s Landing... you could have called for him,” he murmured against the skin of her neck, adjusting himself more comfortably with her.

“The prince is already a bit upset,” she said simply. “He’s not too happy about the idea of the event to find me a husband. If I called for him now, he might want to take me away, you know how he is.”

“Impulsive,” Harland muttered. “But I don’t blame him; I’d be the same if I knew they were trying to betroth you to someone else. He’s the most viable option. Doesn’t Viserys see that?”

“The king knows, my mother knows... But I haven’t been able to understand what scares them so much,” she said, gently withdrawing her hand from Harland’s virility.

The brown-haired man hurried to fetch a cotton cloth, then dampened it in the water container within the tent and began to clean the princess's hand with utmost delicacy while she watched him.

“When your mother ascends to the throne, what will happen to her brothers? Don’t you think the queen fears that your mother might remove any obstacle to her claim? She already has Helaena secured; Alicent won't risk losing her eldest son,” Harland said.

“When my mother has a crown, Aegon will have one too,” she replied, looking at him seriously. “I know, I’ve seen it. My mother won’t do anything that could harm her own blood. Helaena is married to my brother and will soon bear him heirs. Aegon…”

“Aegon will fight for you, married or not,” Harland interrupted, finishing the cleaning. “Even a blind person could see that.”

Jaella looked at him. She wished she could be as sure of that, but she knew well the strength of the Hightower poison; she was aware of Otto’s tricks and the queen’s manipulations. She didn’t know how far Aegon had been corrupted by his mother and grandfather.

“And the other two?” Harland questioned, making Jaella look at him with curiosity. “Aemond is very close to his mother, and Daeron… we know nothing about him.”

“There shouldn’t be any problem. They know that my mother is the heir to the Iron Throne. She will have the crown, and no blood will need to be shed for it.”

“If you’ve seen it, then I believe you,” Harland reassured her, brushing his hand through her silver strands of hair. She was about to say more, but he interrupted her. “And we’ll do everything we can to ensure that your marriage proposal to Aegon is finally considered.”

The young princess smiled, satisfied. She liked having someone on her side.

═════𖠁 ═════

The hot water relaxed her aching body. That morning, she had decided to train as well and had pushed herself harder than usual. Her effort paid off, as she managed to defeat Jacaerys in two of their many sparring matches, a feat that Sir Erryk praised enthusiastically. She still hadn’t managed to beat Harland, but she knew it would take many more moons of extensive training.

She could feel the stiffness in her joints and saw some purplish and greenish bruises along her arms as the maidservants scrubbed her body. She grimaced in displeasure, knowing she wouldn't be able to wear the sleeveless dresses that Aegon liked.

“Princess, you need to come out now. The guests will start arriving soon, and your mother expects you to be ready to receive them.”

She really didn’t want to go. The only thing motivating her was the chance that Aegon would be there, and this time she wouldn’t accept a refusal. It was probably her last chance to make a move, so she had to seize it.

“Prince Daemon said that if you didn’t come down soon, he’d come get you himself.”

Jaella rolled her eyes in amusement and nodded slowly, submerging herself in the water one last time before abandoning it for the rest of the day and facing her duties.

“Prince Daemon is aware that bursting into the chambers of an improperly dressed princess could cost him his head. He wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“Don’t test me,” she heard the mocking voice of her stepfather from the other side of the door.

“Get out of here!” she exclaimed.

She heard him laugh, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps. With a heavy sigh, she shook her head and had no choice but to get out of the water. The maidservants dried her off and applied ointments to the areas most affected by bruises, grateful that the prince’s brother always avoided hitting her face. They then scented her with aromatic oils from Lys, a gift from Daemon on her name day.

That day, Jaella had chosen a beautiful blue dress with white sleeves adorned with small pearls at the cuffs. A lovely golden embroidery extended from the bust to the waist, interspersed with pearls of various sizes.

Her hair was half-up in intricate braids decorating the back of her head, while the rest fell freely down her back, almost touching her waist.

She looked beautiful. More beautiful than on any other day, and she knew exactly why, but decided not to dwell on it and instead focus on her plan.

When she was fully ready, she finally left her room and found Harland waiting for her right outside the door. The young Arryn gave a small bow of his head as a greeting, and she flashed him a brief smile, nervously playing with her fingers.

“You look especially radiant today, Princess.”

“Thank you,” she smiled again, this time with a broader and more lasting grin. “Your mother asked me to escort you to the hall. She threatened to cut off my finger if you tried to sneak away, so please, behave.”

“Don’t worry, your fingers will be safe. I’m not planning to run today,” she said with a tone of boredom, prompting Harland to roll his eyes. “The sooner we start this, the sooner we’ll be done.”

And although Jaella wanted to believe that would be the case, the reality was that it took her over half a day to attend to the suitors who had arrived that morning, and none of them had met with her approval, let alone her mother’s. Not to mention Daemon, who had laughed in the faces of two or three elderly men who had dared to ask for Jaella’s hand.

“Can we leave? I’m hungry,” Jaella complained, glancing at her mother. Before the princess could respond, the doors of the hall opened once more, causing Jaella to roll her eyes in exhaustion.

“Princes Aegon and Aemond Targaryen,” was announced, and the mere mention of their names made Jaella’s face light up. “And Their Majesties, King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower.”

The deterioration in her grandfather’s health was evident. The man could barely walk on his own, his skin looked even more pallid than the last time she had seen him, his hair had become much thinner, and the skin on his face appeared quite damaged. However, Viserys wore a radiant smile that only grew wider when his eyes landed on his eldest daughter.

Jaella felt a lump in her throat. Seeing her grandfather in such a state reminded her of how fragile time was, and instead of diminishing her desire to make a proposal, it only fueled her determination. She knew that if she married Aegon before her grandfather passed away, her mother would have a better chance of ascending the throne without any objections from the queen.

Rhaenyra almost ran to her father with a beaming smile, like a child returning home after a long time. Daemon followed closely and also greeted his brother warmly.

Aemond approached Jaella first, giving her a smile before taking her hand and kissing it as a greeting.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Uncle,” she said with a broad smile.

“Likewise,” he replied.

Aegon skipped the formalities as usual and leaned forward to plant a kiss on Jaella’s cheek, gently holding her face with one of his hands and also caressing the opposite cheek. Alicent made a face of disapproval but remained silent, as usual, seeming to be the only one displeased with the situation.

“I didn’t expect Your Majesties to accept the invitation to my daughter’s suitor search,” Rhaenyra said, drawing attention to herself.

“We didn’t come to present a proposal, Princess,” Alicent immediately replied, and Jaella had to restrain herself from lashing out. “But your father was very insistent on meeting the candidates.”

“The candidates who presented themselves today were not what we had hoped for,” Rhaenyra said, not looking at Alicent but directing her words to her father. “But I am confident that Princess Jaella will find a suitor to her liking.”

“It is an important event, without a doubt,” Viserys commented finally, his voice faltering. “Princess Jaella has much ahead of her. I’m sure she will find… what she is looking for.”

"And we’re here now," Aegon interrupted, earning a disapproving look from his mother. "Who better than the king to oversee my dear niece’s betrothal, wouldn’t you agree?"

Daemon let out a laugh that only further irritated the queen. Rhaenyra shot him a warning glance, while Viserys smiled and nodded towards his son, approving of his words.

"We were about to serve the meal; the journey must have been tiring," Rhaenyra said, trying to ease the tension while signaling the servants to prepare.

Alicent, still frowning, adjusted the folds of her dress, clearly uncomfortable with the atmosphere Aegon had created. "We appreciate your hospitality, Princess," she replied formally, her tone distant.

As everyone headed towards the dining hall, Aegon and Jaella lagged a few steps behind. The prince clasped his hands behind his back and walked alongside his niece with a smile.

"I didn’t think you would come," Jaella said.

"We weren’t going to," Aegon replied. "Aemond and I had to work on Dad’s head to get him to take action and let us come."

The princess let out a giggle and shook her head. "How charming," she said, still laughing.

"Well, I had to prevent you from being married off to the first lord who walked through the doors," he shrugged.

"I avoided being married off to the first lord who crossed the threshold," she grimaced. "It was dreadful, to say the least."

Aegon focused ahead and, seeing his family disappear down the hallway leading to the dining room, he stopped. He wrapped his arm around Jaella’s and pulled her close until she bumped into his chest. His hold softened once he had her in his arms; one hand rested on her waist while the other cradled her face, bringing it closer to his for a quick kiss on her cheek.

"I’m not going to let you marry anyone else, alright?" he whispered near her lips. "I’m going to—"

"I’ll make a marriage proposal to the king," she interrupted. He looked at her, confused.

"Your mother won’t let you," she continued. "She won’t, and for some reason, neither has my grandfather. So, I’ll ask him myself."

The prince smiled and nodded softly, still caressing the younger woman’s face.

"You have to be my wife, Jaella," he said seriously, looking into her eyes. "We can't delay it any longer; I've rejected every woman my mother has brought to the Red Keep."

"She must be very upset."

"She and a few families," he said dismissively. Jaella looked at him, surprised, and though she was curious, she didn’t dare ask about the terrible fates some of those women might have suffered. "It's nothing you need to worry about."

She nodded, trusting him as she always did.

"I'll talk to my grandfather tonight... You should talk to him too."

"Yes, I'm sure the plea of two spoiled children will make him see reason," he joked, drawing a laugh from her. Aegon's expression turned serious. "I’ll talk to him, I promise."

"Now let's go to the dining room or your mother will go crazy," Jaella said, trying to pull away.

Aegon held her in place, and Jaella frowned, but her expression softened when she noticed the way he was looking at her.

"It’s been over a year; my bed has been lonely," he murmured, brushing his thumb over Jaella’s lips. "Aren’t you going to grant your future husband a kiss?"

Jaella smiled and felt her heart race as he leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that, though brief, was charged with the desire they had both kept at bay all this time.

"It’s impossible for me to believe you’ve been alone all this time," she said when they parted.

"My bed has been lonely," he corrected her, making her roll her eyes. "I didn’t think it was right for another woman to be there after you," he whispered, still caressing her face.

"Keep it that way," she said as a threat, but Aegon just smiled and placed a fleeting kiss on her lips.

"As the princess commands."

═════𖠁 ═════

Helaena was undoubtedly an enigmatic person. Even during the years she had spent in King’s Landing, her own mother had never fully understood her, which made her feel isolated even when surrounded by attention. However, things were different in Dragonstone. Although not many understood her riddles and the visions that appeared in her dreams, she received much more patience and understanding from her husband and her half-sister than from the family she had left behind in the Red Keep. Jaella and Rhaena were also good company for her, and she enjoyed spending afternoons playing with the little ones, especially Joffrey, who loved listening to her talk about insects for long periods.

She felt at peace, but now that her mother had arrived, she couldn’t help but feel a certain anxiety. Alicent had once told her that one day she would come to retrieve her, and she feared that this might be the case. The queen constantly spoke of how Rhaenyra would put their heads on spikes to claim the throne. As a child, Helaena had been terrified. When she was betrothed to Jacaerys, she thought it wasn’t so bad because she adored the young prince, but her mother never ceased to instill fear in her, saying that bastards were inherently bad and that marrying Jacaerys would bring her suffering day and night.

Later, Harland Arryn had secretly delivered the first letter Jacaerys had written to her. In it, the prince expressed interest in getting to know her and allowing her to know him as well, showing her a side of himself that starkly contrasted with her mother’s gossip. When they married, it became abundantly clear to Helaena that everything her mother had said was vile lies—not just about Jacaerys but about Rhaenyra. Especially about Rhaenyra.

Her half-sister had done nothing but protect and care for her, just as she did with Jaella. It was clear that Rhaenyra was made to be a mother of sons, but she had a special affection for the young women in her family. The princess was extremely loving toward her, Jaella, and Rhaena.

Helaena didn’t want to leave Dragonstone, didn’t want to return to King’s Landing, and certainly didn’t want to go back to her mother.

It was Helaena’s custom to take a bath before bed; it helped her relax. And it was Jacaerys’ custom to brush his wife’s hair before they slept, as not even the maids were allowed to touch her hair, so they had had to teach the prince how to manage the task of styling the young princess’s hair.

“Is everything alright?” Jacaerys asked, watching her through the mirror. “Did something happen with your beetles this morning? I saw you looking at them the longest”

Helaena shook her head without looking up at him. She seemed nervous, evident in the way she was torturing her own fingers, peeling the skin at the edges. Jacaerys frowned; she only did that when she was worried, something that hadn’t been common since they had been at Dragonstone.

“I don’t want to leave,” she whispered, still staring down at her lap.

Jacaerys paused his task, setting the brush aside. Moving slowly so as not to startle his wife, he carefully circled around her and extended his hand, waiting for her to take it. He always waited for her to touch him first.

Helaena hesitated for a few seconds but then placed her hand on the prince's and dared to lift her gaze.

"Where, my wife?" he asked gently. "You don't have to go anywhere if you don't want to. Your place is here with me. Where do you fear going?"

"She will want to take me," Helaena said, clinging to her husband's arm, her eyes filling with tears.

"Alicent?" His frown deepened, and Helaena nodded. "She won't take you. I promise."

Almost as if Jacaerys’ words were being challenged, there was a knock on the door, announcing the late-night visit of Queen Alicent. Helaena’s grip on Velaryon’s hand tightened, and her eyes widened in fear. He gently stroked her hand, trying to reassure her that everything would be fine, knowing well that the queen's demeanor would not be hostile, at least not at that moment.

"Your Grace," the dark-haired prince greeted, offering a slight bow of his head. "To what do we owe your visit at this hour?"

"I wanted to speak with my daughter, as we didn’t have the chance to during dinner."

Jacaerys nodded, his lips forming a thin line meant to resemble a smile. Helaena’s gaze pleaded for him to stay, and he considered it for a moment but ultimately decided that it was best to give them privacy

"Very well," the prince said, more to his wife than as a response to the queen. "I won’t go far; I’ll be right outside if you need me."

Helaena gave a soft nod, and when Jacaerys let go of her hand, she quickly reached out to stop him, making a silent request he immediately understood. He leaned in and kissed her forehead, a gesture that seemed to calm her, as if that simple act had given her the strength she needed at that moment.

"My sweet daughter," Alicent whispered as she approached, wrapping her in an embrace that Helaena reluctantly accepted. She didn’t enjoy her mother’s effusive hugs. "How have you been? You've replied to so few of my letters, I feared it was the bastard hiding them from you."

The princess grimaced in displeasure.

"Don’t call him that," she whispered. "We don’t use that word here."

Alicent looked at her as if hurt by her words, but Helaena didn’t meet her eyes, so the pained expression on her mother’s face went entirely unnoticed by the young princess.

"I promise you’ll soon be home again. We’ll crown Aegon, and you won’t have to stay here any longer. He’ll annul the marriage, and you’ll be able to—"

"I am at peace here," she finally said, mustering the courage to look at her mother.

She wished she hadn’t. She regretted it immediately upon seeing how Alicent’s face twisted into one of displeasure. It was the same look she gave all her children, especially Aegon. Helaena didn’t like it.

"Peace... among traitors," Alicent said in a low voice, shaking her head in disbelief. "You cannot trust them, Helaena. They have filled your head with lies. Rhaenyra will..."

"I have seen the dragons dance in the dark if they are not allowed to intertwine their wings," Helaena spat the words with bitterness. "You will make the dragons dance."

The queen swallowed hard, unable to hide the fear that always gripped her when her daughter spoke this way. She did not understand her and did not want to, but Helaena’s words always lingered, haunting her mind.

"My love, I..."

Alicent reached out, trying to grasp her daughter’s arm once more, but Helaena pulled away again.

"You do not hear them, but I do," Helaena murmured, her voice a mere whisper. "The dragons are restless..."

"Helaena," Alicent tried again, her tone firmer, "this is for your own good. Everything I do is to protect you."

But the princess did not respond. She simply turned her face toward the window, gazing at the horizon beyond Dragonstone, as if there, in the distance, lay the future she so feared.

#fanfic #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii targaryen #hotd #fanfiction #hotd aegon #hotd fanfic #oc #hotd fandom #ao3 fanfic

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the-chosen-fanfiction · 4 months ago

Text

Philip | Now And Then | Romantic

Requested by: Marie

You are certain you’ll never be deserving of a Godly man like Philip owing to your little brother’s past, but he assures you that he sees in Matthew the same thing you have always seen.

You’re not ashamed of him. Just of his poor decisions. It doesn’t make you love him any less. You’re watching Matthew across the campfire as he etches away at his wax tablet, carving perfect little letters into the material, attempting to ignore Simon’s glares. You wish you knew what it said, but alas, reading was a skill you never learnt to master despite your parents’ efforts.

It’s not like you’re immune to Simon Peter’s intense, judgemental stares, either. Whereas it makes Matthew uncomfortable, he somehow manages to shake it off and manages to concentrate on his writing in spite of it. You’re having more trouble with it, though.

Matthew is more than his decisions. More than his past, just as everyone else around this camp. Simon, however, gladly forgets about his own history of poor choices in favour of calling attention to those of your younger brother. Despite his time with Jesus, Simon has yet to learn a lot about forgiveness and, as it appears, common human decency.

“Tax-sister.” The hairs of your neck stand on end at the word.

“I don’t answer to that name.”

Simon snickers. “Apparently you do.”

You grind your teeth together and push your tongue against the inside of your cheek.

“What do you want?”

He plants his hands on his hips and gives you a long, thoughtful look.

“Nothing just… Wondering how you still justify your brother’s deeds.”

This conversation isn’t new, quite the contrary. So, you roll your eyes and turn back to the chore that you had forsaken about fifteen some minutes ago; the stitching task in your lap. A few of the Disciples had torn holes into their tunics one way or the other, and you were able enough to fix them.

“Aren’t you going to answer my question?” Simon pressures when you don’t reply. You aren’t planning on giving him the satisfaction. The former fisherman lets out a long sigh and steps away towards your younger brother, who looks up from his tablet slightly disturbed.

“Don’t start with me, Simon.” Matthew’s voice wavers.

Simon chuckles. “Start what?”

Matthew attempts to look away, but his eyes flutter, his hand shakes as he tries to write on. When Simon leans closer to repeat himself, his breath hitches.

“Start what, tax-man?”

“Stop.”

“I haven’t started anything just yet.”

You sharply inhale. “Simon, leave us alone! You clearly haven’t learnt anything from Jesus yet, have you?”

Simon lets out a noise. “You’d like us to just forgive and forget, huh? Wouldn’t that be oh-so convenient for you two? That you wouldn’t have to account for your sins against our people? The easy way out.”

“You think this is easy for us?” you counter sharply, “That we are proud of what happened in the past?!”

Pointing an accusing finger between you and Matthew, Simon Peter clenches his jaw. “Don’t forget that this isn’t something that just happened to you, (Y/n), this was a conscious choice of your precious little brother that he made, fully aware of–-”

“–-Five times, Simon!” Another voice cuts off Simon’s. One that is welcome, warm, and makes your heart skip a beat.

Philip steps in between Simon and Matthew. “They have asked you to stop five times now.” The usually kind man now has a firm expression in his eyes. “Can’t you read the room? Realise that your behaviour is completely inappropriate, especially since we are here now, with the Messiah leading us, personally?”

Simon Peter huffs. “Stay out of it.”

“I won’t stand by and watch you keep chewing out my friends for something in the past. It is not like you have always made such good decisions within your morals and marriage.”

“Keep Eden out of this.” Simon hisses.

Philip shows his hands in defence. “Hey, you’re the one mentioning her by name, now. Think you’ve always been fair towards her? And does she continuously hold you accountable for things you’ve already apologised for?”

“She doesn’t mention it, because I know she has forgiven me for my wrongdoings,” Simon snaps, “These two?” He gestures towards Matthew and you, “I haven’t forgiven them. What happens between Eden and I has to do with us as individuals. What the tax-man did has to do with our entire people.”

A long sigh leaves Philip’s lips. “In that case, I implore you to listen to Jesus’ words a little closer. He has forgiven you your past, too. Something about logs and splinters, hm?”

Simon narrows his eyes at Philip. You cannot help but smile at the man who had come to your rescue. He momentarily meets your gaze and smiles back.

“Give it some thought, Simon.” he mutters, friendly yet serious. The former fisherman falls silent as Philip walks off. Your gaze lingers on the man departing, your heart pleasantly beating inside your chest as butterflies flutter through your system. There is no denying that you’re definitely sweet on him, especially due to his peaceful character and staunch pursuit of Jesus Christ.

“You know you don’t deserve him, right?” Simon’s voice cuts through the air and stabs through you like a hot iron. He must have caught you staring with a dreamy smile on your face. It is wiped off right away.

Slowly, you turn to him at the unprompted, harsh words. “Excuse me?”

Simon places his hands on his hips, pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he nods towards Philip. “Him. Don’t think I haven’t seen you look at him, tax-sister.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“He would be better off with a woman of more honourable stature. After all, you’ve got a certain family name clinging to you.” Simon looks at you with such disdain that you wonder if he ever thinks you were completely behind Matthew’s decision to become a publicanus.

“That’s uncalled for.”

“So is your presence.”

“Jesus called me, too.”

Simon’s eyes flash in realisation. “That’s… Yeah, okay. But still. We don’t like traitors around here. Philip might say he doesn’t hold you two accountable for your past, but don’t think he’d see you as a marriage candidate.”

“I’m not a traitor and neither is Matthew.”

“It’s good to remain cautious.”

You give him a look. “Caution and being straight up nasty are two very different things.”

Simon’s knuckles whiten as he balls his hands into fists, frustration on his features, until he sighs, letting out a sign of which the meaning you cannot quite determine, before he finally, at last, stomps off.

Matthew exhales shakily, his shoulders relaxing just slightly, and you give your younger sibling an apologetic look. “Are you okay?”

He nods. “I am.”

“Don’t mind him.”

“Neither should you.” Matthew muses. A rare smile graces his face. “Also regarding Philip.”

Your face flushes pink. “Hm?”

“I think I would like him as my brother-in-law quite a bit.”

You are almost inclined to hurl the tunic in your lap at your brother out of sheer embarrassment of him bringing such a thing up, and his eyes glitter almost playfully at your blushing face. It’s an uncommon occurrence that he teases you, so you decide to keep your stitching work right where it is.

“Maybe Simon is right.” you sigh.

Matthew’s gaze slightly goes to the side, and he stands, wax tablet in hand.

“But most likely not.”

You frown as Matthew smiles a bit.

“What do you mean?”

His gaze flickers towards something towards you before turning away.

“I said what I said.”

Before you can inquire any further, a familiar voice behind you causes your voice to become stuck in your throat.

“Shalom, (Y/n).”

You dare to look over your shoulder and give a shiver of a smile. “Oh, hi, Philip.”

He counters the expression albeit more genuine in nature, with no hidden shame behind it.

“Mind if I sit with you?”

“Not at all.” You don’t put away your stitching work, deciding to use it as a distraction from your raging mind. After all, you don’t think you are brave enough to directly look at Philip right now.

“What are you working on?” he asks as he takes a seat.

Holding it in his direction, you show him the tunic.

“Just patching up a few garments. Nothing much, really.” you mutter with a shrug. A thick silence follows as Philip hums in acknowledgement, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. You can almost hear your own heartbeat rush inside your ears, and you wonder if your cheeks are pink.

“Are you alright? Simon was quite mean back there.”

You nod slightly. “I’m fine. We’re used to it, anyways. Uh… Thank you for standing up for us. You didn’t need to do that and yet you did it anyway. That was very kind of you.”

Your eyes flicker up for a second to meet his. The silence that follows is pregnant with tension.

“Are we…” Philip opens his mouth to speak, thinking for a long moment, “Are we ever going to discuss this unspoken thing between us?” You are happy to have already pulled the needle through the fabric in your next stitch as he says this, for you’re certain you’d have poked yourself with it otherwise.

“What unspoken thing?” Although you try to feign ignorance, the tone in your voice is enough to reveal that you know exactly what he is talking about.

Philip leans closer. “I just realised… Well, there is this sort of… Mutual attraction that we sense whenever we look at one another. I know I’m feeling it, and that you’re feeling it, too. Your face says as much.” You instinctively put a hand on your cheek to feel it warm to the touch. Realising you must be flushed, you let out a sigh and put away the tunic.

“Seeing that you’re still looking for a husband, and I’m an eligible bachelor, I’d suggest I could seek out your parents to-–”

“–-Don’t bother.” you cut him off, harsher than intended. The moment you see his eyes fill with defeat, you sigh and shake your head. “Sorry, Philip, it’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just…”

His brow furrows. “Yes, (Y/n)?” You swallow hard as you look at him. Suddenly, your eyes feel hot and embarrassment colours around your throat.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You have seen Philip in many situations - surprised, dejected, overjoyed - but none compares to the expression he is looking at you with right now. It seems like he is utterly dumbfounded in a whole other way than when Jesus performs a miracle, with his lips slightly askew and his brow furrowed together in confusion. “What?” he breathes, as if you have said the most ridiculous words ever known to man.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to speak your mind. “You deserve a wife with an honourable past. Someone who can make your family name proud. A woman without any… Well, without… Certain family ties.”

Philip’s eyes widen. “You mean Matthew?”

“Of course I mean Matthew.”

When another silence falls, you look up at Philip with watering eyes.

“Listen, Philip. I think you’re wonderful. You’re a Godly man. And I owe you so much for being so kind to my little brother. But that’s exactly why I don’t deserve you. Even though Matthew has made those past decisions by himself, it made me an outcast, too. He is still my brother, no matter what happens. I-I don’t want you to have to deal with the shame and guilt and–”

“–You know it doesn’t matter who you were, right? It doesn’t matter to Jesus. It would be selfish and I daresay ignorant to say it would matter to me.”

You sniffle, wiping a stray tear away from your cheek. “I just don’t deserve you.”

“Says who?”

“Says–-” You gulp and look over to camp, where a few of the Apostles are arguing about supper. “Simon.”

Philip clicks his tongue. “Simon says things all the time. Doesn’t make them true.”

“Perhaps he’s right about this one–”

“(Y/n).” Philip mutters. “Simon doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You know how he can dwell on the past. He still has a lot to learn.”

Letting out a shivering exhale, you wipe dry your cheeks. When a sudden warm hand swipes a tear off your cheek, your breath hitches. Philip kindly smiles as he touches your face, his dark eyes glittering softly.

“You know I’ve been sweet on you for a while now. I think we shouldn’t let Simon decide what we do with our lives, hm? If… If you’d have me, I’d love to stop by your parents’ place next time we’re in Capernaum… And see if we can arrange things. Only if you want to, of course.”

Barely able to believe your own ears, you feel a wide smile spread over your face. “Oh… There’s no one I’d rather have. I know you’re a Godly man. You have always seen in my brother what I have seen in him. That speaks volumes of who you really are. What you are like. That you understand and carry out what Jesus has been preaching on forgiveness. It… It would be an honour to be your wife.”

Philip grins, gratitude sparkling behind his eyes.

“Then it’s settled… Almost.” he corrects himself, barely able to contain his excitement. “I see those Godly qualities in you as well, (Y/n). Your patience. Your gracefulness. Your forgiveness and tenderness towards others, even when they give you the cold shoulder. No, (Y/n)... The honour would be all mine to call you my wife.”

Your heart leaps inside your chest at the words and your face hurts from how broadly you are smiling.

“I’m sorry I cannot bring you glory.”

“And I require that as much as Jesus does.” he whispers, “I’m just as holy as you are.”

Biting your bottom lip, you hum. “Then I suppose we’ll be alright.”

He reassures you with a gentle look.

“No matter what happens, we will always be.”

You don’t doubt it for one second.

#the chosen tv #the chosen #reader insert #the chosen x reader #chosen x reader #philip x reader #philip x you

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swallowedbyfandom · 7 months ago

Text

Dearest Lady Bridgerton,

In another life I would have married your son, carried your grandchildren, and called you mama. This is no longer a possibility. You have always been so kind to me that it hurts me to tell you this, but loving your son has been killing my spirit slowly.

In the eight years since Colin accepted our bond than changed his mind, I have spent four years watching him flirt and charm other ladies. I have had to content myself with scraps of his attentions to satisfy our bond but deal with his denial over the advancement of our bond. I am tired of having him confuse me constantly by looking at me with love struck eyes then pulling away with polite civility. I am tired of him keeping me as his shameful secret.

I have cried over the heartbreak of having my soulmate court and propose to my cousin. I was forced to chaperone them, Violet. I betrayed my family to give Colin the truth of Marina and he did not even let me speak. He dismissed me and my words as if I was not the bearer of his soul. You will not want to hear this but I have prayed since that night to be freed from our bond.

I encouraged his travels in the hope that his distance would lessen the pull of the bond so I could move on. It may have worked if he did not keep correspondence with me. His letters filled me with the hope that once he returned he would be ready to stop running. He returned and nothing changed, I had to nurse his broken heart over another woman. I prayed once more to be freed from our bond, to wake up one morning unmarked.

This final betrayal, his renouncement of me as a potential wife and his rejection of our soul bond hurt but it also filled me with relief. Our bond is gone and fate has finally answered my prayers. I have been given a new soulmate and I choose to embrace that wholeheartedly.

I deserve a soulmate who is proud to be mine. A man who will find me beautiful and court me properly. I want true love, marriage, and babies. I will not settle for less than that. I will not settle for Colin Bridgerton.

I know you want all your children to find their soulmates and to live a grand love story, Colin can still have part of that just not with me. Please do not try to fix us, there is nothing left to repair. Colin repeatedly made his choice and now he has to live with it. We all do.

Thank you for all the support and kindness you have shown me throughout the years. I wish you and your family well. This is farewell, if I am to heal I cannot do so by living in the past. I cannot move on if there are still Bridgertons in my life. I shall always miss you.

Your once fated daughter,

Penelope Anne Featherington

To Lord Antony Bridgerton,

I want to be clear that with the harsh end of the soul bond between your brother and I, I also consider the former relationships I held with everyone in your family to be concluded. I am no longer fated to a member of your family. I release you from any obligation you may feel to look after my future.

Mr. Colin Bridgerton has spent the last eight years we have been bonded doing the bare minimum as a mate, it should not require much adjustment to do nothing at all. I am an of age lady out in society so I must insist that you stop your brother's over familiarity with me, without the bond it is wildly inappropriate. I have wasted in love with your brother for eight years, I will not waste another second on him.

I ask that you respect me and my boundaries by keeping your family from imposing on my life. Please make note that Mr. Bridgerton is no longer welcome at Featherington house. I have been given a new soul match and I will not disrespect him by maintaining relationships that can lead to speculation.

Regards,

Penelope Anne Featherington

#penelope featherington #bridgerton #violet bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #No HEA

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everlastingdreams · 2 years ago

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Weeping Monk x Reader : The Patience Of A Heart Chapter 10

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Story Summary: After fire claimed the lives of your family, the monastery of your Uncle Carden becomes your new home. As the niece of a priest you are expected to behave prim and proper, but not even the watchful eyes of the Weeping Monk can see all. An ancient magic returns to life when love and duty begin to blur.

Chapter Title: Deceptive Appearances

Notes: Just letting it be known that some chapters are short, some are long o.o

Warnings: There’s a list of warnings for this story: Murder. Violence. Death. Angst. Sexism. Strong Language. Trauma. Childhood trauma. Survivor’s guilt. Mentions of child maltreatment. Threat of Sexual assault. PTSD. Misogyny, Self-flagellation. Gore.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Pining. Smut. Spicy content. Little Slow-burn.

Word count of this fic: +110K

Chapter: 10 / lol Gonna keep the chapter count a secret until the end.

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By the next evening, you had made your plan.

Letting some time pass where you remained quiet and docile in the room was of importance.

That evening you had requested to see your uncle, a request that was granted.

Upon entering the room he was in, you saw that he was planning the mission and that others were present, including Lancelot.

It was quite obvious now that your uncle expected Lancelot to stay away from you by how far he was standing behind the priest.

Those weeping eyes did not lift their gaze from the ground.

Politely, you addressed him “Dear uncle, after my time in solitude, I have come to a decision.”

He sounded suspicious “What sort of decision?”

It was lying through your teeth “I believe it would be better if I went to the abbey, serving God is the least I could do after my appalling behavior.”

Uncle seemed a little nervous “Come, come, let’s not be too hasty. There is someone here to see you.”

The frown you had must have been strong, right away your uncle turned to his paladins.

He gave the command “Let his lordship in.”

The paladins hurried to open the door for a familiar face.

Isaiah walked inside, dressed far better than he had been the entire time you had known him.

Where once you had looked at that man with love, now you looked repulsed by his mere presence in the same room as you.

To have your plan work, you could not lose your patience now “Uncle. What is the meaning of this?”

His attention lifted from the ground when Father could not see, just long enough to see Isaiah stop in the middle of the room and to see your response to it.

If looks could kill…

The priest was enthusiastic with his presence “Lord Isaiah has come to us with joyous news. I was unaware that the man you had spend time with was one of such good birth.”

You couldn’t care less “Good birth?”

Isaiah took a step in your direction, then back again upon seeing the glare “Father Carden is correct, Lady y/n. My father owns much land and he is sixth in line of the throne to be king. If good fortune is upon us, I could be king one day.”

That arrogant…

It slipped out of your mouth “Are you wishing death upon the king? I would not speak of such things so openly, people have been executed for less.”

There were a couple of throat clearing noises from those around, speaking ill of a king was never safe or wise.

Uncle Carden cut in “Of course not. He is merely stating what his position in court is. And how this could benefit all by a union between you.”

The news had come at noon of this treacherous Lord seeking your hand in marriage.

Father had seen an opportunity.

But he had seen the coming storm it would cause…

Your sight fixed on Isaiah, ignoring all others when giving your opinion on the matter “You wretched, rotten, filth of a man! Did you truly think I would ever wed anyone who betrayed me as you have?!”

Father Carden tried to interfere, but the storm had yet to pass.

You spoke over your uncle’s protests “I will never marry him! The last time I saw him, he was with another woman!”

This had not been told to Father…

The priest began to understand the situation, having his niece marry a man prone to adultery would cause dishonor “Is this true?”

Isaiah did not look so certain of his cause anymore “I-… It did not mean anything.”

Your tone was cold as the sea in winter “As I meant nothing to you either. I hope you told that other girl what you have just claimed. But I doubt it, you are not the sort of person that is brave enough to admit to their mistakes.”

The backstabbing lord tried to persuade you by dropping to his knees at your feet “Dear, y/n. Our days together-”

You stepped back, snarling “Are over.” then you turned to your uncle “Is this what you want, uncle? For your niece to marry a man who has not a sincere or trustworthy bone in his body?”

The priest considered it, but even he feared that this union would only bring trouble if that lord was not to be trusted “Well then, I believe this union will not happen.”

“Good.” You spoke firm and proceeded to walk out of the room, slamming the door shut so hard that some flames of the burning candles around the room went out, two paladins rushed after you to escort you back to the room.

Isaiah rose to his feet, protesting “Father Carden-”

Father Carden waved the beginning protests away “You may take your leave.”

But the young lord did not take the second rejection well “Father Carden, you should be grateful that someone still wants your niece with how promiscuous she is!”

The Monk curled his hand around the heft of his sword, already expecting the order to come.

Father hated being talked down upon, hated to be treated with any form of disrespect, and Isaiah was aiming at his pride.

The priest looked at his Weeping Monk “Send him away.”

It was a task he was glad to receive “Yes, Father.”

With his hand still on the sword, he approached and stopped in front of this insolent lord.

The Monk tilted his head, a warning to make Isaiah obey the request to leave.

The young lord had not spoken kindly of the Monk in his letter to you, he had seen his interference that night as ‘unnecessary’, because he did not like to see how normal it seemed to be when the Monk had held you back.

For a monk to just hold a woman and for a monk to look at a woman like that…

No, Isaiah was not blind.

Before taking his leave, the dented ego of Isaiah gave the final insult “Good luck then. Soon you’ll be glad if you can still marry her off to one of your paladins.”

Father Carden had not missed the look the insolent lord shared with his Weeping Monk.

Then, the childish idiot spat at the floor before the Monk’s feet.

Only after that display of arrogance did Isaiah leave, slamming the door on his way out as well.

This had gone as he had expected.

At least your shoes had stayed on this time.

It took some willpower to let the sword at his side stay sheathed.

Perhaps this was the push Father needed to follow through with the abbey idea.

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Seeing Isaiah again and for that reason, had left you fuming.

That dimwit had some nerve to show his face again. What did he expect? That you would fall at his feet and have him as your husband?

Fool.

Bastard.

He had your uncle wrapped around his finger by mentioning he just happened to be lord of something.

Thankfully, your uncle was a distrusting person.

And so you were left to wait on news in the room again.

At least they had let you take the yarn and knitting needles you had, to keep yourself busy.

You sat facing the window, watching how the sun went down again.

The knocking came before the announcement of the paladin “I have brought supper, Lady y/n.”

You sighed and called out “You may enter.”

The door was unlocked and opened, the paladin had set one foot inside with the plate before he was stopped by the Monk “Brother Albert. I will take it from here.”

Hearing his voice made you turn to look.

The paladin was apprehensive “But, Brother… Father forbade you from-”

Luckily the Monk knew what sort of person Brother Albert was, he was perhaps the only one in the monastery who knew when to keep a secret “Brother, ignore my presence here and in return I shall not burden you with tiring tasks when we leave for the mission again.”

The paladin was quick to take that offer, he had a strong disdain for the tiring tasks that were always being handed out, he left the Monk with a warning “Do not be seen, Brother. I shall knock on the door to warn of any trouble.”

The Monk was surprised with this voluntary offer of help “Thank you.”

He walked past the paladin, plate in hand, into the room.

Brother Albert shut the door behind him but left it unlocked.

The risks he was taking left you speechless “You must be bloody mad to come here like this, if my uncle found out…”

He placed the plate on the bed “I did not wish for you to leave without having had the chance to say farewell. "

You watched how he took a seat beside you on the bed “What do you mean?”

His hands rubbed together “You have received permission to go to the abbey.”

Your little act had worked “When am I expected to leave?”

He failed to hide the sorrow at the news “Tomorrow. Father will come to collect you, a carriage will await you for the journey.”

Well, you hadn’t expected to be send away so fast “That is quick…”

You took one of his restless hands in yours, fingers lacing through his.

Lancelot clasped his other over them, shielding them from the world “I will come visit as soon as I can. I cannot say when, but I swear I will.”

All this trouble to face left you greatly saddened “I wish I had never met Isaiah. None of this would have happened.”

He deadpanned “I wish I had never met him either.”

If it was his intention to make you smile, it was successful “At least he didn’t try to marry you.”

A quiet and warm chuckle filled the room and when his fingertips touched your inner wrist you could feel the mark on your arm respond to it. You didn’t have to roll up your sleeve to know that they would be visible to the eye.

It was like he could sense that they were, he delicately slid two fingers under your sleeve further up your lower arm.

He watched you shiver and saw the green pattern begin to grow along his fingers.

It was when your eyes locked that you saw the same struggle in his, both resisting the quiet wish to let your lips meet once again.

It was too dangerous, too much of a risk and too much at stake to do so now.

And Lancelot knew, it was why he stood up, hand still holding on to yours “Try to sleep. Your new life begins tomorrow.”

You scrunched your nose at the prospect “My life as a nun…”

He gave some consolation “It will not be as bad as you believe it to be. I have been a monk all my life.”

It was easy to forget “Sometimes I forget that you are. Goodness, I never thought I would seduce a monk one day…”

The sight of your response to it amused him greatly. Like it was an accident that you had planted that unexpected kiss on him in the stables.

The jest escaped him “Is the cross on my attire not visible enough?”

Your hand was released by him “Forgive me, I was perhaps too fixated on those stunning eyes of yours.”

He lifted a finger to your lips as they curved into a smile, placing it against them to hush you.

It did little to distract you from the slight pink hue on his cheeks.

He tapped against your mouth twice before pulling his hand back “We will meet again, for now I must bid you farewell.”

After rising to your feet, you voiced your concern “I can’t help but fear I might never see you again. Even if our love has no future, I hope our friendship does.”

Lancelot looked over at the door, then back to you.

You stilled completely when he cupped your face and kissed your temple.

It was a whisper into your ear “I will fight for our future”

You took hold of his shoulders “When I am at the abbey, I will work hard to find a way to earn myself a living. And when we meet again, if you choose to stay, I will look after you as you have done for me.”

Even though he was perfectly capable to look after himself, it still warmed his heart to hear that someone was willing to care for him.

His thumb continuously traveled from your cheek to the corner of your mouth, as did that longing gaze that had taken over in his eyes.

He wished he was back in that room with you, wished that he had not asked to stop for only heaven knew how long it would be before there would ever be such a moment again between you…

If there would ever be one again…

It was you reaching out and caressing his jaw that made him lean in and bring you closer.

A knock on the door halted him, both knew what the knock had meant.

You froze “Trouble?”

He hummed to confirm it and gestured to be quiet.

Sadly, he stepped away from you and walked to the door as quick and quiet as he could.

With one last look over his shoulder, he discreetly left the room.

You hoped it would not be like this in the abbey, perhaps it was foolish to think so.

But one could hope.

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When they came to wake you just before dawn, you were not in the best of moods.

Could they not have let you sleep just a little longer?

Your uncle had claimed it was to prepare you for your stay at the abbey, where the nuns often woke before the sun did.

Fantastic.

Your small bag of clothes was placed into the carriage, and after a brief and rather cold farewell with your uncle, so were you.

The carriage began it’s journey and you could feel the hidden marks on your arm ache.

The reason for it’s reaction was not hard to figure out, if you could have left a mark on him it would be aching too.

It ached for him and like him.

One last look at the monastery did not offer a sight of him, but you knew he was watching you leave as the dull feeling increased the further you went.

The welcome at the abbey was not unpleasant, the Abbess did not shake hands and just expected you to begin following her right away as she give a brief tour of the place. It had a garden where those from the abbey grew their own vegetables and fruits.

There were also many flowers that were grown to cut and sell down at the market.

The Abbess introduced you to Sister Anne, a young woman with raven hair who seemed excited to meet a new face, their characters were a difference of night and day.

Soon Sister Anne took over and proceeded to show you around the place.

There was a library, the kitchens where everyone worked together to prepare meals, a room where clothes were washed…

It looked like there was a variety of chores that you would be able to perform, at least you would not be bored.

The final stop was the room you would be sleeping in.

Sister Anne opened the door and let you look inside “I know it’s not much. The Abbess said that it is important for us to remember that there are many people less fortunate and that we should be grateful that we have a home here.”

You understood her “To appreciate the small comforts.”

Her smile beamed “Exactly!” then a question followed “Can I ask… what was your sign?”

You frowned “Sign?”

She quickly explained what she’d meant “Oh, well. Most of the sisters here remember when they had their sign to become a nun. Do you remember yours?”

What were you to tell her? That your lover, a monk, had told you to pretend to be a nun to escape a forced marriage and your uncle’s tyranny?

You felt like a fraud “I uhm… my uncle, Father Carden, gave me shelter at the monastery. There I uhm… found my sign.”

Sister Anne believed every word “That’s great! I am glad you are here. We don’t get many newcomers anymore.”

She was so full of kindness that it made you feel much more at ease “Thank you for having me here. How come there aren’t many newcomers anymore?”

The young nun was a little nervous to explain the situation “The last new girl turned out to be Fey. They even had the Weeping Monk search us for Fey signs. Father Carden was so angry that he made the Church replace our Abbess. The abbey won’t let in strangers anymore.”

The news was not known to you “I had not heard of that…”

It had left quite an impression on her “The girls were so afraid when the paladins all rushed us into the barn for inspection. The Monk picked out a few at random to inspect until a Sister spoke up about what she knew of the Fey girl. He is a terrifying man.”

The will to defend him made you speak up “He is not…not to me.”

Sadly, not everyone had the chance to know him as you did. In times to come, people would remember him and they would remember him wrong.

Not as the boy raised to be your uncle’s weapon, not as the man who was taught to forsake his heritage and failed to do so because deep down the love for the Fey was still present. If only your uncle had not taught him that the Fey needed to be saved, if only your uncle had not threatened that young boy with damnation and burning…

Her eyes widened greatly “You know him?!?”

Oh…

You acted like you only knew him a little “The Monk was assigned by my uncle to protect me and he did the task well.”

The curious nun wished to know more “People say he was raised to kill, that he never talks to anyone and just follows the orders of Father Carden. Those who have met him say that he shows no emotions.”

It came out sharp “People say a lot of things without knowing the whole truth of it! I know him and I can assure you that he is not the cold ‘beast’ the Church wants him to be!”

Sister Anne winced at your reaction “I’ve upset you, didn’t I? I’m so sorry, sometimes I just keep babbling and I say stupid… stupid things…”

You put your bag of clothes on the bed and started unpacking, trying to distract yourself “It’s alright, Sister Anne. I… my uncle and I did not get along well, the Monk made certain that I was well and safe.”

Without asking, she helped put the clothes into the wooden chest at the foot of the bed “You are grateful to him?”

You nodded “I am.”

For a while, she helped you settle into your new room in silence, then informed “The Abbess wants you to work in the garden tomorrow. You’re tasked with cutting flowers to sell at the market.”

There was your first chance to learn a way to earn a living “That’s good. I’ve noticed how much this abbey tries to be self-sufficient. It is quite different from the monastery.”

She gave a knowing smirk “Here we don’t expect hand-outs. The monastery relies on the support of the Church a lot, we rely on ourselves and our fellow Sisters.”

It was admirable, these women worked hard to sustain themselves “I am guessing that the support the Church gives to the abbey is being used to-”

Sister Anne already confirmed it “To help those less fortunate. As it should be used.”

You doubted it was the case at the monastery, where your uncle used any and all support for the war against Fey kind “I’m glad to hear it and that my work here will help others.”

She send you a genuine smile while folding a dress again more neatly “You’re a good person. I can always tell if people are.”

It was sweet of her to be so open towards you, it made you confide in her “I’m not sure if I am. I did a lot of stupid things, I got someone into trouble because they wanted to protect me from the repercussions. Good people don’t to that.”

She came to your side and placed a hand on your arm “Good people admit their mistakes and try to do better. Forgiveness is given to those who seek it.”

This nun had a lot of faith in others, even in strangers “Thank you, Sister Anne.”

She headed for the door after finishing helping you unpack “You’re welcome. And you may call me ‘Anne’, just don’t let the Abbess hear it.”

You returned the sympathy “Feel free to call me y/n.”

It was unexpected to form a friendship so quickly, but by the time Anne walked out of your room, that was how it felt like.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten @the-great-adventures-of-me @linkpk88 @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks @slytherlight @beananacake @crystallizedtime @moonlightaura03 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart @5am-cigarette @arcanenature @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream @coloursforyourportrait @koressecretidentity @nike90 @n1ghtlux @rachlovesactors @luckyzipperscissorsbat @morena-doing-stuff @the-fangirl-diaries @gipsydanger17 @heavenly1927 @phantasmalbeiing @labyrinthonmymind @asarcastic-thiamstan @rainyv-skies

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story.

#weeping monk #weeping monk x you #the weeping monk x reader #weepingmonk #theweepingmonk #lancelot x reader #reader x lancelot #lancelot fic #lancelot #weeping monk fanfic #cursed weeping monk #Cursed Netflix #cursed #lancelot cursed #cursed fic #netflix cursed

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kellodrawsalot · 2 years ago

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So about Aggretsuko

so tomorrow is the final season of Aggretsuko, once i finish it I will share my thoughts on it too but I am hoping we get an amazing ending for our girl

I manage to binge season all four seasons, including the Christmas special

and I got to say, despite my feelings about the ending of season 3 and 4....

I still love this series

(yes season 4 is mild to bad, I will talk about that too)

The series still hits right when it comes to charm, talking about the economic problems of today, (they boomers are daydreaming about the Bubble economy again) showing strong complicated and various adult women who all live different lives, be it a single strong career women or a wife with kids. My friends joke that in some ways I’m a lot like Retsy, (I try to please people and yes sometimes I do buy a product because I feel bad about going to a store and leaving without buying anything, I stress easy and do cry at times,) I think Retsy is a much stronger person then me trough and unlike her, I don’t desire a husband.) but still Retsy is easily my favorite character.

Season 2 is the highlight (so far of the series) I think it’s everyone’s favorite for a reason and while I know he’s popular with the fandom I do have to say with the new development of ai voices and ai art there are some things that just doesn’t sit right with me with Tadano

(Don’t get me wrong, I do like him!) Tadano wants to change the world by making most jobs obsolete with the workings of A, so that everyone can focus on something else they want to do, a passion or their dream, something creative. That’s great and all, but not everyone can make a living of that, ( see Manaka ) And even Retsuko points out at that moment: She’s fine with her office job, there are a lot of people who don’t really have any creative ambitions. And there’s nothing wrong with that. in fact, not everyone wants to turn their hobby into their day job either. Tadano’s dream and AI program will screw these people over. Tadano hopes that everyone can have a form of basic universal income, but that’s just not realistic, and I wish other characters pointed this out.

That being said seeing Retsuko and Tadano’s relationship develop was a lot of fun to see, they have chemistry, and it sucks that it didn’t work out between them. But I like it because it wouldn’t be fair to either Tadano or Retsuko to give up a part of themselves just to please the other. That would have made have ended up in a bitter divorce or break-up. Tadano doesn’t believe in marriage and doesn’t want kids. He wants Retsuko to just stay with him, leave her job and do whatever she wants. Retsuko doesn’t want to quit her job, and she wants to be a blushing bride and have children one day. Yeah these two were not going to work.

The other highlight of season 2 is we get to see more of Washimi and Gori, I love these two a lot, They are best friends and become Retsuko’s best friends through the series, we find out Washimi used to be married and got divorced just a few months later, she has no desire anymore to be a married woman, she’s happy with her life as it is and warns other women that marriage is not going to fix your life or all your problems. Then there is Gori, another 40-year old career woman who is looking for a husband: She regrets focusing too much on her career and less on finding a partner in her younger years. That said the series does not imply, that’s the only way for a woman to become happy and that Gori is an example of the fate of all regretful single women (just fyi studies suggest otherwise) Gori mentions that right now, she’s perfectly happy because of her career and her friends, she just hopes she will remain happy 20 years from now.

Season 3, Retsuko becomes part of an underground idol, she almost quits her office job because she CAN make a living of her singing career. It got ruined because a stalker makes an attempt to stab her. Japan has a deep issue with the way they handle stalkers, so this is sadly realistic for a lot of women living in Japan. She’s saved by Haida, but develops a form of ptds and hides away in her mother’s house. Sadly, no character suggests a form of therapy and Haida calls her a coward in a way to encourage her to go back to work. This rubs people of the wrong way, and it’s one of the reasons why people dislike the ending of season 3. Japan sadly has a stigma against therapy but I wish this more modern show that is willing to criticize some of Japanese traditional culture norms would have been open with this too, but alas.

Speaking of Haida, I have very mixed feelings about the character, I do like him I was rooting for him up till season 3 and 4. Him suggesting Retsuko is not that weak when Gori and Washimi tell him that Retsuko needs more time to heal from the attack made me uncomfortable. Just to remind everyone, you are not WEAK because you want to heal from a traumatic experience: remind yourself that. Haida is in love with Retsuko but doesn’t know her very well neither does Retsy know Haida, and by season 4 when they are in fact dating, both Haida and Retsuko keep secrets from one another. To me, it feels like Haida loves the idea of Restuko more then Retsuko. AND IN SEASON 4 HAIDA COMMITS BLUE COLLAR CRIMES LMAO Restuko is not a forward kind of woman and she’s not insertive.Haida often lacks the courage to take more steps with Restuko because he doesn’t believe in himself. Their own character traits are holding them back in this relationship, making me believe this won’t work out. I hope season 5 being a conclusion of the series will show us the development of their romance or the break-up of these two.

One’s thing that is frustrating about Aggretsuko is that each season sets itself back and everything goes back to the statues quo, but I’m happy to see Haida indeed quit his job by the end of season 4. Good going show! That beind said season 4 just felt messy, Haida’s arc felt frustrating but the season despite its flaws also had some key high lights

The episode where the characters are defending and helping Kabae trying to mix her work with her role as a mother is beautiful, Himeru was an excellent villain, can’t help but love this corrupt fellow. Ton despite being very problematic, a relic of the traditional ‘‘women belong in the kitchen’‘ jerks, shows a lot of his moral greyness this season. It doesn’t justify his abusive actions towards Restuko but, he obvious loves his family, refuses to fire anyone of his staff, even refusing to fire Retsuko under the pressure of Himeru and through the seasons he’s the one who gave out important lessons to Retsuko that ended up saving her: He knows when she’s suffering, or forcing herself to be something she’s not for her then-current boyfriend. ( Resasuke and Tadano) Retsuko ends up helping him in this season and despite some problems here and there, I believe they have a healthier work relationship now. (unless season 5 fucks this up)

anyway I am still hyped for the final season and I hope we see a happy ending to our angry panda.

or if you can’t Netflix maybe give us a movie to conclude everyone’s arc? maybe? ;-;

#aggretsuko #retsuko #aggretsuko season 5

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ladyfogg · 2 years ago

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Words of Advice - Part 2

Words of Advice – Part 2 (Finale)

Fic Summary: Months after being so spectacularly rejected by Lauren, Ralph finds his interests being drawn to the pretty new maid. Having no idea how to approach you, and not wanting to repeat mistakes of the past, he seeks advice from everyone and anyone who’ll provide it, which is probably not the wisest decision. (Part 1) Fics Masterpost.

Fic Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI)

Pairing: Virgin Ralph/Female Reader

Warnings: Canon Divergent, It’s Not Unrequited Love They’re Just Idiots, Mutual Pining, Attempts at Flirting, First Time, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Unprotected Sex

A/N: Thank you, thank you so much for all your wonderful comments!! Every reblog and reply made me smile like crazy. I loved writing these two. I also appreciate all the kind words on my post about taking time off. I still am, I just wanted to post this while I was in a good mood. Enjoy!

Ralph plans well into the evening.

The next morning, he awakens refreshed and ready to meet the day’s tasks. He knows Victoria will be busying herself with the party arrangements and the quartet will be practicing, so he’s sure he can move around relatively ignored.

It’s a highly developed skill of his.

The one snag in his plan is dinner preparations. You, along with the rest of the staff, are no doubt going to be moving between the kitchen and ballroom today. And Friday, you’ll be in the kitchen all day.

Ralph doesn’t want to be underfoot nor does he want you to see what he’s cooking for your date. He decides he’s going to slip into the kitchen later that evening once you’ve retired to your quarters. That way he can prepare everything in advance so when Friday comes, it’ll only need to be cooked. The timing will be tricky but he’s confident that he can handle it. There should be plenty of time to make a quick appearance at the party to be polite before he must hurry off.

Today he plans to make his bedroom guest ready. He’s never had a guest in his room and while he chose the location for discretion’s sake, he wonders if it may be too forward. He did not consider the implications until he was fast asleep, at which point he bolted upright with a wave of horror.

Aside from dining and polite conversation, he does not anticipate things progressing any further. He worries he might have given you the wrong idea. Then again, you had readily accepted with zero hesitation. Which means, if you did think Ralph was insinuating anything, you did not seem to mind.

If he dwells too much on that fact, his palms start to get sweaty. He tells himself you were most likely too polite to question him at that moment.

Being alone in his room with a woman, a beautiful woman who he’s absolutely over the moon for, makes Ralph nervous. If things were to progress like that, he has no idea how he’ll react or what he’s supposed to do. Is he ready for such a step? He’s well aware it is expected that one must wait until marriage. However, he’s not naïve enough to think anyone follows such a social rule. He’s been to enough parties to know better.

Ralph himself has not had the opportunity, nor desire really. He assumed he would once the right woman came along.

His thoughts drift to you, how close you stood when you fixed his shirt, how your hands almost brushed his neck while fixing his collar. He still thinks of the first time he shook your hand and those damn gloves that prevented him from feeling your palm on his. Should you wish to…proceed further Friday evening, he is becoming less sure that he’ll decline.

Ralph’s thoughts are spiraling and all his self-doubt starts to bubble to the surface. He takes a few deep breaths to push it down.

After the trouble he went through simply talking to you, he decides to figure it out when the time comes. There’s no way he’s going to ask for more advice considering how it led him astray before. Besides, the chances of any kind of seduction happening are fairly slim.

Truth be told, if he hadn’t already given you the invitation he might have given into anxiety completely and scrapped the entire idea. Maybe even started over from scratch. But it’s too late for that. He’s made a plan and he’s going to stick with it.

Ralph’s room is fairly large, with a sitting area that’s reserved for quiet contemplation and tea. The table is much too small for the dinner he has planned. So, when everyone is busy, he careful takes it out of his room and swaps it for the larger one in the downstairs sitting room. It’s cumbersome and a struggle to do on his own. However, he manages well enough.

Once he has it situated by the balcony doors, he opens them to see how the table looks framed. It’s good but now the chairs don’t match at all and he can’t have that.

Little by little, Ralph sneaks around the manor, carefully replacing bits and pieces from his room. The chairs are changed and the vase in the hall looks smashing on his dresser and the tablecloth is not fancy enough for what he has planned, and…the list goes on and on. By the time he’s fully satisfied with the setup, hours have passed and his room is certainly more upscale than it has been.

Ralph checks the time, realizing he needs to hurry if he’s going to get to the florist before they close. He slips his jacket and hat on but when he opens the door to his room to leave, he jumps and shouts as his sister stands there, hands on her hips.

“Ralphie, what are you up to?” she asks, eyeing him with suspicion just as she had when he and you first met.

“What? Nothing!” he declares, blocking her view into his room. “I’ve decided to go out for a stroll. It’s a lovely day and I’ve been cooped up inside for most of it.”

“Not to mention sneaking around the house swapping out furniture. What in blazes are you doing?”

“Some redecorating.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.”

Victoria pokes him in the chest with her finger. “Ralph, you are hiding something. I can tell. I’m your twin. You know I can always tell when you’re lying.”

Ralph gasps with mock outrage. “Dear, sister. I would never—”

She pushes past him into the room, eyes widening at the massive changes. The moment she sees the setup, she spins around. Before he can react, she grabs his ear and twists it like she used to do when they were children. “Ralph, you tell me right now what you are planning!” she exclaims as he tries to swat her away.

“Alright, fine!” Ralph wrenches himself out of her grasp, adjusting his hat and rubbing his ear. “If you must know, I have a date on Friday.”

“A date?” she repeats, raising her eyebrow. “With whom?” Her eyes widen and she actually looks amused when she hits his arm. “Ralphie! Did you go behind my back and actually ask out our new maid? I’m surprised at you and a little impressed.”

Ralph blinks for a moment, stunned at what he’s hearing. “You’re not angry?”

Victoria waves a dismissive hand. “Of course I’m not. I have far too much on my plate to worry about you sneaking around with the help. Although…” She takes in the fancy set up and gives him a knowing smile. “I take it you have much more planned than laying down with her.”

Ralph sputters. “Victoria! I…it’s only a dinner date. There will be no laying down or…or anything of the sort.”

“Well, why not?! Lord knows you need it.”

“Sister, the things you say!”

“What? You know I’m right! Ralphie…” she takes his hands and forces him to look her in the eye. “I say this because you’re my brother and I love you. Please, please, do yourself a favor, and lay with that woman. It’ll do you a world of good.”

“I am…thoroughly confused. You said the other day there is to be no fraternizing with the staff.”

“It’s fine. That rule is mostly for Jason because he goes through them like underclothes. Besides, we have a full staff again so once you grow bored with her we can always hire another maid.”

Ralph does not appreciate his sister’s blasé statement or the assumption that this is a passing fling. While he admits his prior infatuation with Lauren doesn’t exactly disprove her thoughts, he finds it prudent to explain himself further.

“Victoria, this isn’t what you think,” he insists, following as she wanders the room and starts to touch and move things. He moves them back to where he wants them. “This isn’t some passing fancy. What I feel for her is unlike anything I have ever felt before. Sister—” He takes her shoulders and forces her to face him proper. “I plan to court her, officially.”

Victoria laughs. “Oh, Ralph, sometimes you have the most wicked sense of humor.” Ralph doesn’t laugh. His face remains earnest. “Wait…you’re serious? You actually plan on courting her?”

“Yes. I’ve already made my intentions known.”

“Oh.” Victoria sinks onto one of the chairs, ruffling the tablecloth as she does. Ralph fidgets before hurriedly fixing it back into place. “Well, then. This is certainly an interesting situation. You do realize that father might have something to say considering her social status.”

Ralph shrugs. “That doesn’t matter to me. It’s the ‘20s! I like to think we’re moving beyond social status. And if it matters to father, well, that’ll be his problem.”

Victoria’s eyebrows shoot up at his remark. “I’ve never heard you speak up against father in our entire life.”

“I think we both know he’s more interested in who you marry rather than who I marry. Besides, I was given some advice recently that I should slow things down and I am trying to do just that. Yes, it is a dinner date and yes, I will be formally courting her. But that is all I am focusing on at the moment.” He checks his pocket watch and swears. “Blast. Sister, I really must cut this short. I have flowers to pick up.”

Victoria raises her hands and gets to her feet. “Don’t let me stop you.” Together, they leave Ralph’s room but before they part in the hall, she touches his hand. “Ralphie…I’m proud of you.”

Ralph doesn’t think he’s ever heard his sister say she was proud of him before. She doesn’t wait for a response, only plasters on that enormous smile and goes back to her business. He wants to dwell and question, but really must get the flowers.

He manages to get to the florist in the nick of time. After another quick stop, he has everything he needs for a proper date. Arms full of roses, Ralph happily makes his way home. However, once he does, he finds it difficult to open the front door while balancing the flowers. He ends up having to ring the bell with his elbow. A second later the door opens and when Ralph sees it’s you he gasps.

“Close your eyes!” he exclaims.

You jump and immediately do as you’re told. “Why? What’s wrong?!”

“Nothing, I just don’t want you to see the flowers yet. They aren’t ready.”

Smiling, and still covering your eyes, you carefully back away, giving Ralph space to come into the house. There’s a lot of fumbling and apologies. He scoots around you, narrowly avoiding hitting you with the bouquets.

While he does, Ralph keeps his focus on you to make sure you’re not peeking. “I’m going to run upstairs. Don’t look until I tell you it’s clear.”

“Alright, Ralph, I won’t.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, I promise!”

Ralph stumbles a bit on the stairs but manages to climb them quickly. He keeps glancing over his shoulder but true to your words, you keep your eyes closed. Once Ralph gets to the top, he shouts down, “All clear!” Then bolts to his room.

He hurriedly puts the flowers down on the dresser. Glancing in the mirror, he adjusts his clothes to make sure he’s presentable. Seeing you has him desperate for conversation and he wants to catch you before you return to your duties. He’ll organize the flowers later.

In the sitting room, you’re starting a fire in the fireplace to ward off the chill of the evening. Ralph stands silently in the doorway, watching, entranced by the glow that graces your features. Victoria may be wondering about different social statuses, yet that’s the furthest thing from his mind. When he sees you, he doesn’t think of anything else, only how he might get you to smile at him again.

“I haven’t seen much of you today,” you say without needing to look. It’s like you’re aware of his presence, even though he hasn’t made a sound.

“I’ve been very busy.” When you stand, he excitedly rushes to your side. “I have so much planned for tomorrow. I cannot wait!”

You turn to face him, giving him a wide smile. “I also can’t wait. I’ve been driving myself crazy thinking about it all day!”

Ralph rarely has someone other than his sister sharing in his excitement, so to have this response from you has him vibrating. “Part of me wants to tell you everything and another part wants it to be a complete surprise,” he says. He grabs your hands, squeezing them tight. “Do you want me to tell you? Because I will if you really want to know!”

“Oh no. Um…oh dear, the temptation is strong, but, no, don’t tell me!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I like surprises.” You glance down and it’s then that Ralph realizes what he’s done.

He’s touching your hands and this time you’re not wearing gloves. It’s like a wave of liquid magma rushes through his body, turning his cheeks bright red.

“Forgive me, I forget myself sometimes,” he says, reluctantly releasing you. He can still feel your warmth and his fingers flex involuntarily.

“I’m not complaining.”

There’s a lump in Ralph’s throat and he has to swallow past it before he can speak again. “While I have you alone, there’s something I wish to say. I did not realize what inviting you to my room for dinner might insinuate. Please know, I have no inappropriate thoughts or ulterior motives.”

You study him for a moment, still smiling, though there’s something else in your gaze that he can’t place. Your pupils have gone wide and he sees your lips part as you exhale slowly. You reach out to adjust his bowtie, though he had already fixed it before coming down to see you. It’s the blue one. He’s been wearing it since you told him you favored it.

“I understand,” you say, a lilt to your voice that does things to him. “But what if I do?”

Ralph’s mind goes blank. Unable to think or respond, he stands there with wide eyes, staring at you, unblinking. He couldn’t possibly have heard what he thought he heard.

“Beg your pardon?” he asks, his voice squeaking.

Before you can respond, Ralph hears the voices of the quartet coming this way. You hear them too. You give Ralph a smoldering look and brush past him to continue your duties. As you do, your fingers tweak the buttons of his coat, as you lean in to speak into his ear.

“I am most curious as to what you have planned for after dinner. And if you haven’t, I’m sure I can think of something to do.”

With that, you walk out of the room, leaving Ralph standing there speechless. Glancing down, he realizes your words and flirting has had a rather inconvenient side effect. He quickly swipes his hat off and covers himself a second before the quartet come in.

“Hey, Ralph,” Horace says, being the only one to acknowledge him, per usual. “We’re about to have a drink and a game. Join us.”

“Thank you, but I must…be somewhere else.” He can barely get the words out before he shuffles out of the room.

But by now, you’re nowhere to be seen, which means he can’t ask if you were teasing or not. Ralph hurries up to his room instead. Once inside, he takes a few deep breaths and throws open the balcony doors. The cool night air feels wonderful on his overheated skin, yet isn’t enough to chase away the heat. He fans himself.

“Alright, it’s going to be alright. There is a distinct possibility something sexual might happen. But just focus on the dinner. That’s the most important bit. Do not think of her wonderful hands and how good they felt…oh lord, give me strength.”

Ralph is thoroughly aroused and is trying everything to ignore it. He refuses to service himself to thoughts of you. If he does, he’ll never be able to look you in the eye ever again.

He turns back to the bedroom and that’s when he remembers the haphazard way he put the flowers down. Perfect. A task to take his mind off things.

Ralph goes about setting the flowers in the correct locations throughout the room, shifting and adjusting things as he does. Yet, despite the distraction, his arousal persists. Even when he tries to think of disgusting or deplorable things, nothing.

His bedroom is as ready as it’ll ever be and as the hour turns late, he decides to go to sleep early. Tomorrow is a big day and hopefully resting will make his erection finally fade.

Ralph changes into his nightclothes, purposefully avoiding his situation, which is difficult to do when the lack of trousers provides momentary relief. He closes the balcony doors, turns off the lights, and climbs into bed.

Now. Sleep, he orders himself. Stop dwelling.

Easier said than done. Ralph soon realizes his mistake. Being in bed, in the dark, only makes him think of you more. The firelight danced in your eyes when you leaned in, and the memory of your breath on his ear makes him shiver.

No matter how long he tosses and turns, his erection doesn’t fade and he only hopes it's this persistent when you two become…intimate.

Sighing in defeat, Ralph rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. His body certainly seems ready. And you made it abundantly clear you’re physically interested. Perhaps that’s why it’s difficult to ignore. Because now there is an actual person to think about, a woman who is attracted to him and is not afraid to say.

Does that mean you have experience? Are you expecting him to have some as well? He finds he does not mind the thought of you having known a man that way before. At least one of you knows what to do.

Of course, this brings a series of new anxieties. What if things do progress and he disappoints you? What if he can’t keep up? What if…?

That line of thought finally kills his arousal. Ralph’s read books and heard his fair share of stories to know the basics. However, there is a difference between theory and practice.

He falls into a restless sleep.

In the morning, he awakens to the smell of roses. His dreams had been filled with naughty images of you, conjured from the depths of his imagination. An imagination he thinks he may be putting to the test very soon. Glancing at the time, he’s bright and early. It suddenly dawns on him that in his distracted state the previous evening, he didn’t prep dinner!

Ralph bolts out of bed and practically throws himself into his closet, dressing in the first suit he can find. He is not going to let anything ruin his date. Yes, he is now going to be behind schedule but if he’s quick, he should be able to make up the time.

In the kitchen, Ralph finds he’s earlier than those who need to prepare breakfast. This is actually something he’s done a number of times. Some mornings, before everyone is awake, he’ll sneak to the kitchens and make bread or pie. Kneading dough always has a calming effect and helps him focus. Today is no different.

The recipes he plans to make are fairly simple but delicious. A small roast which he had chef gather from the market is seasoned and set aside for later. Then he gets to work on bread rolls. Those combined with the roast and fresh vegetables would be a perfectly wonderful dinner. He’d planned to make pastries but time is not on his side. So he settles for delicate finger cakes.

He works, quietly humming to himself as he does. The nerves and anxiety from the night before are a distant memory and when he’s finished prepping, and baking his cakes, he stashes the food away for later. He’s finishing up cleaning when the servants enter to begin their work.

You are not among them, surprisingly. Ralph doesn’t think much of it, though he is disappointed he doesn’t have a chance to see you.

The day goes on and despite the hiccup, Ralph is back on schedule. His suit is pressed and already laid out on his bed and his shoes have been polished. After finishing a few of the smaller details, he knows he must turn his attention to his sister’s party. Technically, he is also meant to host so he must not shirk his responsibilities. He takes his time bathing and shaving, then longer trying to style his hair just right.

When he’s ready, he seeks out Victoria to see what last minute preparations she may need his help with.

He cannot find her anywhere.

In the ballroom, the quartet are already on stage, having been practicing since the morning. He glances around, however, sees no sign of his sister. Or you, for that matter.

“Hey, Ralph! Looking sharp!” Horace says with a knowing smile.

“Thank you. Have any of you seen my sister?”

“Yeah, she went out shopping this morning,” Jason says. “Hasn’t come back yet.”

Ralph frowns. “That’s unlike her to leave the house when party preparations are still underway. What could she possibly be shopping for?”

Jason shrugs. “Dunno, bruv. Must have been planning to get a lot cuz she took that maid with her.”

“What maid?” Ralph asks, stepping into Jason’s space.

“Whoa, back up, man. The new one.”

His sister took you with her? Why would she do that?

As if on cue, Victoria glides into the room and greets them all with her brilliant smile. “Hello, my lovely friends. Who’s ready to get properly fucked up tonight?!”

The quartet cheers, but Ralph does not. He hurries over to his sister, grabbing her arm to pull her to the side.

“Ralph, be careful!”

“Victoria, what did you do? Jason said you took my date out shopping. Why—?”

Victoria jams her finger against his lips. “Hush, Ralphie! You needn’t worry. I didn’t do anything to your precious date. I simply knew what clothing she brought with her was not sufficient enough for a private dinner for two so I made sure she had something appropriate to wear tonight.”

“If this was some sneaky attempt to scare her off—”

“It wasn’t! I swear, I only took her shopping for a new dress. I would not sabotage the first chance you’ve ever had at a proper shag.”

Despite her crudeness, Ralph’s expression softens and he places a hand over his heart. “Aww, Victoria! You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did!” she huffs, adjusting his jacket. “You are my baby brother and this is your first date. It should be perfect. Speaking of, the chef agreed to hang back and cook what you’ve prepared so you don’t need to rush. Just relax and enjoy the evening, wherever it may lead.”

If Ralph isn’t careful, he’s going to become emotional. Oh, who is he kidding? He already is. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously. Do not tell anyone how generous I am. I’ll have to beat them off with a stick.”

With everything set and ready to go, there isn’t anything for him to do other than wait. Impatiently.

Time progresses. Afternoon turns to evening, and Victoria’s party gets underway. Ralph stays and mingles but his eyes are on his pocket watch, closely monitoring the time. At exactly eight forty-five, he downs his one glass of champagne he’s been nursing and ducks out of the ballroom.

Chef is loading the steaming meal onto a serving cart, quick to cover the plates to prevent them from cooling too quickly. The cakes Ralph made have been properly decorated with delicate frosting. Ralph takes the cart with a thank you and pushes it himself to the service elevator.

Once in his room, he sets the table, adjusts the lighting, and tries to still his racing heart. It’s here. After nearly two days of planning, Ralph is as ready as he’ll ever be.

At nine o’clock precisely, there is a knock on the door. He finishes lighting the candles in the center of the table and prepared himself to greet you.

Ralph inhales sharply. “This is what you’ve been waiting for. Woo her as if she’s never been wooed before! But also try to relax and not throw yourself instantly at her feet.”

Clearing his throat, he walks to the door and opens it.

You’re standing there, smiling shyly, and looking absolutely stunning. The dress Victoria picked out knocks the breath from Ralph’s lungs. The color and style do everything to highlight your features, skin tone, and body shape. And the plunging neckline has Ralph’s eyes wandering until he catches himself.

“Good evening,” he says with a wide smile. “You’re right on time.”

“I had to stop myself from being early.”

Ralph steps aside and extends his hand. “Please, come in.”

Just like the day you met, you slip past Ralph and he inhales the perfume that wafts by as you do. After closing the door, he offers you his arm, which you take with a laugh. Even though the table is only steps away, Ralph will not forget his manners.

He holds your chair out and once you sit, he hurriedly takes the seat across from you.

“Ralph, this is all so beautiful,” you say, looking around the room.

Of course, you notice the changes. They’re hard to miss. Proud of his work, he smiles brightly. “Thank you. But all this pales in comparison to you. You look absolutely stunning.”

You duck your head, looking down at your new dress. “Thank you. I was trying to decide what to wear when Miss Victoria burst into my room and dragged me to the stores.”

“Well, I think you look beautiful in everything,” Ralph says earnestly. “Was my sister too forward? She can be that way sometimes.”

You laugh. “Oh, I picked up on that quickly. It was actually a very sweet gesture. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure what she would think of us.”

Us.

Ralph has to stop himself from melting in his seat. Hearing you refer to the two of you as “us” sets his heart aflame. “I hope you are aware that the discretion that was required for today has to do with protecting your honor and job more than anything else. Victoria implemented a no fraternizing with the help rule.”

Your smile widens and you raise your eyebrow. Leaning on the table, you prop your chin in your hand. “Are you breaking the rules for me, Ralph?”

Oh, lord, is he in trouble if you keep looking at him like that.

“Well, I was but then Victoria found out anyway,” he says, trying not to let on how flustered he is. “And by then, I had already given you the invitation and made all the arrangements so I wasn’t going to throw away my hard work.”

Laughing, you sit back in your chair. “I’m glad you didn’t. This is honestly the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. And you look so dashing in that suit. You wear it well.”

Is he imagining it, or is there hunger in your eyes? Probably imagining it. Or you’re famished.

Suddenly remembering the meal, Ralph quickly takes the covers off your plates and gestures with a flourish. “Dinner is served.”

“This looks delicious.”

“Now, I must confess, Chef cooked the food but I prepared it,” he says, laying his napkin across his lap. “My intention was to cook the entire meal. I hope you do not think less of me.”

“I could never think less of you.”

Ralph’s face flushes at the compliment and he can’t help feeling pleased with himself. “The rolls are my personal recipe,” he boasts, not picking up his fork. He’s too busy watching you and waiting for you to take the first bite. “Normally, I would make pastries but unfortunately time was not on my side.”

“Maybe you can teach me how to make pastries for breakfast some morning.”

Ralph’s smile is so wide it’s hurting his cheeks. “It would be my pleasure.”

Your eyes light up when the fork slides into your mouth. Ralph tries to ignore the visual of your lips pressed together as you make a noise of delight. “Delicious.”

“Oh, good!” Ralph explains breathlessly, the tension leaving his shoulders.

As you two eat, music from the party drifts up through the balcony. The conversation and wine flows and Ralph wonders why he was so nervous in the first place. Your easy smile and interest in what he’s saying is evident by your earnest expression.

He is so used to people ignoring his ramblings or interrupting that he doesn’t know what to do when you don’t do these things. So he keeps talking, figuring you’ll stop him when you’ve had enough. He does make sure to ask you about yourself to avoid taking over the conversation.

Ralph finds he loves watching you speak just as you seem to enjoy when he does. He watches with rapt attention, unable to look away for even a second.

Dinner is finished and when the music suddenly changes to a slower tune, Ralph takes that as a sign. Standing, he offers his hand.

“May I have this dance?”

You accept with that smile he knows he’ll never get tired of.

Ralph pulls you in, though keeps a respectable distance between you. Your hand in his is warm and he revels in the softness. Being so close is intoxicating. He wants to pull you to his chest but lacks the bravery to do so. The two of you sway to the low music, the atmosphere charged with intimacy.

Unfortunately, he’s finding it difficult to relax all the way. His body tenses when the urge to hold you close grows stronger.

“Are you alright?” you ask, the hand on his shoulder rubbing comfortingly. “You’ve gone a bit stiff…and not in the fun way.”

Your sudden salacious joke takes him by surprise and he lets out something that’s between a nervous laugh and hysterical giggle. You laugh as well, and that tension dissipates.

“I am…conflicted,” he admits.

“About what, darling?”

Uh oh. You’ve called him a term of endearment. Chills go through him and he starts to feel hot under the collar.

“I want to hold you close,” he confesses. “However, I don’t want to seem inappropriate.”

The second he says this, you draw yourself closer to him, your chest pressed to his. “Is this better?” you ask, your voice dipping low.

Ralph can feel your warm breath brush his lips and he swallows thickly. “Y-Yes,” he says with an excited head nod. “Much better.”

The hand he has on your waist slides to rest on your lower back. Ralph’s forehead touches yours and he watches your eyes flutter closed. He follows your lead.

Ralph and you slow dance, lost in your own world. He thinks of nothing else but you. Your hand in his, your bodies touching, mouths so close yet not quite kissing. He wants to close the distance. He wants to kiss you for the first time.

He'd been so sure his nerves would get the best of him, sure he would keep his distance so as not to scare you off as he’s done in the past. Yet, none of that seems to be a problem. He’s gone out of his way to be himself and it’s led to this spectacular moment.

His eyes fly open as your lips touch his.

Ralph halts all movement, standing still from shock as you kiss him. Your arms sliding around his neck jolt him into reacting and his arms tentatively circle your waist. Lips trembling, Ralph kisses you back, closing his eyes once more and surrendering to the sensation.

Heat travels through every nerve in his body. The urge to kiss you harder, to hold you tighter, is strong but he tries to restrain himself, needing to take the time to savor everything about this. His mouth moves with yours and when your fingers toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, his knees practically become jelly.

Your lips part but you keep holding him close. “Was that alright?” you ask.

Ralph nods excitedly. “Yes, that was brilliant.”

“I really like you, Ralph,” you tell him. “And to tell you the truth, I was excited to get your invitation, but also very nervous.”

Ralph can’t imagine you being as nervous as he is. “Why?”

“Well…I’m a maid.”

Ralph doesn’t like the way you avert your gaze when you say that, as if you’re ashamed. He never wants you to feel ashamed of anything. But quickly you smile and meet his eye again.

“But I figured if that bothered you, you wouldn’t have asked. Also, your sister taking the time to take me shopping and get to know me put all that to rest.”

“I don’t care about social status,” Ralph says, tightening his arms to instinctively, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “I only care about you.”

You lean in for another kiss and in his excitement, Ralph kisses back a little too forcefully, making you bend backward. You chuckle at his enthusiasm, which turns into a gasp when Ralph pushes his tongue passed your lips. He’s not expecting to do such a thing but cannot hold back any longer.

At the first brush of your tongue to his, his world explodes. It’s like something inside of him snaps and his kisses become urgent. Suddenly, the hardness of your body to his isn’t enough. He wants to feel your skin, wants to taste your smooth throat, wants to feel your hands on him.

Breaking away to catch his breath, Ralph pants as he stares into your eyes. He says your name, surprised at how low his voice comes out.

“I’ve never…” He pauses. “This is all new for me.”

“We don’t need to do anything you don’t want,” you say. “If you want to just kiss, that’s perfectly wonderful for me. If you want to do more—”

“I want to do more.”

You don’t hesitate to kiss him hungrily. Your hands push his jacket off his shoulders and he hurriedly shrugs out of it. As you pull him towards the bed, he steps out of his shoes, tripping over them in the process. Sitting on the bed, you drag him down to sit with you.

Ralph’s mouth is glued to yours, not wanting to part for even a moment. He feels your fingers work his bowtie free. A second later, the top buttons of his shirt are undone and your hand slides under the fabric. Feeling your fingertips along his collarbone does things to Ralph. He draws away because he has to look down, has to watch you touch him so he knows it’s real.

“I don’t know what to do,” Ralph says, eyes flickering up to yours. “But I want to experience all I can with you.”

“I want to experience you as well, Ralph.”

He cups your face and yanks you into a kiss. You grab his collar, pulling him down on top of you as you lay back. Having your body squirming underneath him awakens some slumbering beast inside. Ralph needs to touch all of you, needs to know what it feels like to have your skin gliding with his.

You undo the buttons of his waistcoat and then the rest of his shirt. He sits up to toss both aside. He had forgone an undershirt, thinking of your moment the other morning, so the moment the fabric is gone, your hands run up his bare chest and Ralph shudders. His face and chest are already flush red and his cock is hard as a rock, straining in his trousers.

There’s no hiding the erection. He’s lying on top of you, knowing you can feel everything. And when you raise your leg to brush the bulge, Ralph whimpers.

He kisses you, his hand tugging at your dress, pulling the hem up so he can slide his hand underneath. His palm finds your thigh and he squeezes in excitement. You move beneath him and he follows through, still kissing as both of you sit up so he can reach around to unzip you from your cloth prison.

The dress goes slack and the top naturally slips off your shoulders, leaving your breasts bare. Gasping for breath, Ralph breaks the kiss to stare shamelessly. His already racing heart feels like it’s hitting his ribcage. Your chest moves with your rapid breathing, nipples pebbled by the coolness of the room.

Cupping them, Ralph gives them a gentle squeeze which makes you inhale sharply.

You lay back and Ralph’s hands glide down your torso, leaving goose pimples in their wake. He takes the sides of your dress, dragging it the rest of the way off your body before he removes your shoes one at a time. You’re left in your underwear with no stockings which seems to scandalous to Ralph. He loves it. Soon even your underwear is discarded.

You sit up to reach for his pants. He kneels on the bed, looking down as you work the buttons free.

In his rush to underdress, he isn’t as graceful as he’d have liked. His leg gets caught in his trousers and underwear and he ends up swearing as he wriggles them down and off. You laugh, assisting where you can. When he manages to free himself, he doesn’t have time to be self-conscious. Besides, you’re already kissing him again, pulling him back down to lay on you.

Nothing could have prepared Ralph for feeling your naked body underneath his. The soft warmth draws him in, makes him excitedly grind himself between your legs.

“Give me your hand,” you say between kisses.

Ralph does and you lead it down, slipping between your bodies. When his fingers come in contact with your folds, he about jumps out of his skin. He has to watch your face, has to study your expression as you teach him how to touch you. He marvels at the petal-like softness, reveling when he feels wetness starting to spread.

“Is that—?”

“Arousal,” you gasp, letting him go. His hand continues, fingers eager in their exploration.

Ralph cannot believe he’s making you feel this way. As you throw your head back, his mouth latches onto your throat, kissing and sucking a wet trail up and down. His fingertips glide through your slit and up until he finds a soft nub. Curiously, he presses it and the reaction is immediate.

You moan loudly and one hand shoots up to grab the pillow under your head. Your body arches into his, so he presses again, moving his fingers in small circles.

Whatever he’s doing seems to be working because your moans are getting louder. His fingers are coated in your slick and his cock is throbbing, seemingly eager to feel the wetness as well. He’s too busy exploring, though. He wants to know what happens if he keeps touching you like this.

Your body freezes in place, your mouth falling open in an O of surprise. Seconds pass before you sink back into the mattress and Ralph draws his hand out.

“I take it that was good,” he says.

You give a breathless chuckle, giving him several drawn out pecks on the lips. “That was very good, Ralph. Not many men even bother to attempt getting a woman off.”

Ralph is right proud of himself. He can’t understand why someone would ignore making a woman react like that. It was absolutely erotic and empowering.

When he feels your hand worming between you, he all but mewls at your palm running along his neglected length. You wrap your fingers around him and start to stroke his throbbing length. He’s never thought about what it would be like to have someone else touching him. He always assumed it would be the same as him doing it himself but how wrong he was.

This is different in the best way. You’re touching him with the intent of making him feel good. You’re trying to focus on his needs and pleasure. He’s too overwhelmed to tell you how much he appreciates it. Instead, moans tumble out, which he imagines gives you the same impression as words would.

You maintaining eye contact with him makes it impossible to catch his breath. He feels like you’re studying him, like you’re trying to commit every expression to memory. He knows he’s trying to do the same to you. His mind reels with the different sexual acts he wants to do with you.

There’s just a small snag in his plan.

“If you keep doing that, this will be over embarrassingly quick,” he pants even as he thrusts into your fist.

You giggle, top teeth digging into your bottom lip. “But I love the face you make when I touch you.”

Ralph whimpers, burying said face into your neck. He says your name, half-begging, half-moaning. You stop stroking but before he can whimper at the loss, you run the tip of him through your folds. Ralph instinctively thrusts forward. He doesn’t realize he's sinking into you until he feels both your hands grabbing his hips. With a gentle tug, you encourage him forward and Ralph thrusts into you in one smooth movement.

Bloody hell.

Bloody fucking hell.

Ralph’s chests hurts and his head spins. Your hand strokes his hair. “Breathe, Ralph,” you say gently.

Ralph exhales, realizing that he is holding his breath. Drawing out, he pauses before surging back in and destroying any semblance of self-control he might have had. He grinds himself into the wet heat that is uniquely yours. Nothing, nothing could have prepared him for the addictive tightness. No book properly describes the clenching and fluttering of your walls around him.

Your mouth finds his and as you wrap your legs around his waist, you moan his name. Hearing it drives him mad, makes him thrust and grind harder, kiss you more.

Ralph feels alive.

He’s always loved and lived freely. But never like this. Deep down, he knows he wouldn’t have felt this way with anyone else. It’s not just the act of sex, it’s the act of making love to you that is driving him completely insane.

His hips move on their own, his body shaking from need and exertion.

Ralph has to look at your face. He has to see the pleasure to know it’s real. Eyes closed, you are completely lost in the sensation and he absolutely adores the unabashed way you surrender yourself to him.

He’s close. It’s not ideal that he cannot last longer this first time. He wishes he could. He wishes he could stay inside you forever.

At the last moment, he draws out. Pulling back, he reaches down to finish himself off with his hand, unable to look away as his release decorates your beautiful folds. It’s like a primal stake of claim. Like he’s marking you as his, which he scolds himself for. You could never belong to anyone, let alone him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice reminds him of that special nub. He presses his thumb to it, quickly glancing up at you as you shout his name. After several hard rubs, you’re coming undone again, louder than before.

Spent and satisfied, Ralph collapses on the bed next to you, struggling to catch his breath. He stares at you with wide eyes, loving the beautiful serene smile that you send his way when you come back to yourself.

“Alright there, darling?” you ask.

Ralph has so many things he wishes to say. They all tumble around in his mind, scrambling to be the first thing out of his mouth. However, what does come out is, “Can we do that again?”

You give a breathless laugh, reaching over to cup his cheek and press his head to yours. “You’re so adorable. Yes, Ralph, we can definitely do that again.”

Excitedly, Ralph rolls over and kisses you. You make a noise of surprise and he slips his tongue into your mouth, tasting greedily. Now that he’s got the hang of it, he’s able to act quicker.

“Didn’t…know you meant…now,” you say between kisses.

Ralph quickly pulls back. “Is it too soon? Bollocks, I knew I was going to mess this up by being over-eager.”

“No, no, it’s wonderful,” you assure him. “I am absolutely ready to keep going. Men tend to need more time to recover.”

Ralph puffs his chest proudly. He grabs your hand, being the one to guide this time as he has you touch him. “You will find I have excellent stamina,” he boasts, watching your eyes widen as he starts to twitch with excitement. He’s not going to tell you his quick bounce back has to do with years of masturbation, figuring it’s more impressive if he doesn’t explain.

You swiftly push him onto his back, straddling his body.

“Be careful, Ralph,” you warn with a wolfish grin. “A girl could fall in love with you if you keep treating her so right.”

“I’ve already got a ring for when you’re ready.”

Laughing, you lean down to capture his lips. He kisses back, cradling the nape of your neck. He knows you think he’s joking so he leaves it at that. You don’t need to know about the quick run to the jeweler’s before he grabbed the roses. And you certainly don’t need to know about the engagement ring that sits in the drawer of his nightstand.

You’ll learn soon enough.

---

Taglist:

@palomahasenteredthechat @crumblychunksofheaven @bethanysnow @hellfirehottie420 @gothvamp1973 @feltonswifesworld87 @my-blood-is-maple-syrup @sav7689 @ladybug0095 @offical-bee @nicolaj1978 @screaming-blue-bagel

#ralph timewasters #ralph penbury x reader #ralph penbury #joe quinn #joseph quinn

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writing-in-april · 4 years ago

Text

Dressed in Crimson

Spencer Reid x Female Reader (Royalty AU)

Summary: Spencer is a stable boy with a passion for learning and Reader is the princess of the palace that he serves in. They’ve been in a secret relationship, the two grow restless about not being able to be out in the open.

A/N: Guys I’m so excited for this one I really really loved writing it- it’s my fourth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April and it’s also written for @omgbigfluffwriting !!! I kinda immersed myself into this quite a bit- and it’s my longest oneshot I’ve ever written 🤭The specific historical period theyre in is not specified and the world that they’re in is entirely fictional and not based on any specific point in history- if you’ve ever watched Merlin that’s kinda the vibe I was thinking of just without the magic lol (please still ignore that the gif does not have an accurate clothing choice from Spencer I just wanted a good shot of his hair that I thought of while writing this) i feel like it’s becoming so obvious how much I love historical fiction lol 😂 I’d like to hear from you guys also so if you want to drop me an ask here! It can be about anything 🥰 hope y’all enjoy!!!

Warnings: 18+, Reader has a horrible Father, subtle hints about sexism, Classism, Period typical clothing, Reader and Spencer fight for a little bit, Smut, Dom Spencer, Fingering, Handjob, Unprotected Sex, Day dreaming about fucking in public, Spencer’s possessive as hell, Ignoring the potential consequences of a creampie

Main Masterlist Word count: 4.7k

My day started out like any other with my corset made of whalebone being cinched tightly around my figure with my chemise underneath of course. Every time the ends of the laces were pulled taught on my body I thought of the days where I could get away with not having this wretched piece of clothing cutting off my breath. Those days had been so long ago, when I was just a small child, almost so long ago that I had to strain my memory to recall it. It wasn’t even until I was done clutching my mother’s skirts before I started to be forced into the confines of the worst invention in history. I would have rather muck in the mud in pants like the men, unless there was a reason for me to actually want to wear a dress.

Today, I had chosen a crimson colored gown, one of my only favorites. The front of the bodice was adorned with embroidery, one embroidered with a glistening gold thread. The sleeves were long and ever so slightly off my shoulders, ending just at my wrist. It had been perfectly handcrafted just for me, a seamstress being hired to slave away at each detail with precision. If it had been up to my father the seamstress would have been paid little to nothing for this masterpiece, but you had your own coins stashed away from your allowance to give extra to anyone that gave you goods and services.

The dress was my favorite almost solely because of someone else’s appreciation for the lush fabric, no one needed to know about that though. I did like to look nice on certain occasions, but only special ones. There was no special occasion scheduled for me to have a reason for wearing it, well none that the greater majority of the court would know about.

Only my maid Emily knew what my excursion would be today, why I dressed up so nicely. There was no feasible way for me to hide my dalliances from her, especially the one I was about to go to as it required some higher levels of stealth to be able to evade my father’s guards.

His name was Spencer, one of my father’s stable boys. I loved him more than anything, definitely more than any potential match that was arranged for me.

I gifted him whatever I could without raising suspicion, though I often hid my purchases if someone asked by excusing them as more frivolous in nature, such as a new dress. Spencer had no real need for pretty things as he’d said before, except from myself- those were his past words not mine. And, he did express to me how much he loved the dress I was wearing right now, which was tied to how we had first met.

When I first met him I had been looking for a fabric in the market stalls. I hadn’t really wanted to, I was content with all the dresses that I owned right now, they had no ornament on them, just how I preferred. However, my father demanded I get something fancier for some sort of frivolous ball that was coming up that undoubtedly had no reason to take place besides bleeding everyone else dry.

I brushed hands with him for the first time as I was looking for the material I wanted, something just fancy enough to appease my father. The stall filled with fabrics bordered one that had stacks of books, I would have much preferred to be looking at that one. My hand had gotten close to the edge while I was inspecting a fabric and it had bumped into a man who was looking at one of the books.

When I had looked up to see who had brushed my hand I was met with frantic eyes filled with apology. His stuttered apology had covered my attempt to assure him that it was fine, it had taken me grabbing both of his hands to steady him for him to listen to my reassurance.

When he had introduced himself to me after I asked it flowed into a long conversation. I could have talked to him forever, I would be content to never talk to anyone else. For a stable boy he was exceptionally smart, which I learned was from his mother who had made sure he was educated even in poverty, specifically through having him read anything she could get her hands on. From then on our blossoming friendship had flourished, and had eventually developed into more.

I slung a shawl over my shoulders made out of a fabric of similar color to my gown and also grabbed a purse filled with coins with a smile due to my reminiscing . It wasn’t cold enough for one of my velvet cloaks just yet and most of the walk down to where Spencer was housed was indoors.

The walk from my rooms in the main part of the castle to the stables on the lower floor towards the East end was longer than I would have wanted. Truthfully, I wished I would not have to live in a castle at all, I’d rather live in the small house that Spencer lived. It was just past the castle grounds at the edge of the surrounding village adjacent to the stables so he did not have to walk far for work in the mornings.

My feet tiptoed down the corridors carefully, I was lucky that I had figured out to be somewhat light on my feet otherwise I’d be caught swiftly for sure. I passed by the rooms of most of the lords and ladies staying at court, I always wondered why some chose to stay here, it was positively suffocating here. The door I used to go outside was through the kitchen, that had a myriad of breakable things strewn about that I had to stealthily avoid. Luckily, I knocked nothing over that would have woken up the cooks who slept just a room over. Turning the handle of the door had to be a slow process so no one would hear the creak of the knob while it was turned, but I did successfully make it out with no disturbance.

Beginning the stretch of my journey that was outdoors was perhaps the most risky. Guards were stationed around the perimeter of the castle in greater numbers compared to the ones indoors which were only stationed by important rooms. I weaved my way through, in some aspects it was even more confusing than the inside of the castle. Hiding behind each of the pillars was the most effective way to avoid them, the construction of them making a series of small blind spots. I had just snuck behind one of the last ones when one of the guards nearest to me moved forward a little. I stopped breathing immediately, holding it tight in my chest while I plastered myself as close as I could to the back of the pillar. My nails dug into the stone of the pillar in fear, if I was ever to be found sneaking out at night or worse in the presence of Spencer, I would either never leave my rooms again or be whisked away into marriage even earlier than planned.

When the guard did not move to investigate further I let go of the breath I was holding, still making sure to let go of it slowly so he could not hear me. Moving swiftly forward after I had taken a breath was a bit of a challenge, my knees had gone weak with fear. I pushed myself to take each step even with the weakness in my knees, there was no way I could linger any longer.

Finally I was no longer walking on stone, I was walking on the muddy earth now. It was nice to feel the ground under my feet instead of the harsh stone, it told me that I was now only a handful of strides away from Spencer’s home.

The leaves littering the ground mixing with mud crunched under my feet even as I tip toed carefully. The guards may be in the distance now, but I didn’t feel keen on testing how good their hearing may potentially be.

Passing the stables was the last marker for my journey, then I would be able to see his home too. As I passed the sleeping horses by anticipation began to replace the fear inside me. It had been a while since I had been able to come see him, making me yearn for his touch even more.

His home came into view, even in the dead of night I could make it out if I squinted my eyes hard. My pace picked up exponentially when I landed my eyes on his humble abode. It was a quaint home, fallen into disrepair as he could not afford to fix it on the meager salary that my father paid him. The purse of gold that I had brought with me was exactly for that, the repairs. He would most likely protest the gift just like any other thing I had tried to gift him. From my experience the most effective way to get him to accept anything was to leave it there with no conversation about it. I think it made him feel less guilty even though in my opinion he was owed the money in the first place, no one should have to live in squalor when they did their job every day without question or complaint.

When I finally was at the entrance of his home I entered through the door swiftly, too impatient to wait or knock. Stress melted from my shoulders when I caught sight of him, hunched over one of the books I had given him, candles strewn around to give him enough light to read.

The candles he had lit to be able to read in the night illuminated us both with a glow. He would always compliment me whenever we found ourselves in similar lighting such as this, but in my opinion there was no rivalry. Each time the candle flickered it brightened up every highlight of him, letting me see his wild curls, brown eyes deeper than any others I had ever seen, and a body that I had no doubt was crafted to perfection illuminated in a beautiful glow.

I went to compliment him just as he always did with me, but I became mesmerized when he stood up, then moving his way closer to me.

“It is nice to see you, it feels like it’s been an eternity.” It may seem dramatic for him to say that it felt that long, but I echoed his sentiment willingly.

“It is nice to see you too, Spencer. I agree it’s been far too long.” I was sure it had been at least a full moon cycle since we had the pleasure of being alone with one another, our duties to my father keeping us separated.

It had been painful whenever I would go out for a ride on my horse, to see him hand me the reins of my mare and be unable to reach out to touch him. There had been one day, about a week ago, that I had let my hand brush against his own for a moment while he handed the reins to me. It was an innocent brush of a touch, that also had a barrier in the form of my leather gloves. To anyone else it had meant nothing, but to me and him, it meant everything.

His eyes were blown wide with desire, as I suspected mine were as well. We let ourselves take in the sight of each other for a minute longer before Spencer broke the silence with a request,

“Drop your shawl, so I may see you better.” A stable hand commanding someone of such a stature such as I would’ve seen him whipped if it was any other person before him. His boldness was not unexpected, it had taken a while for him to grow so comfortable with my company. In truth, he had been quite scared when I had first met him. It was perfectly understandable considering his employer was my father, who was not known for his kindness. And, even then after his fear had faded he still had a shy exterior for a while, it only had been lifted when we began to become extremely comfortable around each other. We were each other's only form of solace in this world, we could only escape our reality when we were together.

Instead of having malice in my voice like other nobles would I simply pulled the shawl more taught around my shoulders and teased, “Why should I?”

The expression on his face was one of the ones I loved seeing on his face the most, a sly smirk. He came closer to me, with careful steps as if he was waiting for the right moment to pounce. We were so close together when he stopped moving, but still not touching. He was playing a game with me, not touching until I obliged him. As he leaned in to speak into the shell of my ear he was careful with the way he tilted his body forward so I could only feel his breath on the small portion of my skin, “Because you like it when I look at you.”

My arms fell to my sides releasing my shawl to fall from my shoulders onto the floor at his words, as they rang true. I did want him to look at me and also, of course touch me.

“You wore your favorite dress.” He observed, still not quite touching. I didn't need to answer the statement he made with the thought in my mind ‘I wore it for you’ because I knew he had already figured that out. His observational skills were keenly honed in by his constant reading whenever he had the chance, often reading books that I had gifted to him. He even sometimes read well into the night, straining his eyes in the darkness when the candle was almost merely a wick. I had found that out the first- and sadly, only time I had the opportunity to stay overnight. Since then I had pushed him to get more rest as I knew how hard he was worked to the bone during the day, courtesy of my father.

His eyes were staring at my dress, pupils blown wide, his mind seemingly off in another world maybe thinking about all the things he wanted to do to me.

“Please, touch me.” I didn’t need to speak loud, only a soft whisper for him to hear me because of how close he already was to me. So close, yet so far.

He raised his large hands, calloused from working so hard day in and day out. My own hands were soft from the expensive creams I had been pampered with since I was just a small child. I liked his hands better, they showed the hard work he used everyday to cultivate his beautiful mind and body.

I subtly licked my lips in anticipation of his touch, wanting to feel every inch of his hand roaming my body, from the tips of his fingers to where his palm met his wrist.

His fingers then started to trace over the top of my corset, just a hair away from touching the swell of my breasts. My chest was rising and falling with each breath, each inhale pushing it slightly closer to his fingers. With each fall of my chest I felt the need to quickly let go of my breath, so I could once again inhale and be brought closer to his touch.

“Please touch me.” I repeated, breathless from forcing myself to breathe into his touch.

“I am touching you.” His fingers still did not move to touch my skin, only the crimson accented in gold. It was his turn to tease me now, I was at his mercy, ready and waiting for it.

I could beg again, though quite obviously I could not convince him with it. As he was running his fingers over the cloth for what felt like the millionth time, still not touching me, I teased him back instead of begging, “No you are touching my dress.”

A mere ghost of a touch from his fingers then floated across my skin. What should have calmed my heaving chest from my gasping breaths only served to make my breathing even heavier. The slight touch was still not enough, only making my desire for his hands to roam every inch of my body even more severe.

“Perhaps I should take your corset off, to help you breathe better.” He said, as if he read my exact thoughts.

“I like your thinking.”

I was then spun around so my back was pressed into his chest. It soothes my desire for his touch some, but we both had barriers of cloth preventing me from fully feeling him. I could feel some of the warmth that was hidden underneath his shirt, which was made up of a much billowing white linen that compared to his trousers.

If my skirts were not so large I wondered if I were to push back if my behind would come in contact with his cock and whether or not his desire would be as prominent as the slickness dampening the bottom layer I was wearing. I’d have to find a way to find a pair of trousers then, sometime soon, so I could try to grind into him at a later date. There was no doubt that we’d surely find ourselves in a similar position again.

As his hands started to undo the laces of my corset with care, despite both of our desperation, a thought slipped out from his lips that I’m sure he intended to keep to himself, “I wish I could call you mine in public.”

“My father would kill you!” The taste of my voice would have been bitter in anyone’s mouth, quickly spat out in the same way I said those words. Perhaps my quick anger to his innocent thought would be insane to some, most would probably consider it a sweet thought. However, he knew from previous conversations that when those sweet thoughts were expressed that all I could feel was a heavy sadness sitting inside me, instead of desire.

Tears clouded my vision, so much so that I did not see Spencer’s arms come around me to envelop me in an embrace. I flinched a bit at first, but then melted when I realized it was him. We held each other for a while as I sobbed softly into his billowy white shirt.

He stroked my shoulder with his large hands that I loved, but the corset he had not taken off fully yet was blocking me from feeling his touch the way I wanted.

“Take it off please.” I begged softly, I wanted to feel his skin on mine, and not just his lips or his hands. I wanted to feel every inch of him.

The laces of my corset were already half undone because of his previous attempt at getting it off of me. He finished the job, pulling the corset off of my body, tossing it down to the floor. He may have loved the dress, but he was showing me through his actions that he loved what was underneath more.

Turning me around was his next step, so he could properly kiss me. The pressure was soft at first, as if he was testing the waters to see how I would feel. Feeling his soft lips on my own just made me want to pull him in further, and I did so. My fingers tangled into his curls as the kiss devolved into pure passion, we were both throwing ourselves fully into it, trying to express our feelings nonverbally.

His own hands moved to cup my breasts as he backed me into the cot he slept on every night. I did not let him push me down on the bed so he was on top of me like normal, this time I wanted to be on top for a while. When I straddled his hips the first thing I felt was his cock straining in his pants. I unbuckled them so I could wrap my hands around his cock, I wanted to feel his thick and heavy length in my hands. Precum was already dripping down his hard cock as I pumped his length with my hands. My own arousal was dampening the underneath of the skirt I still had on. Spencer confirmed it himself when he snuck his fingers underneath the fabric to play with my pleasure spots. We both groaned as his fingers entered inside me while he rubbed circles into my swollen pearl.

My skirt was bunched up in his hands, pulling up all the way to the tops of my thighs. He soon got fed up with the skirt being in the way though and maneuvered me to shuck it off of me as fast as possible. Being bare before him did not make me wither in self consciousness, it made me lean into his touch even more.

He leaned up to kiss me again while I grabbed his length and restraddled him. I was definitely wet enough to have him enter me, my separation from him making me desperate, it had been so long since we had the chance to be together like this.

I then sunk down on his length slowly, it was for me to adjust to his size and to relish in the feeling of him sliding inside me. I stilled on top of him as the back of my thighs hit the top of his, he filled me with perfection. Spencer only let me be still for a little while before his hands gripped my hips and started to guide me to roll my hips. The pace I set- well Spencer was the one who set it, was slow and deep, I was languidly rolling my hips while he thrusted up into me at a similar pace.

My face twisted in pleasure as his thrusts became more powerful, still at the same pace but with more force behind them.

“Fuck- I want everyone to know that you’re mine!” It was the exact same thing he had spoken to me earlier that had sparked anger and melancholy inside me. This time it caused a spark of pleasure instead, making me think about him fucking me in front of everyone claiming me as his.

“My father would kill you.” This time when I said it it was gasped into his mouth with little to all anger disappeared from it.

My words made Spencer growl which was swallowed by a possessive kiss. He then flipped me over roughly, my back now pressed into the cot. A high pitched squeak had escaped my lips unintentionally in surprise, it was quickly changed into a moan when he entered me again. This time the pace did not start off slow as I did not need to adjust to him inside of me.

“I don’t care.” His speech was agitated as he pounded into me, holding my legs open with both hands spreading me out for him to see everything, “No matter what anyone says or does, you’re mine.”

Pleasure sparked through me at his possessive words, I grabbed desperately at the cotton sheets trying to hold onto something as my finish was fast approaching. When the cotton sheets were not enough of a stabilizer for me I lifted my hands up to wrap around the back of his neck and pull him close.

“Come on I know you’re close, I’m close too baby.” My nails dug into his neck and back during the latter half of his sentence causing him to slightly wince. I knew he enjoyed it though because of the question that he groaned out next, “Can I cum inside you?”

Biting my lip hard was painful as I nodded my head in response to his question that had me falling over the edge. The consequences of him finishing inside me danced in the back of my head, I chose to ignore them as he did. I did not care as he filled me and I rode out my release, even if I was to somehow get pregnant because of our recklessness it did not matter. I’d gladly have his child, even if it meant I’d have to go on the run.

Instead of falling on top of me directly after finishing like I’ve heard most men do with their wives he gently removed himself from my entrance and laid down beside me on the cot. Bliss was mingling in the air between us, both unburdened by any of our problems that would become a reality as soon as I left for the night. For now we would just hold onto the bliss until it was cruelly snatched away from reality.

Spencer had a solution as always to our problems, and seemed to be thinking about the same thing I was with his next suggestion,

“Run away with me.” We were both covered in sweat that had cropped up from our activities, a contrast to the chilly air outside and in the castle. It was nice to feel warm every time I was in his arms, It was hard to resist being greedy and deciding to stay in his arms forever. It had crossed my mind more than once, but there was always something stopping me from going through with it fully. I opened my mouth to point out all the reasons why that would not be possible when he added, “And, before you say no I want to ask- what’s stopping you?”

His reasoning was sound, as it often was. My mouth opened and closed, struggling to find a reasoning before I accepted that he was right. The only potential downfall was my father’s forces searching everywhere to find me, but it would be worth it. We could also easily cross the border into nearby lands ruled by someone else that was not in alliance with him. I already felt lighter thinking about being free from the confines of the castle- and hopefully my corset. Though I would have to keep the crimson dress I wore today, even if I only wore it around him, It was his favorite and it symbolized the day that we met. He glanced over at me just as I did the same, looking right into his eyes as I spoke,“Alright.”

The light that sparked in his eyes made my heart soar, I could feel just from his gaze how ecstatic he was to spend his life with me. I didn’t need any words to know how much he loved me.

We basked for a moment in the presence of our love, Spencer broke the silence again when he started planning,“You need to go pack!”

I moved myself to sit up even though my limbs protested, wanting to sleep after our post coital bliss. A soft smile was exchanged between the two of us, “I’ll pack light, only the stuff I need.”

The purse of gold I had brought for him would no longer be used to fund his repairs, but to fund our life together. I climbed on top of him again leaning forward to capture him in a kiss that was much more chaste than the ones earlier in the night.

“I. love. you.” He whispered in between kisses making my eyes wet with tears. They weren’t born out of sadness, but of happiness that I had someone to love me as much as Spencer did.

“I love you too, I will see you soon.” I pulled myself away from his lips even though I did not want to, I then got up to leave reluctantly. Though it was easier than previous departures as I knew that it would be the last one that I would have to complete. My whole being was lighter and happier than I had ever felt before as I snuck back with a spring in my step. The only hint of what I was about to do, where I was about to go, was the mud stained at the hemline of my crimson dress.

Ask me anything

—-

Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith (why wont tumblr let me tag you😭

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey

Dom Spencer: @rainsong01 @evlfknb @jakobsdump

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #matthew gray gubler x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #mgg #matthew gray gubler #mgg x reader #mgg smut #matthew gray gubler smut #30 fics in 30 days

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peaceisadirtyword · 3 years ago

Text

Heathen (Ivar/Edlynn)

A/N: Hello♥️ as I promised, here’s the first chapter of the new series I’m writing. The idea came to me when I was rewatching Vikings and then I planned it while rewatching The Last Kingdom. So I started writing it, doing a bit of worldbuilding to introduce some original characters and here I am. It’s set on season 6B (I'm changing things, so it will not follow the show’s storyline). And I was really excited to write the mature version of Ivar, so I’m sorry if he seems a bit out of character. This chapter might be a bit boring, but it serves as an introduction. I hope you enjoy it, thank you for reading🥰 I will post a new chapter every Thursday at 21:00 (CET).

Warnings: mentions of violence and war, talk of arranged marriage, alcohol... Well, it’s Vikings😅

Words: 4197

Summary

gif belongs to @therealcalicali

"I've heard the pagans are back"

Edlynn raised her head. She sat next to the window, and had spent most of the time looking at the rain falling outside as she leant her head against the wall. It had been raining a lot those days. The beautiful cloth she was trying to practice her embroidery on was already forgotten and abandoned on her lap, a bit dirty with blood from all those times she had poked her finger with the needle.

The queen looked nervous when one of the girls in the room mentioned the northmen. Edlynn had also heard her father and even the king himself talking about it, whispering and with a frown, like men do when they talk about a very serious matter. They had already evacuated some of the towns near the coast, but no one really told her what was happening.

"We must trust on our men and on God" she smiled at her "They will protect England, they always have"

"I heard the king is thinking about evacuating the city too" other of the girls whined "What if they find us?"

"They won't, my dear" the queen looked uncomfortable "I don't know about the plans my husband has, he won't discuss them with me, but I'm sure he'll do what is best for our people"

Edlynn bit her lip. Queen Elsewith was nervous, she had seen her ordering the servants to start packing slowly, in case everyone had to leave the town. And there were whispers and an uneasiness that everyone had noticed.

Next to her, her friend Mildrith leant in to speak softly.

"I hope we can see the heathens from up close this time" she giggled.

Edlynn had to hold back a smile. For some reason, Mildrith had a fascination for the northmen that called themselves vikings, even if everyone else was scared of them. She had been infatuated with a viking boy that worked on the lands King Alfred had given to the northmen some time ago. Even if neither Mildrith nor Edlynn had been allowed to visit those lands, King Alfred invited some of the settlers to dine in his own home sometimes, to secure the good relations with them. The boy and Mildrith had had a short but intense romance that Edlynn helped to hide from her family and the king, and since then she had been obsessed with learning about their culture.

Edlynn could understand why, their ways and their traditions were different from the ones she had grown up with, and anyone with a bit of curiosity in them would want to know more. But no one let her learn about their Gods or they beliefs, for it was a sin.

"I don't think we will" she shook her head and spoke softly "The King won't let them"

"Maybe they will be invited for a feast" Mildrith bit her lip, excited "And we can see them. They say they're are the same ones that took York"

"We should go and pray" one of the women in the room stood up, interrupting Edlynn as she was about to answer her friend "For the safety of our country and our king, ask God to protect us"

Some of the women muttered in agreement, and soon the room filled with the noise of everyone standing and walking to the door. But before she could even stand, the queen approached. Quickly, Mildrith and her bowed their heads at Queen Elsewith respectfully.

"Edlynn, I'd like to talk to you for a moment, if you will"

She nodded slowly, and Mildrith excused herself after widening her eyes.

"Yes, queen Elsewith?"

"I just wanted to see if you were alright, Edlynn, these days I've barely seen you"

She bit her lip again. The queen was always nice and kind to her, but it was still the queen and she couldn't act like close friends with her. And she definitely couldn't speak her mind freely.

"Yes, I'm fine" she smiled softly "These days I wasn't feeling too well, I... Spent some time in my chambers just resting"

"I was worried about you, you disappeared just after your engagement to Lord Edmund, and as I've also been there, I thought maybe I could help"

The engagement. She had tried her best not to think about it the past few days. Even if Edlynn knew since she was born that she'd have to marry a stranger, it was still awkward to meet a man during a small feast that was announced as her future husband just half an hour later.

In any case, she was still lucky, Lord Edmund was handsome, young and, as far as everyone knew, nice. Edlynn wasn't that upset about it, but it was still overwhelming, and the fact that she'd have to abandon the court, her friends -oh, what would she do without Mildrith?- and her family to go and live in a stranger's home saddened her.

"Lord Edmund is a very good man that I can't wait to get to know better, and I feel honored and lucky that he chose me to be his wife" Edlynn repeated the words that Hilda, the nun that raised her after her mother's death, had made her learn in preparation for this moment.

Elsewith smiled sadly at the young girl. It was a woman's duty, but she saw a lot of herself on Edlynn and she knew she must have been scared and nervous, even if she understood it. But Edlynn had always been a proper and obedient lady and, like many other women in her position, learnt to hide her true feelings. She'd never do anything that went against her father and the King's wishes.

"The king would never have let him ask for your hand in marriage if he didn't know he's a good man, a good warrior and a good Christian" the queen reassured her "He loves your family a lot and just wishes a good life for you"

"I know, my queen, and I will always be thankful to him and to you for how much kindness you've shown me and my family"

Her smile widened.

"I also wanted to talk to you about Mildrith" Elsewith sighed and started walking to the door "She really shouldn't go around talking about how she'd like to meet a northman, it's... Not proper"

"I know" muttered Edlynn, following her "I'll talk to her"

She nodded, and just before exiting the room, Elsewith took her hand and squeezed it softly. In some way, she had always considered Edlynn her friend.

"Remember you can come and talk to me any time you need" the queen smiled again "Women understand each other much better than men"

"I will" she nodded "Thank you, my queen" Edlynn bowed her head again before Queen Elsewith turned around, walking to the nearest chapel escorted by two of the guards.

__________________________________________

King Alfred threw a feast to celebrate the engagement. Usually, this kind of things weren't celebrated that much, but Edlynn's father, Lord Eldred, had been close to King Aethelwulf and was close to King Alfred, becoming one of his most trusted men after his mother's death. Besides, Alfred and Edlynn grew up together and even if with time the both of them had learnt to keep their relationship purely formal, he still had a soft spot for her.

Edlynn's sister had been married to a lord from Mercia and her brother was a proud member of King Alfred's personal guard. Now it was her turn to make the family proud by doing her duty and what she had been born to: Stand next to her soon-to-be-husband and smile politely at strangers that couldn't care less about her and her happiness but that queued to wish the both of them a happy marriage.

Even if she knew that was what she was supposed to do, it was still boring.

"The king has told me you enjoy reading" Lord Edmund, sitting next to her, was the one that started the conversation after talking with the king and her father about war.

Edlynn was surprised when he spoke to her. It was the first time the two of them talked. She wasn't very talkative, at least not at the beginning, and didn't really expect more from him than the usual formalities. She had seen marriages like this many times, and didn't really expected him to acknowledge her much in public.

"I do" she smiled politely.

"It's nice, what kind of things you like to read?"

"Mostly, about history" she bit her lip nervously "I find the Romans particularly interesting"

Lord Edmund nodded.

"I will make sure that you have enough to read back in my castle" he said softly "And don't be afraid of asking for anything that you need or want to feel comfortable"

That surprised Edlynn even more. He smiled at her confused face and his grey eyes fixed on hers. 'At least he has pretty eyes' she thought. Maybe their children would inherit his grey eyes and not her brown ones. For some reason, she didn't feel that overwhelmed by the thought of a young child with his grey eyes and her auburn hair.

"I knew you were special since I saw you, when I first arrived here to take an oath to King Alfred after my father's death, that's why I asked your father for your hand in marriage, and I'm pleased to know there's much more about you behind your beauty"

His words were so sweet, and one lock of his bright black hair fell next to his face, giving him an attractive look that made Edlynn understand why many women had been glaring at her since the engagement was announced.

"You flatter me, my lord" she tried your best to sound confident "I appreciate your kindness, thank you"

From the corner of her eye, she could see her father and Hilda, the nun, watching her. Edlynn straightened her back and kept talking to Lord Edmund, feeling a strange emptiness inside her.

____________________________________

Ivar knew taking England wouldn't be easy, but it would definitely be easier if he was leading the entire army.

King Harald had the last word, and even if he trusted him enough to let him think about the strategies, it wasn't the same. Ivar made a flawless plan, he thought about every single detail, and he knew exactly what the english would do. It wasn't too hard.

"So, King Alfred is evacuating the city" Harald emptied his drink, taking another piece of meat before his deep blue eyes fixed on Ivar, who ate in silence next to his brother. Hvitserk ignored them, focusing on the food on his plate "Should we take it?"

Ivar raised an eyebrow and swallowed the food before taking his cup to drink some more ale.

"We need to defeat Alfred first, we can't do much with just the city"

Harald shrugged.

"Defeating him in battle won't change much either, we need to gain some more ground"

Ivar hummed, nodding.

"I agree, and we should try and find something that gives us some kind of advantage over them, because we are outnumbered and we can't defeat them just by winning battles, they can assemble another army faster than us"

"And? You're the strategist here, Ivar" Harald chuckled. In some way, he was happy to have the youngest Ragnarsson back on his side.

"We need to find something that makes them surrender to our terms and buys us some time" Ivar raised an eyebrow.

"Like a hostage?" Hvitserk raised his head for the first time since the food arrived. He let Ivar do the talk, and stuck to fighting.

Ivar smirked at his brother.

"Exactly. A hostage, dear brother"

"I don't think that a couple of soldiers captured in battle will make them surrender to our terms" Harald shrugged again "We'd need someone else, someone like..."

"The queen"

The king raised an eyebrow at him, while Ivar smiled softly.

"Christian women don't go to battle, and we can't try and break into their camp, there will be too many guards"

"Exactly, so we need to find a moment in which the men are occupied with something else, something like..."

"A battle" Hvitserk chuckled.

Ivar nodded winking at his brother.

"So you mean to kidnap the queen during the battle" Harald nodded slowly "It could work"

"The queen won't be far from the battlefield, and there won't be so many guards" Ivar shrugged, taking another bite from his plate.

"We could go and meet them on a battlefield, I already explored some of the lands around here and I think it would be easier to attract them to the woods" Ivar nibbled one of the ribs "Then, we ambush them, and keep them distracted enough time to sneak into their camp and take the queen"

"And then?" Harald looked interested. Sometimes, he found Ivar's mind fascinating.

"Then we negotiate" he shrugged "We just want some land, right? The queen in exchange for that land, I think it's a fair exchange, then, when we have the land, some resources and a place to settle down, we can continue fighting, because we will be stronger"

"But he could betray us after he gets his queen back" Hvitserk raised an eyebrow.

"I know Alfred, he won't" Ivar shook his head "Not as long as he thinks we're willing to stop the raids and the invasion if we get the land"

"So we lie to him" Harald pointed, and Ivar nodded slowly.

"But first" he raised an eyebrow "We need the queen"

_________________________________

The beds on the camp were uncomfortable. Edlynn didn't complain, though, knowing everyone had bigger problems than worrying about her not getting any sleep.

Just two days after the engagement feast, king Alfred ordered to evacuate the city. The northmen were too close, and it was too dangerous, it was the only explanation she got when her father bursted into the chambers and ordered to pack only the necessary. Edlynn barely saw him since then, as he and Edward, her brother, would ride with the king when everyone was moving and didn't leave the king's tent when they camped, too busy with battle plans and strategies. Queen Elsewith was also with them, and Edlynn's betrothed, Lord Edmund, too. Betrothed... It still sounded too irreal. At least, he rode next to the carriage she traveled in.

Mildrith was the only one that found the entire thing exciting. Edlynn often found her wandering outside the camp, and didn't mind how many times she begged her to stay in the tent, Mildrith wouldn't listen.

Edlynn could sneak a couple of books inside of her trunk, hidden between some dresses, and it was the only entertainment she had.

"They say tomorrow there will be a battle" Mildrith muttered as she watched some of the soldiers training. It was raining and the both of them stayed inside of the tent, just at the entrance so Edlynn could read and Mildrith could watch the people around.

"The King and our men will be victorious" Edlynn repeated what Hilda said every time she mentioned the war "We have God on our side"

Mildrith frowned, as she always did when she heard that phrase, which was the only thing everyone seemed to say these days.

"I'm not so sure about that, Lynn" she muttered "They are smart and their Gods are fierce, they say that they're lead by the same one that took York" she lowered her tone "Ivar the Boneless"

Her friend raised an eyebrow, the name was familiar.

"Why do they call him boneless?"

"Because he can't walk" Mildrith shrugged like it was obvious "They say he crawls around like a snake, and that he's fierce and vicious... Some even say he's the Devil incarnated"

Edlynn rolled her eyes.

"Those are tales, Mildrith, he's just a man" she chuckled "A cruel one, a heathen, but just a man, he's just like you and me"

"Some women say he's handsome too" she giggled.

"Have they seen him?"

"Yes, in York, they said he's cruel but beautiful, just looking at him felt like a sin"

Edlynn closed her book.

"You shouldn't go around saying these things, Mildrith, anyone would think you're in love with that heathen"

She laughed out loud, making some of the soldiers near them turn to look at her.

"I'm not in love with him, I don't know him" she shrugged "But I'd like to see him, at least once"

Edlynn rolled her eyes again, shaking her head before going back to the book.

__________________________________

Edlynn didn't know how to feel when she saw the men leaving. King Alfred said goodbye to his queen and Edlynn hugged her father and brother. Even Lord Edmund kissed the back of her hand and bowed his head with a gentle smile on his lips. She didn't know how to react, as she never had to say goodbye to the men when they left to battle. Should I cry? Smile? She tried her best to imitate queen Elsewith.

"Pray for us" her father kissed Edlynn's forehead softly for the last time before getting on his horse "And may God be with us"

She nodded slowly and kept silent as they left the camp.

After a couple of minutes in silence, the queen walked towards her, making Edlynn nervous. Will she scold me for not doing this well?

"Edlynn, I'd like you to join me in my tent to pray for the safe return of the king and his men"

She looked around. Some of the women looked at her, probably jealous of seeing she had the queen's favor and thinking that was the reason why she had been betrothed to Lord Edmund.

"Of course" Edlynn nodded her head respectfully, ignoring them.

The queen smiled brightly at her, relieved to hear her agreeing. She had a bad feeling about this new war, and worried about her husband, but also hoped to find some kind of peace on the tent.

"You can go, there's food and wine, I'll go talk to the priest first, and then I'll join you"

Edlynn nodded with a small smile. Her eyes found Hilda's, who smiled proudly at the young girl she loved so much. Mildrith waited until the queen had walked away and then approached her friend.

"What's with you and the queen?"

Edlynn shrugged.

"I suppose she's just trying to be nice, after all she understands what's like to be betrothed to someone you don't know"

"Oh" Mildrith bit her lip, almost like she had forgotten Edlynn was about to marry a stranger "Yes, it makes sense... Anyway, be careful, people will start thinking you're trying to win the queen's favor"

Edlynn glanced to a group of women from the court, who looked at the both of them and whispered.

"I'll go to the queen's tent now" she decided to ignore it "Join me later? We could go to the river and maybe bathe"

Anything to avoid thinking about the battle that was probably going to take place soon.

Mildrith nodded with a smile and waved at her as she approached the tent. The guards bowed their heads respectfully and moved to let her enter. It was much bigger than the tent Edlynn shared with Hilda, and the bed looked much comfortable than the one they had given to her. The bedding was soft and warm, and made her sigh in jealousy as her eyes wandered around the tent.

There was a table with some food and wine on it, and Edlynn's mouth watered as she realized she still hadn't eaten. In front of the bed, there was a table with a cross and a few candles, which was where she supposed both the king and the queen said their prayers.

Edlynn glanced at the entrance to make sure no one entered and quickly grabbed a grape from one of the bronze plates and turned around to savor it. She loved grapes, and the best ones could only be found at the king's table.

But as she glanced down to hide her face in case the queen entered, Edlynn noticed something on the rug that covered the floor of the tent. Frowning, and wondering why there was a dark spot just before her, she bended down to examine it, widening her eyes when she realized it was blood. There wasn't just one spot, but a trail that disappeared behind a curtain, and suddenly she realized something else.

The guards didn't ask who I was before letting me in.

Before Edlynn could even react, someone grabbed her from behind, putting their hands on her mouth to stifle the scream that left her throat. She writhed and fought, but there was two of them, too strong for her. Suddenly, she heard a whisper on a foreign language and then an intense pain on the back of her head as one of the two men hit the back of her head with the handle of his sword before there was only darkness.

________________________________

Ivar was proud. Once again, he ensured a clear victory over the saxons with a flawless plan, and he demonstrated he still was the brilliant strategist everyone admired. Even Harald looked impressed to see that the risky plan to defeat King Alfred's army had been successful. Ivar seemed to read the young king's mind perfectly, and if everything had gone well with the other part of the plan, they'd have a queen waiting for them in the camp that would make things even easier for them. Hvitserk also looked satisfied, having missed the adrenaline of the battlefield and the satisfaction of killing too much. Harald admitted he was wary of those two, with Ivar's sharp mind and Hvitserk's skills in battle, they were nearly unbeatable.

Thanks Odin any of them had given any signs of wanting the crown of Norway Harald had fought so hard to get. But he still didn't trust Ivar completely.

But now they had a common cause, and he hoped that controlling some lands in England would satisfy Ivar's hunger for power.

"So..." Ivar didn't speak until he had finished two horns of ale. The intensity of the battle, standing for so long and walking with the crutches left him exhausted "Do we have a queen or not?"

The men that had just entered the tent, still wearing the saxon's armor, bowed their heads before speaking.

"We do" one of them smiled victoriously "She's unconscious, but guarded, we had to hit her to bring her here"

Hvitserk raised an eyebrow. Ivar had made very clear that he didn't want the queen harmed. Not yet at least, he had said with a chuckle the night before, Alfred won't surrender to our terms if we harm her.

"She's fine, though" the other man glared at his companion "It was just a small blow on the head"

Harald nodded, ignoring the stern glare Ivar sent their way.

"Try and wake her up" the king ordered "We'll talk to her before feasting and resting"

The men bowed again and left. Harald then turned to look at the brothers. In some way, it hurt to see them so close again, reminding him of his own brother, who had also been his most loyal friend. The Ragnarssons didn't have the best relationship, but he noticed they looked much closer since they went back to Kattegat after being with the Rus. He didn't know what had happened there between them, but now he was sure no one could get between them. He envied them for that.

Now they seemed to be having a conversation in silence, with just some stares and grimaces.

"Your plan worked" he said out loud, looking at Ivar. The youngest son of Ragnar shot him a cocky smile.

"Of course it worked, saxons are predictable" he shrugged "And Alfred won't dare to attack us when we have his queen" his eyes shone with pride.

"I wonder if she's pretty" Hvitserk muttered with a dreamy smile as he chewed on a piece of bread. Harald smirked at that, he understood the feeling of coming back from battle and feeling the need to have a woman after filling his belly with warm food and cold drinks. It helped to relax.

Ivar rolled his eyes. He was never as interested in women as his brothers were, and the few times he actually was with women had ended in disaster. So he couldn't understand the obsession.

"She's a christian, so probably not" he shrugged "Anyway, that's the last thing we should worry about"

"There are beautiful christian women out there, little brother" Hvitserk chuckled, amused by his brother's annoyance.

"They're weak" he narrowed his eyes "They are always scared, they don't fight and they don't have the spirit and the courage of viking women"

"How many christian women have you met, Ivar?" Harald laughed.

Ivar frowned. He had had too much contact with christians for his liking.

"Anyway" he scowled, annoyed, as he stood up leaning on his crutch "Let's go, we have a queen to meet".

__________________________________

Tags: @mblaqgi @alicedopey @lol-haha-joke @hallowed-heathen @naaladareia @tephi101 @captstefanbrandt @love-hate-love @titty-teetee @readsalot73 @moondustmemories @therealcalicali @blushingskywalker @awkwardfangirl02 @gruffle1 @justacripple @love-dria @heartbeats-wildly @letsrunawaytotomorrow @inforapound @sallydelys @hellogabysblog @winchesterwife27 @hecohansen31 @youbloodymadgenius @xinyourdreamsx @funmadnessandbadassvikings @tgrrose @lovessce @tootie-fruity @didiintheblog @alexhandersenx @belovedcherry @fantasydevil2002 @xceafh @astrape-the-weatherwitch @destynelseclipsa @momowhoo @mcrmarvelloki @nanahachikyuu @valopz @mrsalwayswrite @poisonous00 @whenimaunicorn @heavenly1927

#ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar x oc #vikings #vikings imagine #heathen

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nastybuckybarnes · 4 years ago

Text

Of Kings and Beasts - Twelve

Pairing: King!Bucky X Princess!Reader X King!Steve

Summary: Born a bastard of the King of Orlen, you’re thrust to the West to marry the Kings. However, the greeting you get is anything but warm, and your life with the King is far from enjoyable. He knows it isn’t your fault his husband is gone, but that fact alone won’t prevent him from taking it out on you.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Smut (almost?), Injuries, Violence,

Word Count: 3K

A/n: Hehehehehehehehehehehehehehe

THIS SERIES CONTAINS SMUT AND DARK THEMES THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SOME AUDIENCES!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!! 18+!!!!

Series Masterlist

~*~

Your eyes slowly flutter open, your head throbbing and body aching.

The events prior to your collapse come flooding into your mind and you’re suddenly filled with anxiety.

You push yourself up, wincing as ropes bite into your wrists and a gag scratches the corners of your mouth

You’re bound on a bed, still wearing your cape and gown.

“I was beginning to wonder when you would wake up... if I had been a little too rough with you,” a silky voice says.

You look over to the source, glaring at the man by the window.

Loki only smiles at you, slowly walking towards you.

“You’re far smarter than anyone gives you credit for, do you know that? The Kings think you to be nothing more than a delicate princess, but we both know that’s not true. You had to find your way, make your way. You’ve gone to great lengths just to survive. And that’s where you and I are similar.”

Two long, cold fingers are under your chin, tilting your head back.

“You’re so much more than they think. But they won’t get to know that, will they?” Your eyes widen and you shimmy back, terrified for your life.

The man only laughs, shaking his head.

“I’m not going to kill you, petal. Not yet, anyway. But I cannot say the same for your husbands.” You make a noise through your gag, wanting to only ask him one question.

“You want to know why?” He asks, waiting until you nod before answering.

“Because I have lived in the shadows for far too long. That is something that you and I have in common. We’ve both blossomed in the shadows of other people. But for no longer. It is time for me to take my rightful place as King. King of Asgard. King of Acadia. They will be one under my rule.” Your brows draw together. He means to overthrow not one but two of the strongest kingdoms on the continent.

He opens his mouth to further his explanation, but the door opens and a certain blond-haired beast walks in.

“Ah, yes. I was about to come fetch you,” Loki says, looking over at you and shooting you a wink. You’re still so confused.

“Now, you have your fun with your new wife, while I go divert the attention of her husbands,” Loki says, taking a step back. His appearance changes before your very eyes, and then you’re staring at yourself.

Your lips smile at you, and then your body is walking out of the King’s chambers and closing the door tightly behind.

Thor seems to pay his shape-shifting brother no mind and is instead entirely focused on you.

He slowly approaches the bed, hands extended towards you and you flinch away.

A frown graces his features and he shakes his head, pulling the gag from your mouth.

“I had asked him not to be so rough with you, but he insisted it was necessary. I do hope you’ll forgive me, my love.” You’re taken aback by the name, staring at him in shock.

He chuckles, the sound almost nervous.

“I suppose I should explain myself.” You wait a little less than patiently as the King gathers his thoughts, his eyes darting to you ever now and again.

“You... you are intriguing. You’ve bewitched me, as I said. Captured both my attention and my heart with only a few moments.”

“What in the name of the Gods are you speaking of?” You’re so bloody confused.

“When I first stumbled upon you, I had hoped that you were not in fact the queen. That instead, you were a mere maiden in the Palace. But even finding that you are wed to two of my dear friends... why, it wasn’t enough to stop me from falling for you.” He takes your bound hands in his, thumbs rubbing over your palms. It makes you feel sick to your stomach, and you wrench yourself out of his grip.

“You will not touch me! Not after what you’ve done.” A thought bubbles into your mind and you look up at him. “Loki had called me your new wife... what on Earth does he mean by that?” Thor grins, two fingers stroking your cheek gently while he gazes at you like a lovesick puppy.

“You are to be my wife, (Y/n). And I swear to you that I shall treat you with the respect and the love that you deserve. Your current husbands should be killed for the way they have treated something as delicate as you.” You glare at him, jerking your face away.

“You will not speak of my husbands in such a manner. Your actions are treasonous, and you will bring war upon your kingdom. Why would you do that for me? Why overthrow their kingdom? The greed of men never ceases to disgust me.” He furrows his brows, him being the confused one this time.

“Why would I not go to the ends of the Earth for the woman I love? You have carved a way into my heart, darling, and I would both die for you and kill for you.”

You shake your head vigorously, wanting to cease his speaking.

“How can you claim to love me when you do not even truly know me? You know nothing of me, besides whatever you have created from your own imagination. You do not love me, Thor. Do not try to convince yourself or me that you do.”

He grips your face roughly, eyes alight with fire.

“Do not for a moment think that I am not in love with you.” His voice is booming, frightening even, and for a moment you shrink in on yourself, reduced to that terrified young princess yet again.

He takes a deep breath then lets it out, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I did not mean to frighten you, my love, I just... I love you and I need you to know it, to accept it. You are to be my wife. My queen, and the mother of my children. I know it is not something you are keen on, only due to your loyalty to your first marriage, but that will be fixed over time, I promise. You need only give me a chance. A chance to show you how it feels to truly be loved.”

There's something off about him, his eyes, his smile. But you cannot deny the fact that his offer is tempting. A chance to not live in fear? To be treated with respect and love? It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and so much more.

But you cannot simply give up on your husbands, can you?

~*~

“There you are! We were beginning to get worried!” James exclaims, taking your hand and ushering you into the room.

Steve watches curiously, something about you seeming off to him.

“I was engaged with Loki, I do apologize for taking so long.” You sit down on the bed, hand reaching for Steve’s.

Something’s not right.

You’ve been quite receptive to their physical touches, but this doesn’t feel right.

Instead of saying anything, the King keeps quiet and plasters a smile onto his face.

“You’re safe here, darling. You need not cut your conversations short for us.” You smile up at him then look over to the note on the bedside table.

“Have you had any luck?” The two shake their heads, wishing they were closer to figuring out who the threat is.

“What can you remember about receiving the letter? The time, if anybody was around?” James watches as your brows furrow, trying to recall anything that may be of use.

“Nothing stands out... although... Thor was quite adamant about bringing me here instead of back to you. I thought that a little strange but at the time I did not question it. And... there was an incident the other night.” Steve’s hand finds your lower back, urging you to continue.

“He made advances... declared his love for me. He later apologized for it, but the entire event has put me on edge.” The two Kings exchange glances at this new information, the brunet ready to go find Thor and give him a piece of his mind.

“Please do not be angry. I’m sure he meant nothing by it, and I wouldn’t want to cause any trouble.” James shushes you, taking a seat on the bed beside you.

“You won’t cause any trouble. If this issue bothers you, then it must be brought up. We will have words with Thor.” You nod, the corners of your mouth turning up in a small but sinister grin.

~*~

The door to the chambers you’ve been trapped in opens, and the trickster walks in with a gleaming smile on his face.

“What have you done now?” You demand, tugging against your bonds.

He only chuckles, walking past you to the small tray of food on the bedside table.

“Oh, I’ve done nothing. It’s what you’ve done that will be the downfall of the two great kingdoms.” You shake your head at him, wanting to know exactly what he’s talking about.

“Right as we speak, you’re confessing to the Kings just how much my idiot brother loves you, how much he longs to be with you and how he would do anything for you. And we both know how much of a temper your husbands have, especially when it comes to you. So it is only a matter of time before they become defensive and seek him out.”

“Wait, Thor is unaware of your plot?” The man laughs, a full belly laugh from deep in his core at your question.

“Oh, Gods no! He is nothing more than a pawn in a far bigger plan than he realizes. His simple mind was far too easy to take, and his initial protection over you was easy to nurture into an infatuation and an unhealthy obsession.” He looks over at you, a smile on his face.

“And you, my dear, are going to be my greatest piece yet. His obsession will be not only the downfall of the Kingdoms, but also of you. He will be your undoing. Because in his mind, if he cannot have you, then nobody else can.” He straightens up and walks over to the wardrobe, pulling off his cloak and hanging it up.

“It’s unfortunate, really, because you are quite beautiful. Beauty is something that shouldn’t be wasted. But I suppose they’ll write sonnets and ballads about how ‘your beauty was what brought the kingdoms to ash’.” You struggle against your bonds, wanting nothing more than to take the knife strapped to your thigh and slash his throat with it.

“You will never get away with this! The Kings are far too smart. They’ll see right through your disguises.” He chuckles and turns to you, arms crossed over his chest.

“There’s a magic in this world, girl. One that you could not even begin to understand. The Kings are nothing more than mortal men. They will succumb to the powers I wield and they will burn, with you alongside them.” He cocks his head to the side, eyes raking over your face.

“But perhaps I need to have my own turn with you. Experience you both inside and out.” You shiver in disgust, pushing yourself as far back on the bed as you can.

The door creaks and the two of you look to the sound, the trickster backing up a step before vanishing into thin air, leaving you alone with the newcomer.

“I do hope you'll pardon my absence,” Thor says timidly, raking a hand through his hair and shutting the door behind himself.

“I had hoped to spend more time with you, however the duties of a King need to be fulfilled.” You say nothing, Loki’s words ringing over and over again in your ears.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t realize he’s climbed onto the bed until his large hands are pushing your knees apart.

“W-wait no!” An idea bubbles into your mind and you speak before you have time to second-guess yourself.

“If you truly wish for me to enjoy our time together, you must release me from my bonds! Do not take me the way the other Kings have. Please. You say you love me, then release me so that I too may enjoy it.” His face softens and he nods, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek before reaching around your back to yank the rope off of you.

“It was never my intention to bind you, sweet flower. But Loki insisted. He said that you couldn’t be trusted and I... I believed him. Please forgive me, my love.” He takes your hands in his so gently, so much love and affection behind his actions, and you find yourself feeling sorry for the man.

Beneath the pity is an anger. Anger at Loki for putting not only Thor through this, but for tormenting you with the knowledge that his love is not real. Nothing more than a facade.

“Thor... how much do you trust your brother?” The blond looks confused by the question and takes a moment to ponder it before answering.

“I... well... Loki and I have not always seen eye to eye. But within the past few months he has come around and been more present. All I’ve ever wanted was for my brother to feel at home in his kingdom. He believes himself to be shunned, an outcast, but he is my brother and I love him dearly. It pains me to see him shut himself away, but now he’s opening back up. And I do think that there is hope for us yet.” Your heart cracks at this.

“But enough about him. This should be about us. You and me, my dear.” His lips are then on your neck, hips pushing between your thighs and big body holding you down against the mattress.

Once again, you find yourself pinned beneath a man with no hope of escaping.

Well... almost no hope.

You swallow back the bile in your throat and seek out his lips, kissing him fiercely while your hands grasp at his shoulders.

He pulls away after a moment, yanking his tunic above his head and grinning down at you.

“Eager, are we?” You nod, fingers trailing over his sculpted torso.

He is a beautiful specimen, and it pains you to do what you’re doing.

“My King,” you whisper, back arching as he kisses over your neck once again. He hums, waiting for you to speak.

“May I ride you?” The words are whispered, barely breathed in the warm air of the room, but they elicit a growl from the man above you.

Your positions are flipped in an instant, you straddling the blond man while he lays comfortably below you.

His hands find your hips while your own shaky fingers pull his manhood from his trousers.

A groan leaves his lips at the feeling of your soft hands against his hot length, and your eyes flash up to his face.

His eyes are squeezed shut, and in that moment you realize it’s now or never.

One hand stays on his length, stroking gently, while the other reaches to the dagger strapped on your inner thigh.

You don’t need to kill him, only to incapacitate him long enough for you to escape.

Disguising the motion as you simply moving your skirts out of the way, you grind your teeth together and squeeze your eyes shut.

The blade is raised high above your head, and then with all your might, you slam it down into his abdomen.

He lurches forward, eyes popping open in shock as you yank the blade back out and stumble off the bed.

His face contorts with first confusion, then betrayal, and pain following.

“Why?” His voice is a broken whisper, but you don’t dwell on it. Instead, you rise to your feet and sprint out of his chambers, bloody knife still held tightly in your grasp.

You can hear him behind you, grunting with pain as he moves through his chambers then stumbles through the doorway, but you’re already far enough ahead to create a scene if need be.

You cut through the gardens, grabbing your skirts and hiking them up above your knees to give you more room to run.

Your shoulder connects with the familiar door of safety, and you stumble inside, shaking hands dropping both your skirts and the blade onto the floor.

“(Y/n)?!” James and Steve rush over to you quickly, inspecting your body for any wounds.

“I-It’s Thor! And Loki! Loki’s behind all of it and he has Thor trapped under a curse of some kind! I do not know what he has told you, but he was posing as me and you must believe me!” You’re near hysterical, knowing that if they don’t believe you then you’ll be sent straight back into the hands of the King.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Steve asks.

“Loki is a sorcerer. A powerful one. H-he posed as me and no doubt came to the two of you. I can only imagine the lies he spewed. He means to overthrow the kingdoms and he has Thor under-” The door gets pushed open, the man in question looking around frantically until his eyes fall upon your figure.

“Ah, there you are. You needn’t be afraid, my love. I know it was only an accident.” He’s got one of his hands pressed against the gaping wound in his abdomen, the other reaching out for you.

“No!” You cry, near ready to pull your hair out.

James pushes you behind his back, unsheathing his sword and pointing it at the King.

“You will not take another step, do you understand? We can discuss this like men, not fight about it like boys.” Thor blinks a few times, eyes darting between you and your husbands.

“Very well.” He straightens up, face perfectly political.

“I would like you to hand over my wife, or I will kill her where she stands. If I cannot have her, then nobody can.”

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fandomlovingfreak · 3 years ago

Text

Glacial Passion (2/?)

Regulus Black/Reader

Rating: Suggestive Content, but no lemon

Word Count: 1809

MasterList Link I AO3 Link I Wattpad Link

Summary: Glacial, cold, icy… all words that described Regulus Black’s grey eyes. Was there truly no emotion behind those eyes, or did a caring man exist beneath? Could she defrost those glacial eyes?

Disclaimer: Regulus Black (Walburga Black, Orion Black, and Sirius Black) is a character from Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. Reader or y/n is not owned by Rowling. This work has not been created for profit or financial compensation, and is a transformative fair use work in accordance with Section 107 of the United States Copyright Act.

Notes: So I am a liar, and this will be longer than 3 chapters probably:) I kept writing chapter 2 and it ended up being more like 6000 words, so I’m splitting it up baby

Enjoy

Pulled from sleep abruptly, I sit up, disoriented in the unfamiliar bedroom. Glancing around as the memories of last night come flooding in. This bed, now empty , belongs to my husband. Noticing said husband's absence, I rest my hand where I last saw him, noting that the sheets are cool to the touch. I glance towards the two doors leading to the closet and bathroom. Something deep inside me hopes that Regulus would pop out of either of the doors.

Maybe he went to get something--

No. It's absurd to let myself believe that Regulus simply stepped out of the room for a moment. My foolish heart wants to believe he didn't, but I'm all too aware that Regulus abandoned me in our bed the morning after our wedding.

Why I assumed having sex with him would magically make him love me, I don't know. It was ridiculous, a miscalculation , an expectation that I had been holding onto consciously or not.

I laugh bitterly to myself. How stupid can I be?

How stupid.

***

I assume running into me in the library of the house was an unpleasant accident on his part, partly from the stuttering pause when he walked through the doors and partly from the icy look he gave me.

How someone can look at another with such-- coldness , especially someone you could at best call a stranger, is unfathomable to me. I look back down at the book that I've spent my day entertaining myself with to shield myself from his frigid eyes.

It's helped pass the time to an extent, the time I should have been with him doing whatever newlyweds do on their first day of marriage.

At first, I had wandered the halls aimlessly debating with myself if breakfast with his parents, alone, would be too unbearable. It was a perfectly tragic breakfast, with Walburga asking me an array of pointless questions that had little to do with getting to know her new daughter-in-law.

Worst of all, she had been relentless in her demanding way about the importance of an heir, as if I were supposed to pop one out after one night. I had to admit, the idea of exposing her son and his use of contraceptive charms had been a delicious idea at the moment. In the end, though, I chose civility with my charming husband, even as the spite I felt for him in the current time had nearly pushed me towards the edge in these conversations.

I had wandered into the library after escaping my in-laws, and I hadn't left since then. The novel chosen to occupy my time had been working to make me forget that I was beyond annoyed with Regulus and my situation... but then he walked in and ruined what little sanity I had collected in the past hours.

Regulus still stands in the door frame, looking as if he may turn around and walk away before engaging me in any conversation or even a simple hello. If this son-of-a-bitch turns around and pretends he didn't see me, I swear I will make myself a widow.

"(y/n)."

My shoulders tense, "Regulus."

He doesn't respond for a second before asking, "Have you had a nice day?"

Un-fucking-believable , "No."

Not even married a full twenty-four hours, and he left me alone to fend for myself in this creaky, horrible old house with only his parents and a house-elf for company, and he dares to ask me if I've had a nice day?

If I hadn't just had one of the most soul-draining days of my life, I would've laughed at the look on his face. He doesn't quite know what to do with my firm 'no'. Naturally, I am not happy, and I will not hide my unhappiness from my dear husband.

"What is the matter? Did you--"

"You ran off to Merlin-knows-where, leaving me alone in this house. I did not have a good day, thank you for asking." I go back to the book I was reading. I had been enjoying this moment of reprieve from the anger I was feeling, but now that he's returned, I can barely focus on the little black words.

"Mother and father were here--"

"I don't find their company appealing," I spit back. How dare he not even explain himself. And suggest such a-- repulsive alternative . His parents? He really wanted me to spend my first day as his wife with his parents?

"I assumed you would want to get to know your family."

"You didn't suppose I would want to get to know my husband?" I can't help but bite back. His calm tone further aggravates me.

"You should know your family."

"They are not my family."

I peek over my book to see his face. Confusion and a tinge of annoyance lace his features.

"They are your family."

" No , they are not."

He lets a frown crease his forehead for a moment before he goes back to his mask of passivity. "You are my wife."

"That is true." My jaw clenches uncomfortably. What was his point?

"Then you are family, which makes my family yours ."

I shake my head, "no, it does not. "

Regulus looks frustrated, "When we have children. Then you will consider my family as yours?"

"No."

"No? How can you say no to a fact? A child of ours will be related to my family as well as yours and bear the Black name."

"That is all true, but it does not make us family."

Regulus has the decency to look shocked at my words, "I am your husband. Of course, we are family. With a child, that's even more so."

"Our marriage is a glorified contract at best. You do not love me, and I do not love you. You don't even try to love me. You made it fairly clear today that you don't intend on trying. Yes, any child born between us would be my family, but that does not make us family. Family implies some bond of familial familiarity. I don't know you, and at this rate, I don't see myself ever knowing you." I keep eye contact as I lay out our situation to my husband. Husband didn't even feel like it should apply to him. The warmth the word could have brought to me has been extinguished by Regulus's lack of emotion. Lack of-- everything.

Regulus stares back.

"I can't love you."

His words pierce any anger I felt. I knew that this morning. Knew it as the hours passed by today, and I still heard nothing from him. I feel the lump of sorrow firm in my throat, and before I can stop myself, I whisper, "but why?" The weakness I let seep into the words disgusts me. I can't afford to be weak in this marriage.

His icy eyes stare into my watery ones. Stupid tears.

"It's not who I am."

Rage fills where the sorrow sat a moment ago. "I have been damned to an eternity of misfortune. I don't understand what I did to deserve this."

Refusing to show this vulnerability, I practically run from the room.

I walk past the doors to the other bedrooms of Grimmauld place, finding mine— ours . Collapsing on the bed, I let myself tear up completely.

I hate it here, and I can't think of any way to get out of it. Nothing can fix this— this mistake of a marriage.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I look up at the heavy canopy. I don't know how I'll survive this marriage; at least my sanity won't survive. How anyone can live in this dreary home is beyond me.

***

Regulus paces the room, not expecting an argument from her. (y/n) had been so... docile the entire night they spent together. Nothing could've prepared for him to hear her frustrated words or her claim that she possibly wanted anything from him.

And her quiet "but why"... he nearly lost his cool at the broken sound of (y/n)'s voice. He hadn't expected her to be so… emotional.

Despite their marriage being arranged, his wife clearly came in with the hope she could grow to love him. And she seemed to hope that he could love her as well.

If he had any idea how to be in love, he would try for her. But… it's complicated. Even with the bonding spell between couples like them, he doubts he can act as she wishes.

Maybe he could act it , but that's not fair to (y/n).

Regulus knew that it would be much crueler to pretend to love her when he truly did not.

***

(y/n) doesn't accompany him to dinner. Walburga and Orion don't comment, but he can tell that they are curious to know why their daughter-in-law wasn't present.

When he makes his way to their room, he isn't surprised that she doesn't turn around to greet him.

For a moment, he watches her as she sits at her vanity. She is a rather pretty girl, he muses. He supposes he should be appreciative to have such a beautiful wife. But, unfortunately, not many men in these marriages could say they were attracted to their wives.

He's about to approach her when she speaks.

"I want a child."

Regulus's mouth goes dry, " You do ?"

(Y/n) turns around in her vanity chair, "I do."

"Where-- did this come from?"

"Is this not why we married?"

Regulus crosses his arms across his chest, "that's beside the point."

"It's not! This is why marriages like ours take place!" She gets up close and personal to him, "that's why your parents chose me for you. So I would have your children and continue your line ."

He doesn't argue with her because she isn't wrong.

"We don't need a child now."

She laughs bitterly, "You'll deny me this as well?"

"I'm not— denying you anything."

"You have no right to say no to me, Regulus Black."

"We've been married for less than a week."

"The sooner, the better." She echoes his own words.

Regulus sighs, running a hand through his hair. This is the last conversation he wants to have at 10 P.M.

"We are not having a child right now. That's final."

She gets back up in his face, "We will see about that." (y/n) moves around him towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm sleeping elsewhere." He almost snorts at the irony of her leaving the room when she's all but declared she could seduce him into giving her the child she wants.

Instead, he grabs her arm before she can leave, "you stay here. I'll leave."

"I am perfectly capable of sleeping in a different room."

"Stay here," he gives her a serious look.

(Y/n) looks away from him, pulling her arm free, "fine."

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

When He Sees Me // Benedict Bridgerton

Request: Hey! I've just finished reading all of your Benedict fanfics and it's like, "let me have more!!!" *-* Could you maybe write something where the reader and Ben meet at Mr Granville's house? Where the reader is lower class and mocks him for with his lord manners, and eventually they get along well and all that? And he falls in love with her but she's just a seamstress and is scared he fetishizing her poverty and the "starving artist" lifestyle... Thanks in advance, love your writing xxx - anon.

A/N: Thank you so so much! This is such a sweet message. Thank you for requesting something from me; I can only hope I have done it justice. This is a really long fic, I know that - it really did get away from me. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy and I hope you are all well!

Title: Waitress - When He Sees Me

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and nudity, making out, amorous activities, light voyeurism (very light), class divides, pining, mutual pining, fluff, light angst, humour, Bridgerton family feels. HAPPY ENDING.

Word count: 6.8k (this is so long, I am so sorry)

“Bridgerton!” Henry Granville calls, a large smile spreading across his face as he spies Benedict by the front door. “I was hoping you’d make it.”

“Here I am,” Benedict laughs, spreading his arms wide in evidence.

Granville chuckles, grabbing a glass from a nearby tray and handing it to Benedict who takes a healthy sip immediately. “Come,” Granville gestures, “Let me show you around.”

Benedict follows the man he already classes as a friend. He hums at the appropriate time, eyes dancing around every room he is taken into, taking in the numerous pieces of art and the growing number of people.

Finally, Granville leads him to a room bathed in studious silence. Five people stand in the room; four stand behind easels – the picture of concentration as brushes scratching on canvas is the only sound in the room. The fifth person stands proudly before the back wall; posing elegantly, a lady stands completely naked save for an apple held delicately in the palm of her hand.

“This is Ariadne, our life model for tonight,” Granville introduces, smiling at the model without an ounce of care that she stands naked in his living room.

“Ariadne,” Benedict nods, doing his best to look anywhere but her naked body. He wasn’t usually this awkward around women, but the last thing he expected tonight was a life model. His usual influences for art came from clothed members of the public.

Granville takes a seat at an easel, studying Ariadne with great care before picking up a thin brush. As he runs it through the nearby oil paint, he calls to Benedict, “Join us!”

Benedict shakes his head, heading towards the door. Granville nods understandingly; it was a lot for a person’s first time at a soiree such as this. “Another time perhaps,” Granville says as Benedict leaves the room.

Closing the door, Benedict leaves the artists to their muse. His fingers twitch for his sketchpad, thinking of the images he could create; he had seen the empty seat in front of a spare easel, but he couldn’t bring himself to sit down and create the art he saw in his mind. Another time, he thinks to himself.

He turns away from the door where his attention is immediately tethered to a couple across the hallway.

The couple are in the middle of an embrace; connected at the mouth with hands beginning to wander clothing. The stays to the lady’s dress are loosened, the relieved gasp quickly swallowed by her partner’s mouth. Hands continue to wander; moans swallowed by joint mouths. It’s a sight to behold even as the position is changed; the woman straddling her partner, beginning to move her hips to the rhythm of music only they must be able to hear.

Unable to tear his stare away from the couple, Benedict feels his mouth drop open at the impropriety before him.

“Come now, Mr. Bridgerton,” A feminine voice teases, “Surely you’ve seen worse.”

Benedict bristles; unhappy with the tone of her voice and the accusation lightly punctuating the air. “Not that it is any of your business, but I have seen worse.”

Her eyebrows fly into her hair, clearly not expecting the rebuff. Benedict represses a smile at the expression on her face; his eyes dance around the hallway, not knowing where to look without fear of landing on the amorous couple. Benedict had never been one to shy away from love and lust and where it can lead you, but he had never been witness to such an event. The last thing he needed for himself (and his family) was to be classed as a voyeur.

“Follow me,” She announces, crooking a finger at Benedict before walking away.

Helpless and out of his comfort zone, Benedict follows the nameless lady. His eyes pour over her figure as he walks behind her like a lost puppy; her dress is finely made, the fabric clearly new. Benedict keeps his eyes fixed head, refusing to let his gaze drop any lower as she opens a door, standing to one side to let him enter first.

The room is adequately sized; enough room for a fireplace already blazing, a couch big enough for two and a small table and chairs. It’s comfortable; the room is well lit from the candles around the room and the large fire.

The well-dressed lady follows Benedict into the room, leaving him standing in the centre as she heads towards a drinks cabinet. She grabs two glasses and a decanter of liquid that Benedict cannot decipher. Scotch, whisky, brandy – all three would fare him well at this point.

Wordlessly, she hands Benedict a drink. A knuckle’s length of amber liquid swirls in the glass, lit up by the roaring fire. “You have me at a disadvantage,” Benedict starts, “You know my name, but I do not know yours.”

She smiles; eyes crinkling from the force of it. “You can spy a Bridgerton by the colour of their eyes,” She snorts, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it, “I’m (Y/N).”

Benedict bows his head; the very picture of gentlemanly politeness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

If possible, (Y/N)’s smile grows larger, trying her hardest to repress the laughter bubbling inside of her. “This isn’t your usual scene, Mr. Bridgerton.”

Benedict shakes his head. “I’m a friend of Henry’s and call me Benedict please. After being witness to the couple outside, I think we can forgo formalities.”

Laughter escapes her mouth, powerless to help herself. Benedict frowns at her reaction, but (Y/N) waves a hand in apology. “I remembered your face,” She offers in explanation, “You mentioned that you had seen worse, but you still looked so scandalised.”

Benedict huffs, crossing his legs, sipping at his drink before answering. “I didn’t know what to expect from tonight. Henry is an artist! I just never expected that.”

“We’re all artists, Benedict, in one form or another. We’re practically bohemian.”

“Does that happen often?” He asks, nodding towards the door where Benedict holds no doubt that more clothing will have been lost between the enamoured couple.

(Y/N) lifts a single shoulder in a shrug. “More often than not. The intimacy that is required with art combined with the amount of alcohol consumed tends to lead to such things.”

“Have you ever taken part in such things?” Benedict asks before realising the extent and implication of his words. “Forgive me,” He coughs, “I’m not usually so forward. You don’t need to answer.”

“No, I don’t think I do,” (Y/N) answers honestly, amused at the lack of filter from the Bridgerton. “Why don’t I ask the next question?”

“Please do,” Benedict responds, loosening the cravat at his neck, deciding to take it off altogether.

“Tell me,” She begins, eyes on the skin now bare to the room, “Do you prefer paints or pastels?”

“Neither,” Benedict answers, “I prefer graphite or charcoal.”

“Interesting…”

“Is it?”

“It is! But I cannot think of a reason why.”

Benedict snorts, draining the last few amber drops in his glass. Silent for a moment, Benedict hums before asking, “Do you draw?”

“Heavens no,” (Y/N) responds, “I’m a talented seamstress, but landscapes and watercolours are not for me.”

“Then why are you here?” Benedict asks; the words unintentionally sharp. He cringes before offering (Y/N) an apologetic smile.

“My friend invited me,” (Y/N) defends, “You met her earlier.”

“I did?”

(Y/N) nods. “You did. She was the life model you were trying your hardest not to ogle.”

Benedict flushes; heat spreading from his neck to his cheeks – partly fuelled by the alcohol in his system, partly fuelled by the knowledge of being caught out. Benedict clears his throat, unable to hide his embarrassment. “I didn’t think anyone had noticed.”

(Y/N) smiles widely. “They didn’t, but you don’t make it habit to frequent such parties. It was clearly a shock to your system.”

Benedict exhales with a laugh; all the while wishing he had another drink in his hand. “I’m not new to art,” He confesses, “But I am new to this… environment.”

(Y/N) leans forward in her chair; her eyes sparkling in the dim candlelight. A coy smile crosses her lips and Benedict idly wonders what she would taste like as she asks, “And what do you think of this new environment?”

Benedict drags his gaze away from (Y/N)’s mouth to look her in the eyes. Evenings like this are something he could quickly get used to so long as he had her company in the early hours of the morn. A wicked grin spreads across his face as he answers, “With your company, I’m fairly certain that I could come to enjoy this new environment.”

“Only fairly?” (Y/N) murmurs, sipping at her drink before continuing, “I think we’re going to have to turn ‘fairly’ into an absolute.”

Benedict tips his head to one side, wondering whether it would go against societal customs to offer his hand in marriage after only knowing someone for an evening. The thought lingers at the back of Benedict’s mind as he replies, “I have complete and utter faith in your ability to do such a thing.”

(Y/N)’s answering smile has Benedict wondering about marriage for a second time in less than two minutes. What would be the appropriate time to ask someone for their hand? He thinks. A powerful enough thought that Benedict has to look away from her; desperate not to ruin a newly budding friendship.

The clock strikes one; the chimes making (Y/N) jump as they ring through the tension-filled room. A sad sigh leaves her lips as she stands, placing her glass on a nearby table.

“I’m afraid I must go,” She declares, biting her bottom lip, lingering in front of the Bridgerton.

Benedict rises from his seat, his voice close to wobbling as he murmurs, “Must you?”

(Y/N) smiles wistfully. “Not all of us have family money, Benedict. I have two dresses to finish for tomorrow evening and I need to sleep.”

“Will I see you again?” He asks, unable to keep the hope from his voice as his mind spins all sorts of fantasies of their next meeting.

(Y/N) nods; Benedict’s heart soars.

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Benedict Bridgerton. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Benedict replies a second too late. She’s gone and Benedict is left to wondering how many seamstresses there are in London.

-------------

If Benedict was thinking logically, he knew that there wasn’t thousands of modistes and seamstresses across London. He knew that the number was much closer to hundreds, but to him that was still too many. He thinks back over the interactions from that night, examining the conversations, trying to find a hint of whether (Y/N) had given him the address of her shop. The more he cross examines, the less evidence he finds.

At this point in his investigation to her whereabouts, Benedict was no longer thinking logically. He was thinking with his heart – desperate to see her again so soon. He didn’t want to have to wait until another party where she just might show up. No, he wanted to see her in her own environment where Benedict had no doubt she would flourish.

He makes himself wait three days before beginning the task of tracking her down. His first port of call was to Henry Granville, asking whether he knew anything of the lady accompanying the life model. Henry knew of her by face, but not much bar her first name. He leaves Benedict with a word of encouragement and a promise of another party soon; Benedict thanks the man heartily, knowing that Henry had tried his best.

However, it left Benedict in a predicament that meant he had to bring in reinforcements.

“I need your help,” Benedict pleads of his dear sister, Eloise Bridgerton a day after starting his hunt for her.

“Whatever for?”

“I need to find someone… a friend.”

“A friend?” Eloise asks sounding very much as if she didn’t believe a word leaving her elder brother’s mouth.

“Am I not allowed to have friends?” Benedict asks of his sister, exasperated at her curiosity. Eloise raises a single eyebrow, and it isn’t a minute later that Benedict begs of his sister, “Please do not tell mother.”

The laughter that leaves Eloise lasts for the next three streets, her chuckles grating on Benedict’s nerves. “Where did you meet her?” Eloise eventually asks, much calmer now that she had gotten the laughter out of her system.

“At Mr. Granville’s if you must know.”

Eloise doesn’t answer; she casts her gaze across her brother’s face, reading eh expression there and the hopeful look in his eyes. Whoever she was, she had done a number on her brother for him to be this desperate to find her.

“Why not wait for the next party?”

Benedict huffs, “She may not go to the next party, then I would be back at the beginning.”

Eloise falls silent again. She watches her older brother, watches how he fiddles with his fingers – a nervous tic he’s hand since he was a boy apparently, it happened more when he was itching to reach for his sketchpad in an attempt to keep his mind quiet.

“She’s really made an impression on you, hasn’t she?”

Benedict sighs, peering up at his sister as he calms his hands. “Please?” He asks quietly, not daring to voice the beg any louder than it needs to be.

Eloise reaches across the gap between them, covering Benedict’s hands with hers. For a moment, he isn’t the elder brother but a man in need of help. “I’ll help you, Benedict.”

“Thank you,” He replies; the relief in his voice evident as his whole body relaxes.

-----------

The tightness in his chest that has plagued him for the last week lifts as soon as his eyes land on her. She hasn’t seen him yet; too busy with another client gushing about their latest dress. (Y/N) looks flattered as she takes in compliment after compliment and Benedict can see why; she is clearly a talented modiste. If it didn’t raise suspicion on his end, he would suggest his mother come here instead of the seamstress just off Grosvenor Square.

The customer soon departs leaving Benedict and Eloise the sole clients in the shop. (Y/N) brushes down her dress, collecting herself before greeting her newest customers.

She freezes when she finds the tall stature of Benedict Bridgerton in and amongst the countless mannequins of her shop. Plastering on a polite smile, she steps forward, “How may I help you today?”

Benedict remains frozen; his stare solely focused on (Y/N). Eloise steps forward, nudging her brother in the side with her elbow. Eloise smiles at (Y/N). “From my brother’s reaction, we have found who we were looking for.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m in the market for a new dress,” Eloise states, elbowing her brother once more.

“Yes!” Benedict coughs, brought out of his stupor, “Eloise needs a new dress.”

(Y/N) glances between the siblings; the awed expression on Benedict’s face combined with the knowing smile on Eloise’s doesn’t settle her nerves. Instead, it heightens them. (Y/N) turns to Eloise, flashing her a friendly smile. “If you wouldn’t mind, could I borrow your brother?”

Eloise snorts. “You may keep him if that helps.”

(Y/N) laughs, covering her mouth before grabbing Benedict’s hand, leading him to the back of the shop. “What are you doing here?” (Y/N) questions; her eyes wide as she closes the door behind them. This was a conversation to have in private; not one to be had in front of Benedict’s sister.

“Accompanying my sister to buy a new dress for an upcoming ball,” Benedict replies smartly, his tone innocent as he applauds himself for asking Eloise to join him on his mission.

(Y/N) fixes him with a flat look, not believing a single word leaving his lips. Benedict flounders for a second before smiling bashfully at the seamstress. It wasn’t often that Benedict was left speechless, but (Y/N) reduced him to such manners.

After a moment, Benedict sighs, deciding honesty to be the best policy. “I wanted to see you again.”

(Y/N)’s face softens at Benedict’s confession, unable to fend off the growing fondness for the Bridgerton. If she was being honest with herself, (Y/N) hadn’t stopped thinking of the man since leaving Mr. Granville’s party.

Just as quick as the fondness set in, so does the worry on Benedict’s behalf. Gesturing between them both, (Y/N) offers Benedict a sad smile. “Nothing can come of this, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“What do you mean? Call me Benedict, you did the other night.”

“There were no class lines the other night,” She all but cries, “Outside of Mr. Granville’s home, we cannot be friends, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict,” He emphasises, “To you, I am Benedict. Not ‘Mr. Bridgerton’.”

“Benedict,” She whispers, giving in to the pleading look in those blue eyes of his.

“Why can’t we be friends?” He asks quietly as if scared to voice such a question louder out of fear of the response.

“You’re the son of a Viscount. I am a seamstress. Outside of my making dresses for your female relatives, where do our paths cross socially?”

“I want them to cross,” Benedict protests almost childishly, crossing his arms as if they were the personification of the budding relationship blooming between (Y/N) and himself.

(Y/N) laughs without humour. “Think of the fallout, Benedict. You would lose friends and contacts. I would be reduced to the rumour of a mistress and lose clients.”

Benedict purses his lips; trying to find fault in her argument but he comes up empty. Class lines were so rigidly drawn in current society and Benedict knew that (Y/N) was more than deserving to be thrown to the vicious rumour mill of London ton.

“What about Granville’s parties?” Benedict offers as a solution. “You say we cannot socialise so openly so let’s meet there with every party.”

“You would go to that extent to win my friendship?”

He nods. “I had the most fun the other night than I had in a long time and I have a very strong feeling it was down to you. You say we cannot be friends so openly, so this is the next best thing. Do I feel go about keeping you a secret? Not particularly, but London society can be unforgivably cruel, and I’ll be damned if I see you suffer at the hands of it.”

(Y/N) blinks rapidly, ridding herself of the tears that grew throughout Benedict’s impassioned speech. “Mr. Granville’s it is, then.”

Benedict smiles; relief flooding his system at your words of agreement. Impulsively, he takes your hand, squeezing it once before letting it drop. The very action sets his veins alight with emotions he has not felt in a very long time, but he doesn’t not let them distract him as he whispers, “I’ll send a messenger with the date and time of the next soiree. Will I see you there?”

“You will,” (Y/N) murmurs, “I promise you.”

Benedict flashes her a handsome smile before returning to the front of the shop, knowing full well he has been too long to be acceptable.

Eloise greets him with a superior smile. Crossing her arms, she asks, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Turning back to face the back of the shop, Benedict smiles to himself. “Yes, I think I have,” He answers, offering Eloise an arm, departing the shop once and for all.

-----------

28th April, 9pm. Mr. Granville’s home. I hope to see you there.

The missive arrives not four days later. (Y/N) reads and rereads the small piece of paper, memorising Benedict’s elegant handwriting. Anticipation curls in her gut making it hard for her to focus on the task at hand; she had three dresses to finish all for next week. If she didn’t focus now, nothing would get done. She would end up wasting the evening by daydreaming of a Bridgerton and their handsome smile.

She hadn’t expected him. He had entered her life so suddenly. After their initial meeting, she hadn’t expected to see him again; had accepted that it was a one-off meeting that Benedict would soon forget, soon taken with the newest fascination in his life if he wasn’t married off by the end of the season.

That didn’t happen. Instead, he had shown up in her shop with his sister in tow. He had begged for a friendship, to see her again. He kept surprising her at every turn, kept startling her when she least expected it.

Yet, she knew she had to be careful. Not only of her heart, but of her reputation. If the two were caught and things misunderstood, it would not be Benedict to suffer. It would be her; she would be reduced to rumours of impropriety, labelled a ‘fallen woman’ whilst Benedict would most likely suffer a harsh word from his mother and a clap on the back from his brothers.

Society, in general, was cruel. London society, however, was punishing when it wanted to be.

--------------

The 28th April rolls around quickly. (Y/N) losing herself in her work, sewing until the late hours of the night and the early hours of the morning to ensure that the gowns are ready and that she is free enough to attend the party.

Stepping out of the carriage, (Y/N) steadies herself for a moment, taking a deep breath to settle the butterflies exciting her. She felt ridiculous, letting herself be this affected by the man after only one meeting. Yet, he had shown up at her shop, after searching for her for however long.

(Y/N) felt in two minds. On one hand, she wanted the friendship of Benedict Bridgerton for the simple fact that he was entertaining. On the other hand, she despised the idea that she may be a project for the man – their opposite places in society becoming a barrier between them.

The atmosphere in Mr. Granville’s house is heady as (Y/N) enters the premises; the party very much in full swing as she sheds her shawl and leaves it on a side table. She smiles at those she recognises, waving quickly at Ariadne who she finds modelling for many artists once more. Ariadne smiles back but doesn’t move; her eye on a particular artist, a female she knew she would be going home with that night.

(Y/N) shakes her head fondly at the antics of her friend; having known Ariadne for years and loved her proclivity for men and women. (Y/N) admired Ariadne’s lack of shame for who she is, who she wants to be. She doesn’t let the law stop of her from loving who she wants to.

Arriving at the door she entered through last time, (Y/N) hesitates, feeling unsure of herself. A small flash of doubt lances through her mind as she reaches for the doorknob; how long was this going to last before Benedict got bored? How long did she have with the man that was no doubt going to change her world?

The very thought haunts her as she enters the room, finding Benedict in the same spot as last time. He stands when he sees (Y/N) standing the doorway; his suit elegantly rumpled as if he had been sat there for some time. His blue eyes sparkle in the dimly lit room; the only light coming from the fire in the grate. His smile brightens as he takes in her appearance.

“You came,” Benedict breathes, his voice relieved as if he was worried that she may not attend the party after all.

“I promised you I would,” (Y/N) replies, taking the offered glass from Benedict. Their fingers brush and (Y/N) tries exceptionally hard to ignore the jolt of electricity that passes between them. Friendship, she snipes to herself, nothing more.

“I know,” He whispers, “But I’m glad all the same.”

Something in (Y/N) melts at the stark honesty of his words; she found herself being knocked off her axis and it was only their third meeting.

“I have to know,” (Y/N) starts, her voice amused as she takes a seat across from the brunette, “How many shops did you go into before finding mine?”

Benedict averts his gaze, distracting himself from answering by taking a long sip of his drink. “Too many,” He eventually answers.

“You don’t know the number?”

“I know the exact number, I could even tell you their names, but I hesitate to tell you.”

“You have to tell me now,” (Y/N) prompts, leaning forward in her chair, resting her elbows on the table. “Please?”

Benedict sighs a war-weary sigh; acting as if (Y/N) had worn him down to his very last nerve. With a light blush dusting his cheeks, Benedict admits, “I visited close to fifteen shops with Eloise before finding yours.”

“Fifteen?!” (Y/N) all but shouts, laughter soon falling from her lips as rain would fall from the sky. The very sound sets Benedict’s heart racing within his chest making him wonder whether it was going to run right out of his chest any moment.

“Eloise was very grateful when we found you. She despises dress shopping.”

“Yet she went to fifteen dress shops with you in order to find me.”

“She’s my favourite sibling, but don’t tell the others.”

“How many do you have? I’ve heard of the famous Bridgerton brood but never focused long enough to find out how many children there were.”

“Eight of us in total,” Benedict laughs at (Y/N)’s gasp, “We’re named alphabetically too. My father used to joke it was so he could keep track of us easier.”

“A wise idea,” (Y/N) murmurs.

“He was a wise man,” Benedict states, thinking of his departed father with a keen sting of grief. It didn’t matter how long his father had been gone, the wound would never heal. He would miss his father until his very last day on this earth; Benedict would spend the rest of his life trying to emulate Edmund Bridgerton’s life lessons.

A pensive silence descends only for a moment before (Y/N) asks, “Why did you look for me?”

The blush returns to Benedict’s cheeks. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to see you again?” He asks sheepishly. He had prepared himself for such a conversation but having it in real life was no comparison to the fantasy in his head.

“Why did you want to see me again? Why not wait for the next party?”

“I wasn’t sure you would attend the next party,” Benedict reasons, “And I really did want to see you again.”

(Y/N) smiles bashfully, ducking her head as his words wash over her. She fiddles with the stem of the glass in her hand before taking a long sip; the worries from earlier had returned with the conviction behind his words. She had to know; if she didn’t ask him, she would never know and she would never be prepared for the day he would inevitably grow bored and move onto the next project. “Can we be honest with each other for a moment, Benedict?”

“I thought we have been so far.”

(Y/N) smiles despite herself. Schooling her face into a mask of polite interest, she tries to cover the concern and worry steadily rising in her gut. “This isn’t a saviour moment for you is it? Befriending a poorer seamstress, getting to know her before eventually getting bored?”

“I haven’t thought of it as that for one moment.”

“You haven’t?”

“I haven’t, but the fact that you have says more about my character than I care to admit.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” She hurries to say, worried about losing the friendship that had only just begun and scared of hurting Benedict’s feelings.

“You haven’t insulted me,” Benedict promises with a small smile.

“I can’t help but worry,” She admits in a small voice.

“I would socialise with you in public, but you made such a sound argument the other week that I couldn’t find fault. You’re right, it could lead to all sorts of trouble, but I want you to know that I do not have a saviour complex. I just enjoy your company.”

(Y/N) relaxes, sagging further into the chair as she lets herself breathe freely since the worrisome thought entered her mind. Now that it was out in the open, she could smile more without worry. “I enjoy your company too,” She confesses, “You’re quite refreshing.”

“Refreshing?” Benedict asks, sounding close to laughter.

(Y/N) rolls her eyes at the older gentleman. “Yes, refreshing. I deal with meddlesome mothers and droll daughters all day. You make me laugh… it’s refreshing.”

“I’m glad I can provide refreshment,” Benedict laughs, his smile wide with his happiness.

Happy smiles are exchanged as the worries leave (Y/N)’s mind. She was wanted here by the man sat across from her; he had no plans to leave any time soon. For now, her mind is settled and as she raises her glass to the Bridgerton across from her, she briefly wonders whether her heart would soon be settled too.

------------

The friendship continues for weeks; neither of them the wiser to their growing feelings for the other. If they are, they remain silent, not wanting to disturb the status quo but rather, pine from a distance.

They continue to meet at Mr. Granville’s, sneaking away to their room where they talk for hours about anything and everything.

At one point, (Y/N) manages to convince Benedict to bring his sketchpad with him where he fills pages with drawings of her. She doesn’t realise it; she doesn’t know that the small sketch of hands holding a champagne flute is Benedict’s study of her.

Time passes and they become attached to the other; saving pieces of information and stories of friends and family for when they finally get to see each other. The time they have together filled with laughter; the class lines that separate them outside Mr. Granville’s home practically invisible as Benedict chokes on his drink at the scandalous nature of (Y/N)’s story, unaware such language could leave such a woman.

It’s easy, it’s natural. It’s all Benedict has to fill his time between the mind-numbing balls and luncheons set up by his mother in order to find him a wife. Little does Violet Bridgerton know that Benedict has found someone he would devote the rest of his life to but whether she would be willing, whether she loves him as wholly as he loves her is another matter entirely.

--------------

He starts to haunt her dreams from their very first meeting. The colour of his eyes combined with the brightness of his smile chased her from sleep much faster than she would have liked.

Sitting up in bed, she rests her chin on her knees, feeling the helplessness that often accompanies the swift descent into love.

In the short time she had spent in Benedict’s company, (Y/N) had to admit that she had fallen head over heels for the brunette. Sighing heavily, she tries to pinpoint the exact moment her feelings turned from platonic to romantic but finds herself unable to do so. At this point, she cannot help but wonder whether she had fallen for him the first instance she saw him. He looked so out of depth in his perfectly pressed clothes; it was adorable.

(Y/N) runs a hand across her face in an attempt to dispel the lingering tiredness but to also ride herself of thoughts of the man who had so readily captured her heart without knowing he had done so.

How could she explain this feeling? Her heart refused to calm in his presence, beating away in her chest as if ready to take flight. Benedict smiled in her direction and her mind ceased to form coherent thought. She didn’t tell anyone how in the darkest hours of the night, she stretched a hand across the empty blankets of her bed, imagining what it would be like to have Benedict lie next to her. Would he snore? Was he an early riser or did he prefer to sleep in?

Such questions would travel the expanse of her mind until the birds began to announce the arrival of a new day. Her mind creating daydreams that left her heart aching in her chest when she came back to earth, reminded harshly of the barriers that divided them.

What scent did he prefer? Did he favour scotch or brandy?

Endlessly she tortured herself with such questions. Spinning fantasies in which she woke up every morning with Benedict by her side. She would wake to find him already watching her, as if in disbelief that she would choose to love a man such as him.

A single tear escapes (Y/N)’s eye as she forces herself back to the present. Eyeing her small rooms, (Y/N) thought that she should be fortunate that a man such as Benedict Bridgerton would give her the honour of his much requested time. It would do her no good to fall in love with him now.

Straightening up and running a hand through her sleep plait, (Y/N) vows to rid herself of her feelings for the second eldest Bridgerton.

However, as the vow is sealed, a small voice in the back of (Y/N)’d mind casts doubt on her ability to do such a thing.

----------------

“Eloise has been asking after you,” Benedict comments; choosing the line of conversation for this section of the evening. At this point, they’ve been at Granville’s home for hours, covering all topics of conversation conceivable. (Y/N) had updated Benedict on Ariadne’s clandestine love affair with a daughter of a prominent member of His Majesty’s Navy to which Benedict spent over an hour trying to guess which officer and which daughter. (Y/N) delighted in announcing his incorrect guesses.

“How is she?” She asks, feeling a distant fondness for the woman who had shown up in her shop so many weeks ago.

“Distracted if I’m being truthful,” Benedict murmurs, “Her hands are always covered in ink. I think she has an admirer.”

“And why shouldn’t she?” (Y/N) demands, crossing her arms. “Eloise is a beautiful young woman. Any man would be lucky to have her.”

“She’s turned down the last three marriage proposals so I’m curious to see what type of man has captured her attention.”

“Siblings and their nosiness,” (Y/N) admonishes though there is no heat behind it.

“I want what’s best for her,” Benedict defends.

“I know you do,” She whispers, fondness for the man sitting across from her surging through her. It leaves her quiet; it leaves her breathless as she fends off the heart racing, stomach turning affection she feels for the second eldest Bridgerton.

Benedict closes his eyes, kicking up his heels and resting them on the table. A happy, content smile crosses his lips as he lets himself enjoy the moment they find themselves in.

I could do this for the rest of myself, (Y/N) thinks to herself, I could sit with him for the rest of my life.

It’s with that thought that (Y/N) knows she has broken the vow she made only a few days ago.

“You’re different tonight… quieter. Is something the matter?” Benedict asks, a note of concern in his voice.

(Y/N) shakes her head, refusing to look the man in the eye. Instead, she focuses her gaze on her glass, swirling the liquid around as if it were the most fascinating thing in the whole world.

Benedict sighs, reaching across the table, taking her glass from her hand and placing it on the table in front of them. He stops himself from covering her hand with his; that is a luxury for couples. As much as Benedict wanted more, he would settle for being her friend.

“You can tell me anything, (Y/N),” Benedict murmurs quietly, breaking her resolve clean in half.

“I broke my vow,” She whispers, voice close to breaking.

“What vow?” Benedict asks, panic beginning to rise internally. “Are you promised to another?”

“Nothing like that,” (Y/N) reassures, “I broke a vow that I made to myself which somehow makes me feel worse. I would rather I broke a promise of marriage.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

(Y/N) sniffles, wiping a hand under her eyes before laughing humourlessly. “A few nights ago, I made myself a promise and it seems that I am unable to keep such a vow.”

“Would you tell me that vow?”

(Y/N) sighs, seeing no point in lying to him. “I vowed that I would rid myself of my feelings for you.”

“And have you?” Benedict asks warily; he needs to know whether he has a chance to love her the way he wants to. He wants to be her everything; he wants to kiss her goodnight and then kiss her good morning hours later.

She shakes her head; wisps of hair flying loose from her updo. “I don’t think I ever really tried. I don’t think I want to lose my feelings for you.”

“I don’t often make grand declarations, I don’t believe in over the top displays of affection,” Benedict begins; his eyes fixed on her face, on every movement of her lips, “But I love you, (Y/N). I love you and if I need to, I will make a grand declaration, I will shout it from the rooftop of Buckingham Palace.”

“Please don’t do that!” (Y/N) gasps, an amused smile on her face. “I love you too, I love you with everything I am, but aren’t you worried?”

“Worried?”

“Of the fallout? It could never work, Benedict. See sense, please,” She pleads; eyes wide.

“Why wouldn’t it work? We love each other, surely that should be enough.”

“It is enough for me, Benedict,” She reassures quickly, “But it isn’t enough for the rest of society.”

“Why do you care what they think?”

“My entire business relies on such things, Benedict! Whether I earn an income over the season is down to what the ton think.”

“It is so easy to get lost in the wealth, the titles and the balls,” Benedict whispers, “You bring me back down to earth; remind me that I could happily live without the grandeur because I would have the love of the woman I have come to adore.”

The words have her argument crumbling into ash before her. There was no arguing with that; he was prepared to live a simpler life with her.

“You would do that for me? Live a simpler life?” She asks because she has to know; she has to know that she isn’t something he would come to regret in the weeks, months, years that pass. She couldn’t live with herself if he harboured any resentment towards her for his loss of societal ties; the very thought terrified her.

“Darling,” Benedict states, “I would give it all up for you. As long as I have you, I do not need the life in London and everything else that comes with it. We can live in the country; I have a cottage there that I am sure you’re going to love.”

“What about your family?”

“They’ll love your almost as much as I love you.”

“They won’t hate me?” She asks, voice timid as she thinks of the matriarch of the Bridgerton family, knowing she was not a woman to cross.

“They could never.”

(Y/N) begins to nod; slow at first before growing more rapidly with a smile breaking out across her face. “Okay,” She breathes, “I love you, Benedict Bridgerton. I’m not scared anymore.”

Benedict gathers her in his arms, finally getting to hold her after dreaming of such an action for so long. Better than his dreams, he thinks to himself as he glances between her stare and her lips. Silently, she nods, smiling softly as Benedict takes that final leap, pressing their lips together.

(Y/N) sighs against his mouth; a noise he could happily hear for the rest of his life. Her hands grasp the lapels of his jacket, pulling him even closer. She feels like heaven against him as Benedict continues to taste the remnants of her drink on her lips.

Her hands leave his jacket, reaching up to card through his hair. (Y/N) tugs lightly at the dark brown locks, smiling into the kiss at the sound of the low groan in the back of Benedict’s throat. (Y/N) loses herself in the feel of the man against her; all hard lines and muscles, he feels like a Greek god and she a mere mortal getting to experience the heady passion written about in epic poems and plays.

Desperate for air, but not desperate to leave the arms of the man she loves so wholly, (Y/N) breaks the kiss. Panting, Benedict kisses her lightly once, twice, three times before pressing his forehead to hers. A moment of peace before the rush of the future began.

Boundaries, divides, lines really meant little when you had found the one who truly saw you.

****

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @janelongxox @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream @darkestbeforethedawn16 @gryffindors-weasley @spideysz

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagines #Bridgerton #bridgerton imagines

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darkacademicfrom2021 · 4 years ago

Text

All flavours of wrong (part 2)

Masterlist Part 1

Pairing: Loki x Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: After falling for the wrong prince, you have to make the biggest and most difficult decision you’ve ever had. Would you let down thousands of people for the sake of just one?

Word count: 4.4K

Warnings: Implied sex, angst, death, fire.

“Oh, dear Gods”, he groaned in your neck, holding your whole body against his. You grabbed his hair gently, yet with a strong grip. Sinking his nose in your collarbones, he left a trace of kisses that left your skin burning red.

It was nearly six in the morning, and the Sun was about to welcome a new day. You and your lover did nothing but intoxicate in each other’s bodies the entirety of the night, in the hopes that nobody would hear you. He said he put a silence spell, but you were sure he didn’t. He, as much as he wanted you to have an assured future, couldn’t help but try to sabotage your upcoming marriage.

Tomorrow.

You’d get married to Thor in twenty four hours, and there you were. Holding back moans in his brother’s ear. That thought brought you back to reality and you pushed him away. He took a step back and looked at you with concern.

“Is everything alright? You didn’t like that?”. His voice was still in that same seductive and half groaning tone he got you easily naked with, but he sensed something was wrong.

“No. I mean. Yes, but no”.

“You’ll have to be more specific, darling”.

“I’m… I’m sorry. We can’t. I can’t”, you stuttered, and walked away while quickly finishing getting dressed and fixing your hair. He put a hand in your back, as if asking you to stay.

“Dear, talk to me”. You didn’t turn your back to him, not just yet. “Please”.

“Tomorrow’s wedding day. And after that, coronation. We can’t keep on doing this”.

He stayed silent, and put away the hand from your back. That made you finally turn and watch his expressions. He was hurt. But blinked fast, swallowed hard and drew a tiny smile.

“I understand”, he said, after a while. “You don’t want to see me again”, and before you could answer, he added “not like this, anyways”. You sighed. The last thing you wanted was to lose him. He felt like the right thing to do.

But he wasn’t.

“No, not like this”.

He nodded in agreement and lowered his gaze. You tried to reach for his hands, but he moved them away.

“You should leave”.

“Loki…”.

“Before your future husband awakes and you’re not there”.

“Loki, please, don’t get…”.

“Upset? Mad?”.

“You know why I’m doing this”.

“Yes. I know why. I just don’t get how you can actually get it done. I thought… I thought you would finally make the right decision”.

You lowered your head and inhaled a deep breath. You couldn’t look him in the eye and say that. But you had to say it. It was the best, for both of you. Actually, only for you.

“I am making the right decision. That’s the point”.

He would’ve scoffed if a stinging pain in his chest wouldn’t have stopped him to do so. Heartbroken, what a cliché, he thought.

Of course his brother would win him over everything. He got even angrier at himself; for falling for you. For allowing himself to think for even a fraction of a second that he could have possibly had a chance with you. That you would be different from everything he ever lost to his brother. But you were no different from everything else.

He wanted to fight for you, but he saw the look in your eyes. The fight was lost. You made a decision, and it was the right one for you.

His thoughts started to eat him alive. What if you didn’t actually love him? What if you merely desired his touch, since his brother was uninterested in you? Or worse, what if you just wanted one last wrong thing to do, the mischievous spark that needed to be lit off, having a fling with the useless brother? Why did he think you would be any different from everyone else?

You noticed his mind was going to dark places, and tried to reach for his hands once again. He was so immersed in his head he didn’t pull them away again. You held them tight and reassured him with a loving look that it was not what he thought.

“I love you, Loki”. You said. He tried to run away from his own head, but the thoughts were still there. He tried to respond sweetly, but he knew it would only come off as harshly. Because that’s just how he was; mean. Evil. Unworthy of your love and everything he would’ve ever wanted.

“Why would you say that just now? And why would you say it while you leave me?”.

“Because I want you to know, I truly love you. I’m not leaving because you’re wrong for me. I’m leaving because…”.

“Because, given the circumstances, I am, in fact, wrong for you”.

You sighed.

“Yes, but it’s not…”.

“If you’re gonna leave, then leave. Don’t make this act to pretend like you care”.

He immediately regretted saying this, and you sensed it. You stepped closer and slowly raised your hands. He didn’t flinch, nor moved away, so you allowed yourself to cup his face in your hands. He was cold, in every sense of the word. His eyes showed how hurt he actually was, but a poker face tried to hide it away, building the typical wall of stone he built around his heart. Your chest hurt; you didn’t think you’d be yet another person he’d have to be like that to. You hurt him and that was going to haunt you for the rest of your life.

“I care”.

“Not enough”.

“I care, Loki”.

“Nonetheless…”.

“I care, I really do”.

“Sure, you do”.

“I care for you. I care. I love you, and I care. I wish I had a better choice, but I don’t”.

“You have a better choice”.

“This is the best. We will be better off like this”.

He raised a finger and corrected you:

“You’ll be better off”.

You stayed in silence, and finally let his face go. You allowed the tears to run down your face.

“Yes, I will. I’m sorry”.

“Farewell. And congratulations on your wedding”, he said coldly, and smiled sadly before disappearing behind a halo of green lights.

“Loki, wait!”.

What did you even want him to stop leaving for? It didn’t matter, for he was gone.

“You look stunning”, said Sif, entering your room. The maids were helping you get ready with all the ceremonial things you had to take care of. Too many of them focused on your looks. Apparently, it mattered so much for the Asgardian citizens for his next King to be married to, basically, a mannequin. Gods, you were barely able to move.

“I look idiotic”.

“It’s the makeup, maybe too much”.

“Too much of everything, I’m so tired of this. Can’t it be a little… less? Of everything”.

“I’m sorry, friend. But you’re marrying the prince, that’s just how things are in the Palace”.

“Can’t I marry in my warrior clothes? You’ll be dressed the same!”, you joked. Sif laughed sadly. She knew how little you wanted to do this. She has known you your whole life, fought with you every battle. Except this last one.

“The point is you’re not dressed the same as someone else”.

You started taking off your makeup, and Sif immediately stopped you.

“Hey, remember why you’re doing this”.

You sighed and tears formed in the corner of your eyes. She pulled you out of your chair and hugged you tightly. I definitely needed a hug, you though.

“Yes, I… think I’m just stressed. My head is everywhere”, you lied. Sif knew exactly what troubled you.

“I think your head is only in one place, and that’s the problem”.

You looked at her with a sad smile. A smile that showed her just how much you wanted to throw everything away and go with your lover. But you needed this, and so did the thousands of people that counted on you becoming the King’s companion.

“Is it truly a problem?”.

“It is. You need to get your life together, and out of him. He’s only gonna bring you more worries in your life”.

You were sure Sif was not seeing in him what you did, but you couldn’t say anything. And maybe… maybe she was right. Maybe it was a troubled life you would be expecting if you ran away with the wrong prince.

“You’re right. I’m… I’m gonna suck it up for once. And not do what I please. I’m marrying Thor and wearing the Crown, that’s the plan. The best plan”.

“The perfect plan, dear”, added Sif.

“What plan?”, asked Queen Frigga, getting into your room. You got startled and laughed nervously.

“No plan, I mean, the only plan. The marriage”, you stuttered. Sif laughed obnoxiously, trying to cover your doubts.

“They’s just nervous about the wedding, don’t worry about it”.

“I worry about everything, my darlings”, said Frigga with her usual grace. She put a strand of your hair away from your face and asked one of the maids to fix your corset. “That’s why everything turns out alright at the end”.

“And in the meantime, is it chaos?��.

“A controlled chaos”, she said without blinking.

“How do you control chaos, my Queen?”.

“You expect it, and then you overcome it”. You sat on her words a little, and then she added “how much from yours are we expecting in the next hours?”.

You faked a smile.

“I love your Son very much”.

“I have no doubts about it”.

Sif gulped. The double meaning of the conversation was suffocating you three. You were sure Queen Frigga knew, but she had you in the palm of her hand. Being the master manipulator she was, deceiving her was not the easiest. And Loki did nothing to hide his feelings around you; at least not until you put an end to it that same morning.

You haven't seen him all day. He wasn't in his room, nor in the places he frequented. You looked for him, but finding him was a lost cause.

"Sif dear, would you help me out with the designs of the bouquet?", said Queen Frigga with a suggestive glance to the door. Sif patted your back and whispered "be strong" before leaving with your mother-in-law.

You had a fraction of a second for yourself, which was enough time to look for a thousand ways you could escape. But it was only daydreams. You wouldn't. You knew better. You asked yourself if it was actually for the better. What about Loki? You haven't seen him all day long and it was starting to worry you. What if he wasn't actually just ignoring you? What if he was getting in trouble?

You shook away the thoughts as soon as you realized. Whatever he did, it was not your fault. You did what both of you knew you'd do from the beginning. Whatever he did now, it was on him.

"May I come in?".

You turned around. Lingering in the door, Thor's back was greeting you.

"You're not supposed to see me".

"Yeah, that's why I'm turned around". You laughed and walked to him as he turned around to face you. "You look gorgeous".

"Thank you", you said as if accepting the compliment of a stranger. Wasn't it, after all?

"I can't help but think about how you'd react if my little brother said those words".

"He's not that little, you know".

"You keep defending him, but he doesn't need you to".

"You're right. You're right, he doesn't need me to", you nodded, thinking about your last conversation.

Thor entered the room and walked around, passing a finger through the paintings and the covers of the books.

"He's hurt", he said after a while. You knitted your eyebrows.

"Why are you telling me this?".

"Because we all need what we don't have".

"What do you mean?".

He closed the door after checking nobody was out there. Your anxiety started to grow bigger as he delayed explanations.

"Because you need him, he needs you, I need to get out of this position and you need the benefits a Crown would give you".

You gulped and waited for him to elaborate. He didn't.

"What are you trying to say?".

"I have a plan".

The best plan. The perfect plan. The only plan.

Sif was going to walk you. She grabbed your arm before the big doors opened, and gave you a reassuring smile.

To say hundreds were in that room was not an exaggeration. You couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to any of you if they realized what was going on. Sif knew. Thor knew. The Warriors Three knew. Hell, even Heimdall knew. But Loki didn’t, not just yet. Him knowing would compromise the entire operation.

The doors opened. The Nuptial March started playing vigorously. You walked slowly, looking for the right eyes to meet. Thor looked unsuspiciously happy, waiting at the end of the hall. The Allfather and Allmother were wearing a flaming smile of pride from ear to ear; seeing their firstborn being finally able to inherit the Throne and ruling the Realms.

You held your bouquet tight once your gaze stopped for longer than it should have in certain sky-like eyes. He was sitting in the front row, way closer than you’d wanted, on Queen Frigga’s side. His mother was resting her hand on the back of his, caressing gently his knuckles. He looked at you like a stranger. Like you were nothing more than an arranged sibling-in-law to him. Like you weren’t just crumbling on his arms that same morning. Like his word wouldn’t shatter your heart to pieces if he wanted to. Like you weren’t just risking your entire life for him, in that same moment.

You kept walking, greeting the citizens for the looks. It was all a big show, and your performance was going well. Once you made it to Thor’s side, you both grabbed each other’s hands and smiled. The guests cheered. The young couple, such a beautiful wedding, such a nice evening; you were all so happy.

Before the actual ceremony started -the exchange of rings, the speeches, the standing claps-, Thor put a strand of hair behind your ear -such an intimate act, who would even suspect?-, and got closer to kiss your cheek. Loki flinched. Once there, he whispered, making sure nobody would read his lips.

“Ready?”.

“Never been readier in my life”.

“Farewell, my friend”.

Loki must have been using his magic to hear; his face stopped hiding his pain behind the usual indifference, to reveal a confused expression. When you stole a glance from him, he subtly raised an eyebrow, as to ask you what in the Heavens is going on, and you smirked.

“Help! Help!”, screamed a young woman from one of the last rows -who would’ve known it was Sif changing her voice tone?- “Fire! The curtains are on fire!”.

Everyone in the room started to bustle around and, before coming to the realization of just how quickly the fire was extending, moved far from the entrance as to avoid the smoke. Odin ran towards it and tried to put it off, but it seemed like it wasn’t fire. It was… enchanted?

“It doesn’t go off!”, he announced. “We need to move everyone out, quickly”.

The flames moved from the big curtains to the wooden ceiling beams, moving towards Thor and you. Everyone started running out of the room, and Thor, Loki, Frigga and you were helping everyone out meanwhile Odin tried to put off the fire -a lost cause, worth trying-.

“You had to want your whole ceremony in a wooden room, didn’t you?”, spat Loki to his brother while lifting people out through the windows. His mind was full, yet his silvertongue had always found a way to snark.

“Yeah!”, answered Thor, biting back a smirk. Loki changed his annoyed expressions to one of realization. Was he…?, but he deleted that intrusive thought rather quickly. “I’ve always been one for the aesthetics, brother!”.

The smoke started growing bigger and bigger and Loki casted wet towels for him and his brother to breathe through, while helping the few last people out. He looked around to make sure nobody was still in the fire, which was now eating the whole room. Everything was getting destroyed, and the flames were specially embracing. Anyone left in there would definitely not get out alive.

“Where’s they?”, asked Loki with a tremble in his voice. He lost you from your sight. Just one second ago you were helping the children of the room to get out as fast as possible, and just as he turned around, you weren’t there anymore. “Thor, where’s they?!”.

Thor looked around, equally confused.

“I… I don’t know”, he muttered, and they both started yelling your name, until a faint voice, a broken scream came out of your throat.

“I’m… here”.

“They’s on the fire”, Loki said with his heart on his throat, before jumping through the windows and getting in to take you out. Before he could get in the flames, Thor pushed him away.

“I’ll go, fire will do nothing to me”.

“You don’t know that, Thor, Father can’t put it down, you’ll get equally hurt”, but meanwhile Loki tried to make his way through him, Thor was already inside the fire, nowhere to be found. Frigga had to hold Loki from jumping in too, and she truly had to make an incredible effort, for he was fighting with all the strength he allowed himself to fight against his own mother.

After six too many minutes of silence of everyone safely outside waiting for Thor to come out with you in his arms, of Loki choking on his own tears and sobs, of Odin not giving up on trying to put the fire out, Sif stated;

“He’s not coming out. We have to go get them”.

“It’s too dangerous, the fire’s unknown”, said Queen Frigga. But after seeing his youngest son tear his heart apart at the only thought of losing you, she added. “Be careful”.

As soon as the approval words came out of her mouth, Loki ran inside the flames, followed by Odin.

Silence spread through the crowd during the couple of long minutes the young Prince and Allfather were inside the burning room of the Palace, looking for their family. Mothers were hugging tight their children, and fathers were embracing their crying wives. Lady Sif and the Warriors Three still tried to put off the fire, unsuccessfully. A young lady was crying louder than the rest, calling for a name. Queen Frigga put her own worries aside to offer her help.

“Who are you looking for?”.

“My daughter, my Queen. She was with the rest of the children. She’s nowhere to be found, please help me. You must know where she is”, cried desperately. Frigga put both her hands on her shoulders, and held her tightly to contain her.

“It’s alright, we’ll find her. Do not worry. Let me see”, she scanned around the place, and started talking to herself to put the case together. “The kids were all together in the front row, far from where the fire started. My sons and their companion were helping people out in that place. The children were assisted by…” and the pause made her fall in realization. She couldn’t tell the woman. It was evident you’d do that, given your nature.

Frigga muttered some curses to herself. How could you be so imprudent? How could you be risking your safety to save a kid, when you could’ve asked for her magic to teleport him? Very noble of you, to jump on the fire. But also very reckless, and careless about the consequences. Because now Frigga’s entire family was in the fire, trying to get you both out.

A rough cough took Frigga out of her angered thoughts. In between the smoke, two large silhouettes carrying another two figures made everyone hold their breaths.

First, Loki came out with you in his arms. He was no longer shivering, trembling, sobbing. He was firm and merely focused on you, holding a wet towel around you and blowing your face to take away the smoke that you’d breathe. Frigga and the young woman ran towards you two, as Loki kneeled on the floor, now far from the danger, and opened his arms, still holding you, to show you were alright. You choked a cough and lifted out of your arms a little kid, around two or three years old. The young woman cried out of relief as she hugged her daughter as tight as anyone has ever hugged someone.

“I cannot thank you enough”.

You smiled gently and went back to Loki’s gaze. The anger, the hurt in his eyes he had that same morning, was nowhere to be found now. With crystalized eyes, he cupped your face and put his forehead against yours.

“You reckless idiot”, he whispered, and you both left out a laugh. You pulled him in for a hug, and he sank his hands in your hair and back, letting out a sigh.

“Thank you for getting me out. It wasn’t part of the plan”, you whispered in his chest, feeling his raised heartbeat.

“You… what?”.

“I was supposed to get out, but… a kid”.

“You were supposed to...? Oh my Gods, did you…?”.

“Shhh”.

“Thor!”, yelled Queen Frigga, as Odin left a limp body on the floor. You felt Loki’s heartbeat rising even more than before, and you held his hand tight, trying to tell him. You had to warn him it wasn’t what he thought, but at this point you weren’t so sure. He stopped in his tracks, and looked at you with the question lingering its way out. You slowly nodded, and directed your look towards Thor’s body.

Odin sat by his side, and Frigga stood close. There wasn’t a single sound. You looked to Sif, and she stepped closer to you, putting a hand on your back. You were afraid of getting closer to Thor. But you needed to see it was part of the plan. Something already went wrong. What if this whole thing was not how it was supposed to go, either? What if you screwed up?

“Everyone, go back to your houses. We have no groom”, announced Odin, while Frigga caressed his dead son’s hair.

You bounced your leg impatiently. You had asked Loki to come with you, too. Far from the Palace, even far from the city. A place where only trees would listen. Only birds would interrupt you. Only wind would try to take you away.

“Darling, what are we doing? What are you not telling me?”, he asked after at least half an hour of waiting.

“Sif”.

“What about her?”.

“There she is”.

Sif and the Warriors Three walked towards you with a fast pace.

“Apologies about the delay”.

“Don’t worry”.

“Very sorry about your loss, your Highness”, said Fandral with a smirk. Loki frowned.

“Not a very good time for your mockery”.

“Why? I think it’s the perfect time”.

“Would anyone care to tell me what I’m so clearly missing out of?”.

Volstagg opened a map and handed it to you, ignoring Loki, who was already losing his patience.

“The plan went well. You have nothing to worry about”, he said, and you sighed out of relief. Your legs stopped shaking and you felt the crushing weight of guilt fall off your shoulders.

“You couldn’t have told me this sooner? I nearly passed out!”.

“The important thing is that everyone’s safe, and everyone’s fine”.

“Beg your pardon? What on the Nine Realms do you all mean with everyone’s safe?”, jumped Loki. His face was red out of anger, grief, and resentment. “Thor’s dead. You’re basically Kingless, since Odin has already decided to give up the Throne. You’re not getting your position on royalty -which was the point of all this mess, the point of you even being here-. One of the most important parts of the Palace has burned along with the citizen’s trust in us, because we couldn’t put off a damn fire. Have I mentioned Thor’s dead? Have I mentioned you almost die out of smoke intoxication? What would I have done if you died there?! Ah, and Thor’s dead, by the way”.

He took a deep breath, and turned even more red as he realized the volume of his voice and the tears running down his face. But as much as he was embarrassed about it, he didn’t regret it. Because he was right; everything was chaos, and they, so nonchalant, were talking as if none of these things were real. As if…

And just as he even got to consider they weren’t, he was confirmed with memories. Your plan. A map. Everyone’s safe. Sif’s voice being the first one to notice the magic fire.

You all gave him space to think about it, to go through it without you saying a word. He quickly connected the dots.

“It wasn’t a fallen candle that started the fire, wasn’t it?”.

Sif smiled awkwardly, and squeezed your hand.

“The rest of the plan’s up to us. He did everything on his hands, but he can’t help now, even from the distance”.

“Where is he?”, you asked as you gently wiped away the tears off his cheeks. His eyes, burning red, embraced you lovingly. He was still confused, though. But calmer.

“Midgard, with that Jane Foster he always drooled over”.

“Oh dear”, Loki rolled his eyes. “So, he’s not dead?”.

“He’s not”.

“Good. Okay”, he nodded. He sat on the grass, contemplating the views. Feeling the soft breeze graze his pale skin. “What are you going to do now? You needed this. Why did you break it?”.

“I needed this even more”, you pointed at him.

He looked at you with surprise. As if he wasn’t expecting your feelings to be still there. As if he would’ve already convinced himself you didn’t actually love him, despite all the things you said.

“And he had to fake his death in order to break up the marriage?”.

“Oh, prince Loki, you’re so blind to the truth sometimes”, scoffed Sif.

“No wonders he’s the God of Lies, and not of Truths”, added Volstagg ironically.

“Quit the sarcasm, already, you four”, he hissed. “Darling, tell me what I so clearly cannot see”.

You sat by his side, and put a hand around his waist. He did the same, grabbing gently the back of your neck.

“Loki”.

“Dear”.

You laughed. He still didn’t get it, didn’t he?

“You’re next on the inheritance line, love”.

“Oh... Oh”.

“This is the moment where you ask me to be your companion, my King”.

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