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clareguilty · 3 years ago

Text

A Tainted Rescue

Here it is! Please please let me know what you think! Lord Heisenberg/Maiden Rating: Explicit | Dubcon/noncon, first time, generally evil things from generally evil people Word Count: ~3100

“Little one,” Mistress Dimitrescu beckoned to the maiden who was arranging the breakfast tray. “My brother will be joining us for supper tonight.” Her lips curled in disgust at the mere mention of her ‘sibling.’ “You will be responsible for waiting on everyone this evening. You are to obey his every request unless it contradicts with my own. He is our most esteemed guest.” The words rolled off her tongue laden with sarcasm.

The Lord Heisenberg!

While he and the Mistress had a�� strained relationship to say the least, Lord Heisenberg was invited to the castle on occasion to discuss business and put up a good front for Mother Miranda. She wanted the four lords to be cordial with each other, seeing as she considered each of them her own children, so everyone was treated with the utmost respect.

Lady Beneviento and Miss Angie were always welcome, frequently invited to spend time with Mistress Dimitrescu’s daughters or have supper or walk on the castle grounds during the warm season. The maiden was frightened of them at first, but the Mistress Donna and her doll were friendly and playful when in good spirits. Even when she wasn’t, there was a sort of beauty to her melancholy. She was kind to the servant girls, and she adored the castle gardens. Mistress Dimitrescu obviously held her in the highest regard, especially because it meant her daughters had another friend among the nobles.

The Lord Moreau was ghastly to look at, but sweet and earnest in a pitiful kind of way. Mistress Dimitrescu must have thought so as well because even he was treated with more kindness and respect than Lord Heisenberg. Lady Dimitrescu allowed no one to speak ill of Lord Moreau -- though it wasn’t as if she spoke very highly of him either. He was much too sickly and shy to come to the castle often anyways, so it was very rare that the maiden even saw him.

And so it was that the Lord Heisenberg was the second most common guest at the castle behind Lady Beneviento and her doll.

The Mistress tolerated him, but their evenings spent together would quickly turn to scathing comments and bellowed arguments if provoked. He was loud and smelly and he undermined The Mistress at every turn -- even in her own castle. Still, his visits were rather exciting. He would perform parlor tricks for the Mistress’s eager daughters with his magnetic powers and tell crude stories. It was rather fun until the maiden was left scrubbing his dusty bootprints off of the floors and tables.

He arrived in a metal carriage drawn by a mechanical horse, clearly one of his own inventions. The maiden watched the beast stamp and snort just as though it were flesh and blood. The Mistress’s daughters were similarly impressed, whispering and cooing to each other as they all stood to welcome The Lord to the castle. Mistress Dimitrescu stepped forward, extending her hand and poorly hiding her disgust as Lord Heisenberg placed a whiskery kiss to her gloved knuckles.

“Dear Brother.” The words were flat and clipped. “It’s always nice to see you.”

“Of course, Al. How could I possibly turn down an invitation.” Lord Heisenberg was just as sincere as he sauntered into the castle, waving to the daughters on the way.

The maiden stepped forward from her place in the shadows. She bowed low. “May I take your coat, My Lord?” Lord Heisenberg looked startled at her sudden appearance. How did something so small and delicate fit in among these enormous monsters? She was absolutely precious, and he wanted her all to himself.

“No thanks, girlie.” He patted her on the head. It was a baffling gesture to the maiden.

The five of them convened in the grand sitting room. The daughters were quick to engage Lord Heisenberg in conversation about his mechanical horse and the goings on in the village as well as his factory. The mistress looked on in disdain.

When the maiden came to offer them a selection of The Mistress’s finest wine, she was surprised to see Lord Heisenberg wrinkle his nose and shake his head. He plucked a flask from the inside of his coat, waving it with a mischievous smile. “I’ve brought my own spirits for the evening. But you’re a dear for offering.” He winked. “Let me know if you want a sip.”

The maiden bowed to hide her flush and turned to fill her mistress’s glass. She managed to keep her hands from shaking, even though she couldn’t shake of the directness of Lord Heisenberg’s teasing.

“Good girl,” Lady Dimitrescu cooed, trailing her fingers over the maiden’s cheek. It was an unusual show of praise, and the maiden nearly dropped the bottle she was holding out of shock.

The maiden dutifully fetched and filled and served until supper was ready. Lord Heisenberg was surprisingly friendly and in good spirits, boisterous and laughing. He teased the poor maiden relentlessly. Joking with her and tucking her hair back and brushing his hand against hers. All of the attention made her cheeks hot and her heart beat wildly out of control. She felt as though each advance was somehow a betrayal against her mistress, but she couldn’t brush them off without angering The Lord.

Not that The Mistress was much better, cooing over her and pushing her this way and that with a sweet smile and a firm hand. The only ones who seemed to want to leave her alone for once were The Mistress’s daughters, too wrapped up in the excitement of having a guest to the castle.

They all filed into the dining room for supper, and the maiden was given a reprieve from the constant, overwhelming attention as she stood by to refill glasses and cart dishes away.

“Isn’t this a nice family dinner,” Lord Heisenberg remarked. He had a feast of seared fish and vegetables, a sharp contrast to the rare red meat on the ladies’ plates.

The mistress’s daughters ate quickly and excused themselves far too early -- likely attempting to sneak away to the stables to inspect Lord Heisenberg’s horse.

The maiden was sent off in search of another bottle of wine, and the Lord and the Lady were left alone.

“She’s slated for the bottle?” Heisenberg asked once the maiden was out of sight. He busied himself inspecting the silver cutlery, but his interest was obvious.

“Yes,” Mistress Dimitrescu said. “What a shame. I’ve grown quite fond of her. Such a good little pet. But she’s much too sweet and pure to let go to waste.”

Heisenberg wrinkled his nose again. “I know that we’re both despicable, but you’re a whole ‘nother monster, sis.”

Lady Dimitrescu narrowed her eyes. She knew what game Heisenberg was playing. Like a petulant child, he couldn’t stand when his sibling had a shiny new toy. “Keep your hands off her. She’s mine, and I’ll do with her what I wish.”

“Of course,” Lord Heisenberg raised his hands placatingly.

When the maiden returned with the wine, Lady Dimitrescu made a show of pulling the poor girl in close to whisper thanks in her ear, running her hand over her skirts. The maiden looked as if she would faint.

Heisenberg rolled his eyes. He knew how to get what he wanted in the end, and the next time the maiden was sent to the storerooms to fetch something, he excused himself with a yawn and a stretch and an offhanded comment about the powder room before blatantly following out the same door the she had just left through.

It was easy to find her in the storerooms, expertly gathering everything she needed. She glanced up at the sound of his heavy footsteps.

“Oh! Lord Heisenberg! If there’s anything you need you can just let me know and I’ll bring it out. There’s no need for-”

He effortlessly pinned the girl the the stone wall, one hand flinging out behind him as he used his powers to close and lock the storeroom door. The lord was nothing in size when compared to Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters, but he towered over the poor maiden. She was powerless to stop him.

“If you don’t want to die, you had better leave with me tonight,” he hissed. “You’re time is running out, and I think you’re far too precious to be drained and bottled up for the next supper.”

The maiden whimpered and struggled against his hold. “I don’t understand… What are you saying?”

Lord Heisenberg growled. “All your little friends who have been disappearing? The other maids in the castle who aren’t around to help anymore? You just served them up in a glass at dinner. And you’re going to be the next batch if you don’t stop being so sweet. She’s planning to kill you, and I want to keep that from happening.”

The words finally seemed to sink in. The maiden knew that things at the castle were more sinister than they appeared. She was one of the only ones left now. All the others had disappeared for one reason or another. And now the wine was flowing freely.

“I don’t want to die,” the maiden pleaded. “Please. I want to leave, but I don’t know how to escape. She’ll surely find me.”

Her pleas were met with a low chuckle. “Don’t worry about escaping. I’ve always been a fan of grand gestures. You’ll be walking out the front door with me tonight.”

“How?” the maiden asked. “She’d never let you take me.”

“Not when you’re this fucking ripe she wouldn’t.” The lord’s voice was a low growl. “I think we’d better do something about that.”

She screamed as he ripped the fabric of her skirts to shreds. He clamped a hand over her mouth and hoisted her up against the wall so she was at his level, pinned in place by his hips against hers. “Keep it down,” he snarled.

Next to go was the front of her dress, ripped straight down the bodice so he could palm at her breasts. “My Lord!” the maiden gasped. “Please, why are you doing this?”

“I’ve got to make you useless to her.” He breathed against the maiden’s skin, trailing his teeth over her collarbone and shoulder. “You’re worth nothing if your blood is tainted. Impure. Well, according to her,” he pulled back with a wide grin, “I’m as tainted and impure as it gets.”

He kissed his way down her chest, taking a nipple into his mouth and biting lightly just to hear the maiden gasp. She was even more responsive when he sucked and licked the sensitive flesh.

“I can’t wait to keep you.” He ripped her drawers off and ran his hands over her thighs. “Gonna show you just how good it can feel. Can’t believe she wouldn’t even touch you.” He slipped a rough finger between the maiden’s legs, gently coaxing her to arousal. She squirmed and tried to push his hand away.

“Don’t worry,” he soothed her. “I promise this will get you out. It’s going to feel good.”

She tried to relax into his touch, to slow her breathing and stop fighting against him. He pressed a kiss to her stomach, softer this time. “There you go,” he praised. “Let yourself be spoiled.”

He squeezed her breasts and petted her hair and kissed a never ending trail across her neck and shoulders and chest and stomach. Kneaded her thighs and whispered an endless stream of encouragement to her.

“You’re doing so good… I’m going to get you out of here… She can’t have you anymore… You’re mine…”

Her thighs were now slick, as were Lord Heisenberg’s fingers, and he dragged them along her slit in slow, determined motions.

“My Lord…” the maiden panted. “What’s happening? It feels...”

He chuckled and rubbed her clit, delighted at the way she moaned and arched her back. Her hands found his shoulders, clinging to him for dear life as he ruthlessly but expertly brought her apart with just one hand. Unable to hold back, he pressed two fingers inside of her, hushing her as she cried out from the stretch. She shook and sobbed against him as he curled and scissored his fingers inside of her, seeking out the exact ways to send her into oblivious pleasure.

“Ah! Stop! I can’t!” She whimpered as he changed the angle of his wrist. He could tell she was close, all she needed was a little bit more.

The maiden ruined herself in the castle storeroom, pinned to the wall by Lord Heisenberg with his fingers buried in her up to the knuckle. She clung to his coat as he worked her through her orgasm, fingering her through the aftershocks and running a hand over her back to calm her.

But Lord Heisenberg was never one to do anything by halves. If he was going to save this maiden from Lady Dimitrescu, he was going to ruin her.

So he grabbed her by both thighs and hoisted her up so he could bury his face between her legs, lapping up the wetness that spilled over his lips and licking and sucking at her dripping, oversensitive pussy.

The maiden was helpless to stop him as he held her in place and sucked bruises all along the insides of her thighs, marking her as his.

She was shaking and clamping her legs shut around his ears, tears streaming down her face from the too intense pleasure. She had never even been touched before, and now she was coming over The Lord’s face again and again.

It was only when his jaw began to ache that he set the maiden down. He once again backed her against the wall with his full weight, rutting his own hips against her where he was achingly hard in his pants.

The maiden could barely stand on her quivering legs. She nearly slid to the floor when Lord Heisenberg stepped back to undo his belt and pull open his pants. His cock was ruddy and leaking, heavy in his hands as he stroked himself for some relief.

“Oh, I can’t wait to feel you around me. Gonna fill you up. She’ll never be able to do anything with you after that.” He stalked forward.

“I can’t,” the maiden stared at the Lord’s massive cock with terror in her eyes. “There’s no way.”

“You have to,” he crooned. “Don’t worry. You’ll be just fine.”

He lifted the maiden by the waist. Her toes didn’t even touch the ground as he tilted her hips to line up with his cock. The head dragged over her slit, dripping against where she was already wet and oversensitive.

“So soft,” Heisenberg moaned, hips rutting forward of their own volition. The head of his cock pressed inside her and the maiden whined. “It’s okay,” he promised. “You’re going to be so good at taking my cock. You’re perfect.”

Unable to hold himself back any longer, he pulled the maiden towards him onto his cock. She shook and cried in his hold, but he moved her easily as she stretched around him. Sinking in inch by inch until he was buried fully inside her, splitting her open on his cock so full and deep.

The maiden could barely keep her thoughts together, struggling to breath as Lord Heisenberg filled her. The stretch burned, and the head of his cock was so deep she could feel it all the way to her navel. She wasn’t sure how she had managed to take all of him.

And as he began to move, began to use her body and fuck her rougher and rougher on each stroke, she wondered how she would be able to give up the sensation.

He was right. She had been denied a whole world of pleasure just for the sake of her mistress. She would have died not knowing how it felt to be brought to rapture again and again.

She came around The Lord’s cock, clenching down around him as he fucked into her.

“That’s a good girl. It’s supposed to feel good.” He grit his teeth and increased his pace. “I’m going to fill you up. Ruin you for every other cock and especially for that bitch.”

“Please,” she begged, the words escaping her before she could stop herself. “My Lord, please I need you. Save me. Take me away from here. I’m yours.”

“Damn right you are,” he growled. “So tight and perfect. Alcina’s precious pet coming on my cock. Just a little bit more.”

He adjusted the angle of his hips, somehow managing to hit even deeper. Lord Heisenberg was watching his cock as it split her pussy in two, sinking into her to the hilt on each thrust. He moved one hand to rub over her clit, determined to make her finish when he did.

He pulled her hips all the way to his as he came, pumping his claim into her just as she came one final time around him, milking his cock and spilling over her own thighs. He fucked into her with a few more deep strokes, just to make sure it took, before pulling out and wiping himself on her ruined dress.

He shoved his cock into his pants and refastened his belt, waving the door open with his hand.

“Well, I’m sure I’ve long overstayed my welcome this evening. And the lovely hostess will be looking for us both.” He grabbed the maiden by the hand and dragged her -- on shaky legs and wobbly knees -- through the halls of the castle to the main entrance.

Lady Dimitrescu descended upon them before they could get to the door.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” she bellowed, sweeping down the stairs with her daughters at her heels. “You insolent, wretched pig.”

Lord Heisenberg shielded the maiden behind him as he turned to The Mistress. “Heya, Al. It’s been a great night. Dinner was wonderful. But I think I’ll be taking my dessert to go.” He pulled the maiden out in front of him. Tear streaked cheeks, hair mussed. Dress ruined and spattered with stains. Bruises all along the inside of her thighs where the Lord’s cum was still leaking out of her. She could barely stand as she clutched Heisenberg’s arm.

Lady Dimitrescu realised what had happened to her prized maiden and swept forward, claws at the ready. “You,” she snarled.

But The Lord was already backing towards the door, taking the maiden with him. “Mother Miranda would be very upset if her two favorite children got in a fight.” He said. “In fact, she’s expecting my call as soon as I get back. She was very pleased that you invited me to dine with you.”

Lady Dimitrescu seethed, unable to do anything to upset Mother Miranda who had given her everything she could ever ask for.

“I’ll kill you,” she hissed. “Get out of my sight.”

“I can’t wait for the day,” Lord Heisenberg saluted and marched out the front doors of the castle with the maiden in his arms. Just as he had said.

#karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenberg #lord heisenberg #karl heisenberg/reader #karl heisenberg x reader #heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #heisenberg/reader #re8 village #re8 fanfiction #smut #lemons #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #a tainted rescue

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husbandohunter · 3 years ago

Note

Dottore with short drabble “You only ever brought me pain and I’m sick of it.”

Something angsty pls? Thank you!

Tainted Glass [Dottore x Reader/Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: Can you escape the prison you made?

(A twisted Cinderella story. The girl was covered in cinders because she was fatally addicted to drowning in flames.)

Warnings: angst, emotional abuse, violence, death

(A/n): To be honest anon, I didn’t know what the word ‘drabble’ means until I googled it. I uh...hope you don’t mind the length :>

-----------------------

You fell back against the cold hard floor with your arms bent and head turned sideways. The stinging pain spreads across your cheek. It burns. But your mind was still trying to register what had just came into fruition.

Why?

The thought was so foreign somehow as if you could hardly believe he was doing this. But then the scene plays in your head again. You froze, your gaze enlarged and clueless while staring at the pale ground as it slowly begins to darken in the seeping movement of his menacing, haunting shadow.

"Insolent woman, you wretch!" He spat in a disgusted tone, "How dare you speak to me in such demanding manner? Have I already told you, only talk when you have something important to say?"

You didn't respond, rather you merely let the strands fall in front of your vision as you gingerly pressed your hand against the place where he hit you.

I…don't quite understand…

Dottore glowers down at your hunched form. He was never a man known for the virtue of patience. This man, the one who calls him your husband, you learned a long time ago to not meet his eyes as they would signal a hint of dominance amidst his authority, especially during moments like these. You came to feel his eyes instead, they were usually intense and full of wrath, sometimes crazed and curious while looking at his finest creations. He always loved experimenting in his labratory. After all, it was the only thing that could truly make the madman smile.

What is it that I'm missing? Where did I go wrong?

And you would do anything to obtain at least a fraction of the love he had left in his heart.

He marches onward with heavy footsteps, paying no mind to your well-being, "Tch get out of my sight. I don't have the time to entertain with anymore these theatrics."

At the sound of him leaving you darted your attention towards him, "Wait, come back. Come back, " you plea softly, "Hector…" But he ignores your call. The back of your fiance disappears behind the door and slams it with a resounding thud. He was gone. You couldn't save him.

"No," As a result, you burried your face into your palms and cried.

“I'm sorry.”

…

What is love?

Being raised in one of the most prestigious bloodlines of Fontaine, a life filled with riches since your parents were well known scholars throughout Teyvat, they provided you and your family with everything you needed. From exquisite dishes to priceless jewelry, yet even among those riches you never did find an answer to your question. They were tangibles and short-lasting, eventually leaving you with nothing until the glass of your heart was filled empty. They seemed to have cared more about their fortune along with the brightest child of their family line, your brother, a male heir, someone who fulfilled their expectations where you couldn't do so. And because he was able to give them what they wanted, he was loved.

I see, love is conditional.

Realizing that you possessed no talent to achieve what your brother had accomplished, you came to accept that you were undeserving of their love. Love was for the smart. Love was for the gifted. Love was for everything you are not. There was no place for your kind and thus you locked yourself up in your bedroom chambers along with your fragile heart where no one would try to find you, picking up the books upon the shelves and getting lost in their fantasies.

They told you many beautiful things about the world and many reasons why it was so tragic. Because they weren't real. The story begins with a princess who was a kind-hearted soul, deprived from the care of her evil stepmother and dreams of marrying a prince from a land far far away. They often end on a happily ever after with the princes finding her one true love. You've never seen anything like it. Where two people, despite the struggles they went through, loved each other unconditionally.

Unconditional love only exists in dreams.

Or so you thought to believe.

One day a man marched right at the doorsteps of your mansion. He was a student coming all the way from Sumeru Academia and had high hopes of building a business partnership with your father. The man was declined of course, you watched from the garden bushes as he was sent off back into his carriage. He stops abruptly and turns his head ajar to catch your figure, his inquisitive eyes were both striking and sharp. Like thorns of a rose that was ready to prick anyone who dares to come close. Even so, they made a very lasting impression.

Red eyes.

It was the first time that someone had looked your way.

Couple of months later, the government had arranged a grand ball where all nobles would gather and commit to building their social circle. Useless events. There was no reason for you to engage. While your parents were occupied with the latest gossips and your brother surrounded by fathers who were eager to marry their daughters to him, you snuck outside to the balcony and hid away from the crowd. Quiet at last. And as things should be. The moon was your only friend because she was just like you; half empty. Maybe that was why you still had a glimmer of hope for the other half to be filled.

Part white, you inquired, pristine and untainted. From far away it looked similar to snow.

"My, how pleasantly surprising."

While the other part was stained with black cinders.

You glanced over your shoulder to see a man leaning against the pillar. His mint coloured bangs were slicked back in a trendy fashion, complimenting the white suit he adorned himself with. The golden chains hanging around his ebony boots dangled and clanged with each step he took forward until the light finally reveals his face.

"You seem familiar," you say while squinting your eyes, "Are you the person my father rejected back in February?"

He quirks one brow and you were afraid if you had offended him. But before you could utter an apology, the man splits his lips into a toothy grin and bursts out into a maniac-like laughter. He was completely insane, you thought to yourself. Though he paid no mind to your discomfort and continued to dwell in his amusement, "Hahaha straightforward, I like it! So what if I am? Is it a requirement to be a noble for me to simply have a chat?"

"And if I may ask why?"

"Hmmm, why?" The man reaches for the balcony and presses his back there. He threw his head backward before drilling his ruby gaze into yours, "I too am not fond of annoying crowds. Those snobbish fools thinking they're above everyone else just because they have a couple of mora when that is all they are worth. It's almost too hilarious for my own good."

You could tell there was disdain in his tone. Mainly towards your father who were one of the many unkind nobles of Fontaine and was only liked because of his success. Gripping your hands upon the stone railings, you looked down at the distant trees below while the wind rustled them apart, "I can't deny that," you say dissapointedly, "It's common for nobles not to associate with lower classes as it could potentially ruin their image. Though I may not have been there but I'm sure you had much to offer in terms of your brilliance, erm, Mister…?"

"Hector," Hector placed a palm on his chest with a polite bow following suit, "Hector Dufour-Lapointé. It is a pleasure to make you an acquaintance Lady (Y/n)."

"You know my name?"

"How could I not?" Hector smirks lazily as he danced around you, "I saw you before hiding behind the rose bushes back in your estate. Quite curious why you didn't attempt to say hello."

He even remembers that too. You fiddled with the fabric of your dress, "My apologies. I'm not use to socializing so much."

“Is that so? I think you're not giving yourself enough credit," he complimented while shrugging, "This is much more entertaining than hanging in that insufferably crowded room, it was an unexpected occurence to meet you here of all places. However, I must say time can fly if I'm able to enjoy myself."

You shifted away from his stare, "You flatter me. We've only been talking for a few minutes."

"I have yet to realize it then" Hector's cheerfulness remains at stance despite your gloomy response. He leans forward like a curious child and tosses you a question, "Then allow me to ask, what brings you out here Lady (Y/n)? I don't see any reason when your family are such highly respected people of Fontaine."

"I'm not like them!" You retort instantly, causing the man to glance at you with skepticism, "I mean, I have nothing to do with them and they have nothing to do with me. That's just how it is. They already have Clement after all…"

Why am I telling him this?

"Ah your brother I assume. Yes so I've heard much about his genius mind. There were a few instances where he and I collaborated at Sumeru Academia," Hector speaks as if regarding to his unpleasant memories, "Although he never said anything about having a sister."

"We're not that close. And I'm not very fond of him," you confessed bluntly.

"Neither am I," Hector agreed with a scowl, "He claims his position using the knowledge derived from history books but never tries to think beyond the norm. That ignorant mindset of his will surely be his downfall one day."

"Ignorance can lead to anyone's downfall. If they turn a blind eye to the truth, so much can be taken from them," you paused shortly from rambling too much, "That's what I read in books at least."

"As expected of your lineage," he sighs whimsically, "Such avid readers."

"Well my family prefers documents and research. I've gone through them too but I will always love reading fiction."

"Ha! Seems you really are trying to be different from the rest of your family."

Seconds turn to minutes and minutes to hours, you had already forgotten about the cold breeze despite your dress being less than ideal for the outdoors. The man, although he can be a little to blathering at times, was more than what seemed to be on the surface. At first you thought of him as someone here to take advantage of your relations to your father but he seemed so sincere when listening to your stories, so eager while expressing his thoughts and even made you laugh a couple of times. You didn't realize that the clock had already struck twelve as the guests were preparing to leave but you just weren't ready to do the same.

"Until next time (Y/n)," he takes your fingers and pressed a kiss on top of them, though you were more struck by how he addressed you without honorifics, "I look forward to speaking with you again."

A warm smile graces your lips as you cursty, "Likewise Hector. Thank you for listening to me. I know I must have taken a long time."

Hector sneered but you already learned that it was simply his way of expressing amusement, "Hardly. I was thoroughly entertained."

When your parents found out about your meeting with him, they made it clear that you would never see him again. Hector Dufour-Lapointé is what he calls himself but the real name behind this man was Hector Valliere who came from a village hidden in the west of Fontaine. Rumours said that he was chased out of his hometown by an angry mob, claiming him to be a madman conducting unethical experiments on humans. Shortly after his arrival in Sumeru, he abandoned his past identity and replaced it with a new one in order to enter the academy under legal supervision. Associating with a man of a suspicious reputation would only cause harm to your family's name. Though you could barely care much about their reputation. There was nothing for you to benefit from it.

Few weeks have passed and you evetually gave up on the thought of hearing from Hector. They were only fleeting moments, nothing more. Your routine would stay the same as you kept on plucking more books off the shelves, killing whatever time you had. However the activities you used to enjoy somehow lost it's flair and there would be a slight pain in your chest whenever you turn to a page with the princess as she is surrounded by her friends. What exactly changed? Your family still treated you the same. Did you suddenly grow bored from doing the same thing everyday? Why is it that you feel much more lonelier despite being alone for so long? It was hard to tell in a singular perspective. If only there was someone here to give you some insights on things you couldn't see…

A silver bird lands by your front window and you nearly fell out of your chair as it flapped their wings violently. A machine?! They dropped what seems to be an envelope within the thick bushes before taking off and buzzing into the evening sky. You switched off the lock and lifted the glass within a single movement, snatching the piece of paper so that the wind wouldn't blow it away. Hastily you opened it. Both curious and cautious of why would anyone send you mail in such a discreet approach.

Chère Mademoiselle (Y/n),

I can only imagine the shock of your expression once reading this letter. I'm only writing to you since I assume that your father had already told you those nasty rumours about my past. No matter. I trust that you have a good head on your shoulders to not prejudge people using such miniscule details. I wish to speak with you again. Unless you have other plans staying in that stuffy room of yours, meet me behind the clock tower at 11:00 p.m. Don't be late.

Bien à vous,

"It really is him!" The happiness spreads all across your features as you clutched the letter to your chest. For some reason, your heart wouldn't stop racing. It was a simple yet thoughful action on his part but despite how short his greeting was, every word held the weight of a thousand sparks, "I…I can't stop smiling."

And without hesitation, you prepared to leave. No one noticed your absence.

-------

It was only halfway where you realized that Hector didn't give many details redgarding why he planned this sudden event. You caught sight of him standing under the roofs with his hands hidden behind his back. He had on his signature lopsided grin, brows uneven as he glanced at you casually.

"How very punctual, were you so eager that you couldn't wait?" He teases.

"I was surprised when your bird knocked upon my window," you inform, "Is it something urgent?"

"Not at all. I merely wanted to catch up with old times," Hector tilts forward to emphasize his suggestion, "Care to indulge me for a bit?"

You crossed your arms, "Then what is it that you're hiding behind your back?"

"Hmm?" He hums, "You mean this?"

"Ah!"

Roses. A bouquet of bright red flowers were presented to you, nicely wrapped in fabric. In the language of Fontaine, recieving them could mean multiple of things and you couldn't help but feel hesitant despite his thoughtful gesture, "Why are you giving me this?"

"Is it so wrong for me to be a gentleman? I thought it would be best to prepare you a gift after you put all that effort to come out in such a late hour," Hector mused to himself, "Especially when you had to make sure no prying eyes would catch us."

You let out a small laugh before accepting the bouquet, "I wouldn't go as far to say that."

"Oh?" Although it was hard to see, Hector managed to catch a glimpse of your flushed cheeks hidden behind the flowers. A darken smirk climbs onto his face at the inviting thought of what it could mean, "Tell me more."

The whole night you both spent walking around the empty plaza with only the stars as your guide. They paved a silver path reflected in the horizon above, free flowing like one of the many watercolour paintings hung in your chambers, uncertain where they may lead but you followed them regardless. If it weren't for Hector's inivtation you might have never known about the parts of your city due to the restricted lifestyle you lived. He listened to every one of them. The stories you had to tell when there was no one for you to talk to and the complaints about your brother whenever he wanted to snitch on your actions just to get the praise out of your father. You expressed your frustrations when speaking about your incompetences, joy after reading a good fairytale book written by your favourite author, there was so much to say that you were worried if Hector soon grew tired from them.

"Go on. I'm listening."

And your heart flutters again. Suddenly everything felt so light with each step you took, it was as if you walked across the stars in the sky rather than the heavy pavement of the ground you called your home. But even if happiness was a bliss, it tormented you. Because companionship made you realize how poor your were all along. That you had everything yet you had nothing, slowly withering away like the roses you held in your hand. Convinced that your existence was worth nothing more than nothing itself. Doomed to be dismissed and forgotten. Rotting away...Hector stays by your side as you cried softly into the night.

From a distance the bell rings and echoes just like the time before during Fontaine's grand ball. Hector shows you a secret route so that no one could find you.

"Will you write to me again?"

The request was so innocent, purely from genuine intentions and devoided of anything he had in mind. Hector would always laugh in these situations when things have gone unexpectedly yet pleasingly his way but held back knowing that it would be foolish to waste such a priceless opportunity. And so he gave you his smile, one full of secrets where you had mistakened it as a promise, "Of course my dear."

Every night you could no longer fall asleep since he had occupied your thoughts completely. Sometimes you'd dream of him and their tales would unfold similarly to the ones you have read. It gone to the point where the maids would have to wake you up during late afternoons due to the dramatic change in your sleep schedule. Though, you didn't care what they did to you. As long as no one found out about your secret rendezvous.

You never thought that there'd be a day where you would voluntarily give up reading your beloved fairytales. They were now replaced by a stash of his letters that have been accumulated over the past few months. You read them each day, pacing back and forth within the walls of your room, whispering his sentences as if he were the one saying them to you. He made you feel special. You were addicted to this feeling. Eventually you managed to memorize his words by heart.

The pages of your diary were filled with notes. Like your very own fairytale carved into reality. From the rose petal, now dried, to the hairpin he snatched from a distracted merchant and a single strand of his hair you found within your cloak after a warm embrace, all of these items, a remnant of the man you loved were taped up in these pages. Sometimes you could even feel his prescence because it was all you needed. It didn't matter if Clement threw insults about how worthless your existence was, your parents could lock you in this prison if they wanted to but they shall never take away Hector from you. Never. You swear it. He was your whole world and the prince who saved you from a life made of aching emptiness. You would do anything to keep him by your side. Anything to gain his affection.

Anything.

"I had a feeling that you were the culprit dear sister."

Your arms stutters as they clutched tightly on the scrolls you took off from the shelves. The light crept into the room like arms reaching out to clutch around your ankles, warning you for trespassing. You turned around dreadfully to see Clement pressing his shoulder against the doorframe with his arms folded and a wicked expression aimed at your pitiful state.

"Why…Why are you still awake?" You say in disbelief, "I thought everyone was asleep."

"Please. Not only are you shameless but hypocritical as well. You truly are a dissapointment to our family."

"Wait," taking a step forward, you stopped him before he makes his exit, "I'll put them back. Just don't tell father about this."

But like your parents, your brother was unkind. Clement doubles over and hugs his torso, cackling through his teeth, "Is that how it is?" He swipes his arm up and you see a parchment paper held between his fingers.

"No!"

"Ma chérie (Y/n). I must say all this tenacious effort of sneaking in my letters to your window is becoming more and more tiresome. But of course, you are an exception. I want the scrolls you've mentioned the other day at my lair tomorrow evening. Make sure no one discovers this. I'm counting on you. Cordialement! Hector."

"No…" you whispered, feeling the weight of the world fall upon your shoulders as it shattered apart. Hector. If possible, you hoped that the pieces could just crush you right then and there. Your knees felt weak and a fright takes over but despite your turmoil, Clement didn't show a shred of sympathy.

"So this is why you've been acting odd lately. Pathetic," he flaps the paper tauntingly in his grasp, "I can't decide if I should be impressed or baffled by your actions. A secret romance with a criminal and the bloodline of Fontaine's most respected government associates? Even though you've hit rock bottom, you still decided to dig deeper."

"Clement you don't understand!" Stumbling upon your footsteps, you desperately tried to convey your predicament even if it meant feeding his ego, "Hector is not the man you think. He was shunned by the people of his hometown, treating him as if he were nothing. They…They ignored him! All this time he needed someone to recognize his brilliance, someone to understand." Shakily, you brought your tensed arms to your chest and screamed a silent whisper, "Someone to listen but no one did. He must have felt so alone…"

Clement flinches when you suddenly clutched onto his biceps. When he looked into your eyes, a shiver ran down his spine.

"Hector is counting on me. I'm the only one who can save him. No one else. He needs me Clement, he needs me!"

"Tch."

An ear-splitting scream of his hand against your face echoes across the room. It knocked you out of your stance and you bumped into the table, grunting while the scrolls to tumbled to the floor.

"Crazy woman, I'm embarassed to be related to you!"

While you were still trying to regain your balance, your brother had already ran off. It wouldn't be long before he alerted your parents, the clock ticking away like sand until the final hour leaves you with nothing but an empty glass.

"No," despair swallows the strength away from your legs and you crawled towards where he used to stand, "Don't take him away from me…I need him…"

I can't live without him.

Tears begin to form by the corners of your eyes as you clenched your teeth. This was no time to cry. Balling your fists, you sprinted out of the room, pushing whatever stood in your way as if you were running for your life.

And if you considered everything else, it wasn't that far from the truth.

-------

"Hector! Hector are you there?" After arriving upon his house, you began knocking on his door aggressively. The lock clicks and you were greeted by an evidently annoyed man gnawing his teeth together.

"Tsk. There better be a good reason-"

"They're coming for us! We have to go. Now. Before it's too late. My father is probably already waking and making arrangements for you to-"

"Enough, I can't even catch what you're saying," He pinches the bridge of his nose while you were still stuck in a frenzy state. He takes a step back and opens the door wider, gesturing for you to come inside, "Get in already. I have a feeling that this will be a long night."

Hector observes intently at the words you tell him.

Not out of concern but akin to the way he watches the insects react when he exposes them to a different environment.

He was a scientist after all. A madman in which you deliberately fell in love with, so much to the point that he was able to feel pity for once. How you trusted him wholeheartedly with all of your vulnerabilities, emotions and secrets like handing him your parts just so he could put you back together again. Tinkering was always one of his favourite hobbies and he couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride at the thought of you being completely wrapped around his finger.

Perhaps that was the reason why he loved you. Because he didn't love you. He loved you in parts.

"It was only a matter of time," Hector sighs. He sneaks his grasp into yours, knowing how much it affects you and puts on an invisible mask of deciet, "I already knew this day would happen long before anyone could have predicted it."

"You did?" With worried eyes you gazed at him, "What shall we do then?"

Knowing he hit the target, his lips begin to curl up towards his ears, showing his sharp white teeth that shone against the dim-litted room. Hector asks, "Do you love me?"

A silly question. You didn't hesitate to answer, "Of course I do. I've said it many times."

"Prove it to me," Forcing his forehead against yours, Hector commands in a dangerously low tone, "Kill your brother and only then you can truly be mine."

Your brain sutters, trying to absorb what he had just said. Kill? As in to take a life? It sounded wrong. But...was it wrong if the life belonged to someone who ruined yours?

Dumbfoundedly, you glanced into the bloody orbs of your lover, his black pupils thinning into knives while burning in the hellfire of his true colours. Hector runs a hand from the scalp of your hair, down to your cheek before gingerly sliding his fingers at your jawline. He pulled you close and whispered into your ear.

"Are you scared?"

Ah, this wasn't about your feelings. This was about him and your future and there could be no future you without him by your side.

You let your eyelids drop and leaned into his touch, "I could never be scared of you Hector. Whether it is within my power or not, I will make sure no one gets in our way. I swear it."

"Good," he continues to have you feed on his affection, "I knew I could count on you."

-----------

The news of your brother's death filled every headline Fontain had to offer. He was driven off a cliff while making a trip towards Sumeru. No one survived. The remains were so crushed to the point that authorities had trouble identifying their bodies. The only explanation they could come up with by observing the leftover tracks was that the horse must have gone out of control and ended up dragging the carriage along with it.

Ha. Serves him right.

Food poisoning. The vial Hector made was very effective. You made sure to bury it away from your mansion.

With no other choice, you became your family's next heir. Hector notifies you that he would be away for several months to solidify a unique connection with a man hailing from Snezhnaya. You didn't think he would arrive at your doorsteps with so much authority. Fatui soldiers followed from behind as the staff paved a way for them to enter. Your father was clearly displeased by his outrageous approach but he knew he was in no place to deny.

"Upon the agreement between Fontaine and Snezhnaya, Lady (Y/n) will become Harbinger Il Dottore's wife," the Duke announces, "This news will be publicly announced at the end of October."

Dottore? Is that what he calls himself?

As if claiming his victory, Dottore shoots your father a devilish smile. You could feel the dining table shake when he kept pressing his fist against the smooth surface, begrudingly congratulating you both for the new engagement. Your mother bursted into tears.

Was it worth it?

You watched both of your parents mourn silently in their own manner. Perfectly knowing that you were the main cause. But you weren't able to feel any sadness because in the end, you now had everything you've ever wanted.

The inheritance.

Their attention.

But most of all, him.

And when you were convinced that this was your happily ever after, that fairytales were not just beautiful lies for the sake of comfort, you didn't realize you were already living a life made of beautiful lies conjured by your own mind for the sake of your own comfort.

"You're nothing without me."

Dried and calloused hands squeezed around your throat as you flailed your legs against the soft fabric of the carpet floor. He encases you in a straddling position, enjoying the sight of your tortured and clenched face. Hector…no, Dottore hated it when you disobeyed him. He despised it when his creations don't work the way he wanted them to and he had no use for things that are broken.

"G-hka--k..-"

"How many times do I have to remind you to not use my birthname. Do those ears of you even function properly? Or must I fix them myself?"

You gasped for air when he relaxed his grip. Vision a blur, you coughed a few times before he pulls your arm so that you lay flushed against his chest.

"Don't forget who saved you dear (Y/n). Because of me you were able to escape that miserable life you've despised for years. I expect the utmost gratitude on your part at all times, it is only fair that I punish you for not meeting my requirements, don't you agree?" Dottore lifts his hand up to pinch your cheeks, pulling your head to stare at your eyes, "After all, there is no one else in this world who can put up with you…but me."

His words were poison in which you drank like a woman starved. It made you feel numb to the pain the more you drowned in their alluring scent, the taste was sweet, a remedy for the bitterness of reality where the man of your dreams was nothing but a cruel monster. You came to believe that the reason why he treated you so harshly was because he was scared of losing you. You were caught in the trap of what seemed to be love and devotion when truly, you were just a toy to be used at a means end. He breaks you and he puts you back together, over and over again, filling in between the cracks formed in your glass heart with the phrases you loved to hear. Just like how he filled the other holes of your life where no one else did. You called it kindness. He saw it as entertainment.

Most people pay attention to the flower's beauty but they never acknowledge the thorns hidden beneath it's blossom. That is why they bleed. They get hurt. Though, you didn't mind shedding blood if it was for his sake.

Because you would do anything for him.

You would do anything to bring back the memories of Hector Dufour-Lapointé and save him from the Harbinger that ruined his life. Your life. It wasn't his fault. You knew you could change him to what he was before because you were in love with him, that he might still in there. Somewhere.

Right?

…

Please come back.

Time continues to flow like the tears of your dying heart despite yearning for it to turn at the past. Dottore already left the room a long time ago but you didn't. Raising your head away from your hands, you peered at the door in front of you, begging desperately through a chanting record of despondence.

Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back.

Images, they slipped through your fingers, slowly becoming more distant until your mind began to see them as illusions. Dreams. Things that were not real. Telling you that your life was a lie.

"Come back to me…Hector."

Because the man you loved was withering in your memories and you couldn't do anything to save him.

A dry croak robbed you of your breath as you turned to look in the mirror.

Worthless. You were always worthless, it was what your parents told you since birth. It was what you became when he wasn't at your side because without him, your existence was worthless. You lied for him, you stole for him you, took a life for him. You destroyed yourself for him to point that it was hard to believe you were even looking at yourself.

Worthless. It's who I am.

And despite it all, you couldn't obtain his love.

(Crack).

Worthless things don’t deserved to be loved.

(Crack. Crack).

But what if it’s because I’m worthless, that he won’t love me back?

(Crack).

Your eyes jolted open, causing you to gasp sharply. When the sweet lies dispersed in your head and cleansed you of deceit, everything started to make sene. You came to realize why your wish was impossible all along.

Dottore...no, Hector, the reason wasn't because he didn't return your feelings. Neither was it due to the fact that he hurt you through his actions. Nor when he made you cry or scream for help before feeding you with more lies, thinking he would never hurt you again. It was none of those things.

It was because the man you loved this whole time was someone who could love no one but himself.

"Ha...haha," sucking in your breath, a sinister laugh escapes your mouth, "Hahahahahahaha.....!"

Everything was worthless.

You grabbed a nearby hairbrush and threw it at the mirror, watching yourself shatter into a million pieces.

There was only one thing left to do.

------

"Ugh, where is it?!"

It was late into the night where every staff had gone to sleep. The Harbinger fumbles with his keys while standing at the door of his basement as he was too busy proceeding with his research rather than considering the thought of rest. Usually he acted upon them on his own will, performing various experiments for enjoyment. However, ever since the Snezhnayan court had requested him to look into the ancient arts of alchemy, Dottore was forced to carry it out before the deadline approached. Otherwise his position as Harbinger would be revoked.

"What a bunch of self-centered blockheads. Can't they understand that it take quality time to get quality results?"

Most of his important documents were stored on the otherside. Half of it came from his father-in-law's library. He had you to thank for that.

"Ah finally," he mutters, though still dissatisfied, "I should have a word with my butler for misplacing them."

Dottore shoves the key into the lock but instead of twisting the knob he noticed something strange. It was old and had yet to be fixed but somehow he didn't have any trouble adjusting his wrist. Then he saw there were a set of freshly made fingerprints upon the smooth metallic surface. However, the only person awake at this time would be him-

An intruder!

Dottore drops everything to the ground and yanks the door open. He skittered down the stone stairs while cursing under his breath. Using the delusion gifted by the Tsaritsa, the Harbinger activated his lazer-like pillars as he took advantage of their glow to light up the unlit room.

"What in the abyss...?!"

Except it wasn't dark.

"All of these scrolls, I recognize them," without sparing a single glance, you spoke nostalgically towards the bookshelves, "It brings me so much memories..."

Dottore clenches his teeth together as his eyes shone an angry red, you were holding a torch dangerously close to his hard-earned collection, "What do you think you're doing?!" He fumed, "Put that out, AT ONCE! Don't make me repeat myself!

"They're precious to you aren't they?" You finally shifted to face him, "More than me."

"What has gotten into you?" He was about to hurl at you until he saw your torch lowering, causing him to retreat. You were strangely noncholant and he couldn't help the feeling of disturbance. Accepting that he didn't have the upperhand, Dottore decided to use a different approach, "(Y/n)."

The sound of your name falls from his lips. You faltered.

"I'm sorry for what I have done. I know I was dishonourable to you, as your husband and lover, and that you didn't deserve to see me so aggressive. You have every right to express your anger, my dear. I was in the wrong."

It was only a mask. You knew it well. But seeing him with softened eyes and a tone so comforting, made you desperately wanting to run into his arms so he could wipe away your sorrows just like once upon a time. To live happily ever after.

Hector.

Dottore runs his fingers through his hairstrands in frustration and sighs, "However the Tsarista needed me to do something very important and I can't seem to fulfill her request no matter how hard I try. It angers me. If I don't finish this, there would be no place for us to stay."

"Hector..." you sniffled quietly. He looks so much like him right now.

"Can't you see I'm doing this for you?" He consoles, yet his weapons still remain, "I only intended to make you happy and there's nothing I won't do to achieve that. How about I show-"

"Enough."

Dottore froze upon your sudden command. He didn't sense a hint of subjugation and it seemed that you had perfect control of your emotions. How very inquisitive. Did you grow immune to the style of his voice? In such a short period of time? The facade he had on was now replaced with a growling animal-like expression. You looked at him dissapointedly. His Harbinger self returned. Hector was no more.

"Ha, you're the same as always. Even before the time you became a Harbinger. The same man that I fell in love with but it is me who will never be the same again," For a moment you averted your gaze as if trying hard to swallow your own words, "Remember when we first met at the balcony? That I told you my favourite books to read are fiction? I knew they weren't real but deep down, I wanted to believe in them anyways. And you know what? They did come true, to some degree..."

As the memories come flashing back, he defenselessly watches your expression contort from sadness to a calm contemplation and finally, enraged disgust, "But you only ever brought me pain and I'm sick of it!"

Swaying the torch to the side, Dottore flinches forward but he didn't dare to come close when your current state was unpredictable to him, "I JUST WANTED YOU TO LOVE ME," you wail, I just wanted to be loved, bringing a clawed hand against your forehead and trembling upon contact, "It's all that I ask for..."

Dottore narrowed his brows. Perhaps he may have gotten too far.

"But I know it's impossible. The world is a cruel place and there's no point in trying anymore. That is why I'm going to set us free."

"...What do you mean?"

You shut your eyes closed and tossed the flaming torch to the ground. A horrified expression takes over his features. It didn't take long for the fire to begin spreading amongst the room.

"NO!" Dottore yelled powerfully, he frantically darts his gaze at all directions as they continued to flicker and blend into his precious documents. You stood still and watched him grab the ones that were intact, savouring the most he could but they slip out of his arms every time he moved. Dottore glances behind him to see a rising cage of hellfire. Then he turns to you.

" 'Til death do us part!" you laughed maniacally.

The madman looked back with angry dismay, "You're out of your mind!"

Abandoning whatever he held in his hand, Dottore spins around towards the staircase. He covers his face with his sleeve and did whatever he could to prevent the fire from touching him. However, he accidentally stumbled on his footsteps and something fell off the heights, knocking him in the face. He grunts painfully.

"That will leave a scar," you smile while he clutches at his injury, "I can break you too.”

Just like how you broke me.

Knowing that you've managed to leave a mark of your existence on him in someway, you peacefully watched your lover wobble between the hell you created. But the hell you knew was not made of scorching heat and thundering flames. Hell was empty. Hell was a void. This feeling was far too gentle to be considered hell. If he can't return your love, then at least let these caging arms bask you in the warmth you’ve always desired.

Lifting your head, you looked towards the ceiling and closed your eyes.

Ah, this cannot be death.

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otomes-world · 3 years ago

Text

Incident at ball

I hope I wasn't too late.. (Q+Q). . .

20th - "Please stop talking about this supernatural nonsense!" and 21st - at a masquerade ball where a murder happens

As the daughter of not the most influential, but still a nobleman, Yuu had to attend all sorts of events to strengthen the family's reputation. Usually only her presence was required there, a polite smile and the most inconspicuous behavior as not to get into the games of other nobles. Clutching a glass in her hands, the girl cannot hold back a sigh. Today, in a special way, she really did not want to go to a event, especially a masquerade ball. Intuition prompted that the evening would not end well, but, apparently, only for her. As soon as Yuu shared thoughts with her mother, she exclaimed: "Please stop talking about this supernatural nonsense!"

Among the rest, Yuu seemed abnormal, someone called her superstitious, and someone whispered about madness. Naturally, this lowered her attractiveness among brides. Although the parents lamented that it would be problematic to marry their daughter in such conditions, it was only to Yuu's hand.

Having brushed aside another hunter for ladies' skirts, the girl hides behind the doors to the balcony in the hope that the cold air will help put her feelings in order and calm her tense nerves. Breathing in the freshness of the night, Yuu herself begins to think that everything is a game of her imagination.

Until someone's muffled cry is heard behind and in the next second the glass is broken.

Turning abruptly, she sees the grand chandelier, which takes up a significant portion of the ceiling space, collapsed on the unsuspecting man. Nausea came to her throat, Yuu wanted to look away and hide in a corner, away from the bloody mess in the middle of the hall. Suddenly her gaze clings to someone's figure or better to say the silhouette of a man in a cloak under the ceiling. Something said that his purple jacket would be dreamed of in her nightmare more than once.

Unconsciously, Yuu begins to back away, not taking his eyes off the man. He seems to her painfully familiar, but girl cannot remember exactly where the she saw him. Can't until their eyes meet. Despite being separated by a great distance, balcony doors and tulle curtains, Yuu had no doubt that the culprit was looking at her. It couldn't have been him, could it?

In the next moment, the figure disappears, and the girl, who has been steped back all this time, rests her back on something. Mind screams that this is clearly not the balcony railing. Feeling hands on his shoulders, Yuu slowly turns his head, not wanting to look at the one behind and confirm her own concerns.

"V-Vil... is it really you?" The voice is barely audible and is more like a whisper, to which a missing childhood friend frowns.

"You remember me, this is already someting"

The instinct of self-preservation strikes in the head, the panic belatedly begins to take up. Yuu jerks forward, but not fast enough.

The newspapers the next day would be trumpet not only the murder, but also another loss.

Prompt belongs to @youneedsomeprompts

#twst #twisted wonderland #tw #twst oneshot #twst fic #vil schoenheit #twst vil #Halloween #twst Halloween #female reader

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jingabitch · 4 years ago

Text

To Love an Empress

SUMMARY: Despite the acrimonious beginning to your relationship, Yoongi is drawn to you.

PAIRING: emperor!yoongi x empress!reader

RATING: E

WORD COUNT: 9.8k

A/N: My final submission for the BTS Ghostie bingo, yay! This one fills the secret admirer tile. This fic is kind of based on Henry VII and Elizabeth of York’s early relationship, and inspired by The White Princess, so if some of the dialogue and scenes are similar, that’s why.

Shoutout to my lovely betas @knjkitten and @yoongs-jeontae for helping me beta this! Banner by @jkeuphoriadreamland 💕 i’ve never had a banner on a fic before this is fun hehe

Min Yoongi was a hard man, and he knew it. He’d won his throne on the battlefield, running his sword through the old king and crowning himself right there on the blood-stained grass.

You knew it too, could never forget it when you looked at your husband. The scar on his face from an injury he’d sustained during the decisive battle for his crown; the memory of how coldly he’d treated you at the beginning; the baby growing inside you as a result of Yoongi’s insistence that you demonstrate your ability to provide him with heirs before he would marry you. As if he’d had a choice, when your bloodline was the cornerstone of his legitimacy.

After all the angry words and hostility between the two of you, he knew there was no chance you would forgive him. And yet, a part of him craved it. He saw the kindness you lavished on your ladies-in-waiting, the servants, and all the children running around the palace who were sons and daughters of the nobles and the army of servants working here. Was it so wrong of him to want just a little of that for himself? You were his wife, after all.

Yoongi was a warrior. He’d trained all his life to take control of the kingdom. War was all he knew.

Which made him, unfortunately, woefully inept when it came to wooing a lady, especially one so resistant to him. He’d relied on his looks before, but now that he had the scar on his face, it seemed that even that tool was no longer at his disposal. God knows you hated it.

With no one else to turn to, he asked his eunuch what he should do. At first, the portly man just blinked at him, confused. “She’s your wife, you don’t have to persuade her to warm your bed,” he pointed out.

Yoongi grimaced. “I know that,” he grumbled. “I want her to like me.”

Sambo snorted. “Should have thought about that before you made her ‘prove her fertility’ to you.”

Sulking, Yoongi got up and stormed away from his eunuch. Obviously, he knew that, and he wished that no one else did. It wasn’t like him to force a lady like that, but tensions had been running high at the time and he hadn’t trusted a woman from the house of L/n. You must have run to your lady-in-waiting and cried to her when it was over, because Sambo had gotten quite the shelling from her the next day.

Sambo, who’d quickly grown used to the antics of his master, just hurried along beside Yoongi. “Just give her something pretty,” he advised. “Women like that.”

Yoongi stopped short. Why hadn’t he thought of that? “That’s a great idea,” he enthused. “You’re useful for once, Sambo,” he praised his eunuch.

Sambo rolled his eyes to hide his pleased smile. “You’d think a grown man would know something like that,” he jibed. “Taking love advice from someone who can’t even perform must be a new low for you.”

“Whatever.” Yoongi waved off the insult. “I’ll get her a nice hairpin,” he decided. “But don’t tell her it’s from me.” He didn’t want you throwing it out in disgust.

“She’s obviously going to know,” Sambo pointed out. “There is no man in Joseon suicidal enough to woo the empress. That’s treason.”

Frowning, Yoongi snapped, “Just do it,” before stalking back into his room with a huff and shutting the door in Sambo’s face. The eunuch really didn’t need to rain on his parade like that, even if he was probably right. Hopefully you wouldn’t immediately come to the conclusion that it was him. It wasn’t just that he was afraid you’d throw out a gift from him—he wanted to make you smile. Not because you were bound to him and might as well exhibit some fondness towards your husband, but because he was really, truly capable of making you happy.

---------------------------------

Pregnancy had been difficult for you so far. Without your mother around, you were left to go through it by yourself. At least Ling, your personal servant-turned-lady-in-waiting, was here with you. You’d been together since you were a child and she was a young teen, and she was like a sister to you.

The morning sickness was starting to fade, thankfully, but you still got nauseous sometimes, so Ling suggested that you have your breakfast in the courtyard to enjoy some fresh air and sunshine while the cleaners dusted and polished your quarters.

When you finally got back to your room after being bullied by Ling into taking a little walk – exercise was good for the baby, she insisted – there was a hairpin lying on your table, next to the novel you’d been reading. Curiously, you knelt down to pick it up.

“What’s this?” you asked Ling, who was trailing a few steps behind you.

“It’s a hairpin, milady,” she responded somewhat cluelessly.

“Yes,” you said patiently, “but why is it here? I’ve never seen this before.” Looking more closely at it, you turned it over a few times in your hand. It truly was pretty, a delicate gold phoenix carved into the end of the pin, decorated with pink flowers and milky jade balls around the base of the phoenix.

Sitting down on the other side of the table, Ling pulled your hand holding the pin closer to her so she could examine it too. “I don’t know, but it’s so pretty,” she sighed. “Maybe you have a secret admirer,” she giggled.

“Yes, the pregnant empress has a secret admirer,” you said drolly. Everything about your existence, from the gilded cage you were trapped in, to your marriage to the most powerful man in Joseon, to the heir you were carrying in you, screamed that you were taken, owned by a man. And not just any man, of course, but the one whose wife was strictly, on pain of death, off-limits.

“Well, you never know,” Ling said lightly. “Just take it for what it is,” she advised. “Someone wants to make you happy!”

“All right,” you accepted skeptically, but you couldn’t quite stop the smile from stealing across your face. After living as a political pawn for so many years because of your family and giving up everything for the man who’d killed your uncle, it did feel nice to think that there was someone out there who liked you for you.

---------------------------------

You weren’t stupid, of course. You had considered that it was your husband who’d had the pin sent to you. It made sense, after all – he was the only man in the whole of Joseon who could do something like that. It didn’t take long for you to disabuse yourself of that notion, however. Yoongi hated you, considered you the snake in his midst. Taking a L/n bride after defeating the House of L/n was the last thing he’d wanted to do, and he’d made that abundantly clear when you met. Hell, even before that, when he’d sent a platoon to your residence in the countryside to retrieve you.

Your first interaction with the new emperor had gone woefully poorly, with cruel words said on both sides.

As angry and resentful as you were about being claimed as his wife, you weren’t in any mood to be supplicant to the new emperor. When they brought you to meet him, in an admittedly charming gazebo, you knelt without bowing or greeting him, refusing to even look straight at him.

“Are you just going to sulk, then?” he drawled, and you barely resisted the urge to strangle him with your bare hands.

“We’ve done nothing right; surely you aren’t insisting that we follow tradition now?” you replied, your light tone doing little to hide your displeasure. This was all wrong, you knew. Despite Ling hovering just out of earshot keeping a watchful eye on things, you knew that your reputation was at stake simply from meeting the emperor alone before you were married.

It was unusual for you to enter the palace knowing that you were to be the empress, too. Usually the empress dowager chose her son’s bride, based on a series of tests that demonstrated her suitability for the throne. But, you knew, you were already the best candidate, purely based on your bloodlines.

Yoongi leaned forward, steepling his fingers in front of him. “Of course not,” he said, and his low, dangerous voice caused your breath to catch as you jerked your head forward to look at him properly for the first time. You couldn’t help but gasp at the long scab slicing through his eye. Catching you staring at it, he smiled bitterly.

“Are you afraid of your fiancé?” he asked.

“Of course not,” you hissed. “Just horrified that I have to lie with a disfigured monster.”

You remembered the way he’d jerked back, as if scalded. Okay, so you weren’t blameless in the current state of affairs you found yourself in, this hateful sham of a marriage that neither of you enjoyed. Still, given the acrimonious relationship you had with your husband, it seemed less than likely that he was your secret admirer.

“Poor, pitiful L/n Y/n,” he responded coldly. “Why don’t we get it over with, then?”

“What?!” you gasped, your hand flying to your mouth.

He smiled at you coldly. “I will not repeat the mistakes of previous emperors,” he informed you, and your lips pursed in displeasure, recognizing his comment for the jibe that it was – most of the previous emperors in the history of the kingdom had been your ancestors. “Having no legitimate heir is a recipe for disaster.”

Despite your best attempts to avoid giving him the satisfaction of your reaction, you couldn’t hold back the blanch. Smirking in satisfaction at having gotten back at you for the cruel insult, he continued, “We will be wed only when you are pregnant.”

Really, after all was said and done, it was no wonder that you and your husband despised each other.

Still, maybe there was a part of you that wished the pin had come from him. It wasn’t that you were in love with Yoongi or something insipid like that, it was just… you were kind of lonely here in the palace, with hardly anyone you knew around. The only person you’d been allowed to bring with you was Ling, because she’d been your servant for so long.

It would be nice to feel, just once more in your life, like you had a friend around you.

---------------------------------

As your pregnancy progressed, you grew increasingly miserable and annoyed, and your secret admirer stepped up his efforts to cheer you up. From pretty flowers on your pillow to new books when you finished your existing ones, even pretty ribbons and once, a bag of a rare tea that was supposed to alleviate morning sickness, this mysterious individual was showing you more care than your own husband.

You rarely saw Yoongi these days, since he was usually busy in the throne hall, setting the country back to rights. Being a woman, you never got to attend the morning meetings and reading of the petitions, but from what you heard, Yoongi wasn’t the most competent politician. It frustrated you to no end – you were the daughter and niece of the past two emperors, had grown up learning about politics, history and economics, and yet your role was basically being a baby incubator while your inexperienced husband was led down all sorts of rabbit holes as the ministers tried to take advantage of the situation to fatten their own coffers.

The last straw came when you heard of a proposed tax increase for the peasants, purportedly to shore up the kingdom’s defenses. You knew Minister Su, who was in charge of defense, was greedy and corrupt, but very eloquent and had many supporters among the cabinet. Overcoming your own reluctance to speak to your husband directly, you stormed into his private quarters one evening, while he was relaxing with a drink.

“Get out,” you ordered his eunuch, who was kneeling by his side.

Sambo looked over at Yoongi, who nodded at him. Once the doors slid shut behind the eunuch, you knelt in front of your husband. Since you were about six months pregnant now, it was difficult for you to maneuver, but you managed. “I need to talk to you,” you told him.

“I gathered that,” he said dryly. “Could this not wait for a more appropriate audience?”

“No,” you rejected him flatly. “I heard that you’re considering a new tax on the peasants.”

“That’s none of your business.” He leaned back slightly and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You should reject the tax proposal, Your Grace,” you said quietly.

“I said, that’s none of your business,” he thundered, slamming his fist down on the table.

You winced, but continued, undeterred. “Minister Su does not have the best interests of the kingdom in mind, Your Grace. There was a bad harvest this year, and the people will not stand for a tax now, especially when they are already so tired of conflict.”

It seemed that bringing up the civil war that had just been fought between Yoongi and your uncle was a bad idea, as he looked even more furious. He sucked in a deep breath to yell at you, but you quickly continued, cutting him off before he could start.

“Your reign is still new, Your Grace, and the people are still unsure about you. Now is the time for generosity, so that they learn to love you.”

“Why does a L/n empress care about whether the people love me? You and your family hate me; you fought a war against me,” he scoffed, leaning back on his hands in a casual pose to show just how little he cared.

Bristling indignantly, you bit back, “You raised an army against my family! You are the usurper! Make no mistake of it, sir, I advise you not because of any attachment to you, but because I care about this kingdom.”

At that, some of the fire left him. “Everyone claims to care about the kingdom, but all they really care about is themselves. Do you think I don’t know that my ministers are watching me, waiting to take advantage? That people are plotting against me as we speak?”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s what it means to be the emperor. My father had the same thing, as did my uncle – from you.” Maybe goading him wasn’t the best thing to do right now, but you were pregnant, uncomfortable and irritated.

“Then how do I know that I can trust you?” he retorted, his frustration with the current situation bleeding through his voice.

You were going to murder this man, you swore. He wouldn’t need to wait for any plot coming from outside the palace walls. How could someone be capable enough to enact a coup against the emperor, and yet so frustratingly dim when it came to politics?

“Because my wagon is tied to yours, you idiot. I am your empress now before I am a L/n woman, and this child I carry inside me is a Min child. Do you think that if your rule fails, I can just go home, and all will be well for me? I will be executed together with you, and so will our child.”

That seemed to shut him up. “I’ll think about it,” he finally allowed grudgingly.

“Thank you,” you said, bowing with your forehead pressed to the back of your palms over the floor.

After you’d left, Yoongi thought about how that was the first time you’d bowed to him. It seemed there was much he didn’t know about his wife.

---------------------------------

The next afternoon, you heard from Ling that the tax on the peasants had been rejected, and a jeweled comb was delivered to your room. This particular gift came directly from Sambo, so you knew that it was from Yoongi, and you accepted it for the apology that it was.

Two weeks later, proof of Minister Su’s corruption and embezzlement came to light, and he was sent into exile. You might have felt slightly smug about it, since you’d hated Minister Su ever since your own father was the emperor, but mostly you felt a little bad for Yoongi, having to deal with something like that so soon after coming to power.

That same night, Yoongi invited you to have dinner with him. Well, it was more like an order, because you weren’t in any position to turn down the emperor, but Ling was excited nonetheless as she got you ready, helping you into your pretty jeogori and braiding your hair into an elaborate bun.

“I’m so happy for you,” she gushed as she stood in front of you, tying the jeogori. “This could be the start of a new relationship between the two of you!”

“You know I can’t get more pregnant, right?” you asked drolly, raising a brow. In fact, you’d pretty much expected him to leave you alone for the rest of the pregnancy and only call on you once you were recovered enough to perform your conjugal duties once more.

“Oh, hush,” she giggled. “I’m sure he wants to see how you’re doing. You are carrying his heir, after all.”

“Sure, that’s me,” you muttered. “The incubator.”

“Be nice,” she admonished. “You want him to like you, so that he’ll give you more privileges. When your son becomes emperor, then you can swan around all day like the crone.” Suffice it to say, neither of you liked your mother-in-law that much.

“I know,” you sighed. “I’m just uncomfortable all the time.” Entering your third trimester of pregnancy, you were having trouble standing around and kneeling on the ground? Impossible. You’d had a table and chair moved into your room so that you could sit comfortably, but as far as you knew, Yoongi still sat on the ground for most of the day.

Ling didn’t know about your late-night meeting with the emperor a few weeks prior, but you wondered if this dinner had something to do with that.

In Yoongi’s room, something similar was happening, as Sambo fussed over his master’s robes.

“Sambo, enough,” Yoongi sighed. “I don’t have to look nice; she’s already my wife.”

Sambo scoffed. “I said the same thing to you about sending her those gifts, but you insisted then too.”

Yoongi glared at his eunuch without saying anything, mostly because he had no argument against that. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted the man; he’d done nothing but tease him about his crush since he found out.

Thankfully, your arrival cut Sambo’s fussing short – yet another thing he had to be grateful to you for, he supposed. It stung a little that his wife apparently knew more about politics than he did, but you seemed to want to help him, so there was that.

“Your Grace,” you greeted, bowing slightly.

“Good evening,” he responded. “Please, sit,” he invited, gesturing towards the table he had brought into his room just for this. He remembered how much you’d struggled with kneeling on the ground, and then getting up, the last time you’d come to visit him, and thought that this would make it easier for you.

You’d seen the table as soon as you entered the room, of course – it was kind of hard to miss, since the room was mostly empty. Accepting his offer with a gracious smile, you sat yourself down and clasped your hands together demurely in your lap. Yoongi sat across from you and nodded at the servant standing in the corner, and that was the signal for the food to start coming in.

To be honest, you’d expected to see Yoongi’s favourite dishes being served tonight, since everything at your wedding banquet had been his favourite foods, so you were pleasantly surprised to note that it was the food you’d been repeatedly requesting due to your cravings instead.

When the servants left, closing the doors after them, Yoongi spoke. “Please eat.” He gestured at the spread, and you acquiesced, picking up your chopsticks.

“Thank you for the advice,” he started.

The food you were holding with your chopsticks fell back onto your bowl of rice as your hand went limp in shock. “Wh-what?” Of all the things he could have said, that was the one you’d been expecting the least. In all honesty, you’d expected something more like admonishment for interfering – and a lack of other punishment that would serve as tacit acknowledgement that you’d been right. It was how your father had been with your mother.

To be fair, it looked like it was costing him dearly to thank you. “You were right about the tax,” he ground out.

“Oh…” You recovered quickly and nodded, graciously accepting his thanks.

“But don’t make a habit of interfering,” he continued. Right… so there was a catch, after all.

You rolled your eyes. “Of course not,” you said sarcastically. “I’m just the brainless baby incubator, after all. It’s not like I grew up here, or have any knowledge and experience of palace politics, or anything of the sort.”

“You’re a woman—” he thundered, slamming his chopsticks down on the table.

“I am your empress,” you cut him off. “You insisted on marrying me precisely because of my bloodline, so I will not be sidelined, especially when we both know you could use all the help you can get!”

“Help that I can get from my advisors,” he huffed.

“One of your ministers was literally just exiled for corruption, so I don’t know why you want to throw in your lot with them, but sure.” You rolled your eyes. “Now, if that was all, I think I can take my meal in my own quarters tonight.”

Unfortunately, your dramatic exit was foiled by how much you struggled to get out of your seat. Biting back his smile at how cute you looked with your belly, Yoongi leapt to your aid – you were, after all, still his wife and carrying his child, so it was the least he could do.

You pinned him with a glare as he got up to assist you, but were left with no choice but to accept, holding on to his proffered arm and letting him basically hoist you up. “If you need anything…” he started, looking slightly contrite.

“Don’t worry, Your Grace,” you said. “I might be ‘just a woman’ –” your tone made it clear that you were mocking him, and he had the grace to look slightly chagrined – “but I am the empress, and I am carrying the heir to Joseon, so I get everything I ask for.”

“Good, that’s good…” he looked slightly shifty now, and you couldn’t help but feel a little bad for him. He’d been acting like a bit of a dick, but to be fair, you supposed, it wasn’t like his attitude was uncommon. With Ling’s reminder ringing in your ears, you took his hand and brought it to the swell of your belly. Your child was strong and healthy, and even through the layers of your clothes Yoongi could feel the flutter of kicks.

“Wow…” he looked entranced, and you couldn’t help but smile at him. Your child had been conceived in hatred and anger, but you were determined that you would not raise him in that environment. No, he would know only love. You were sure of it.

---------------------------------

Even though the dinner hadn’t gone according to plan, it was still somewhat of a shift in your relationship with your husband. Now when your paths crossed, he smiled at you instead of just walking by stonily.

The gifts from your secret admirer continued too, which made things kind of confusing for you. On the one hand, you were trying to make this thing with your husband work, if only so that your child could grow up in a positive environment. It was difficult enough growing up in the palace, something you were keenly aware of.

And yet, the continued attention from this unknown person was starting to tug at your heartstrings. You hardly knew who it was but being shown kindness without any ulterior motive was certainly enough for you to think fondly of your secret admirer. He didn’t send gifts that often, usually once every other week or so, but each one brought a smile to your face. Sometimes it was your favourite flower, or a snack from another part of the world, or a cute trinket from the market, but all of them were equally dear to you.

The fluttering feeling that you got in your chest when you saw that he’d left you another gift was somewhat tempered by the guilt over the whole situation. Were you allowed to enjoy this attention? You looked furtively around, slightly worried that someone was going to knock the Japanese cakes out of your hand.

“You know,” Sambo said, standing next to Yoongi, who was peering at you from his hidden position behind a wall, “Some of your subjects might find it unseemly for their emperor to spend his days spying on his wife.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi grumbled, although the words had no heat to them, given how distracted he currently was. He hoped you liked the cakes.

“If you want to spend time with her, you can just ask, you know,” Sambo pointed out. “Haven’t you two been getting along better lately?”

“She still gets annoyed at me every time,” he sighed. “I don’t want to upset her, she looks miserable enough as is.”

Sambo, watching you rub the small of your back as Ling fussed over you, had to agree. At eight months pregnant, you looked fit to pop. “Well, she’ll give birth soon, and then things will be better,” he said, patting the emperor on the back. “You really need to be more discreet, though. She can tell it’s you from a mile away.”

Yoongi looked over at Sambo and scowled. “No way,” he denied.

“Really? So there are lots of men walking around decked out in the emperor’s robes, and have blonde hair, then?”

“Fine.” Yoongi sulked. “Let’s go, then.”

“You know you have a bunch of petitions to review, right?”

“I get it.”

---------------------------------

To put it mildly, labour sucked. But at the end of it, you had a beautiful little boy, handed to you wrapped in a blanket. “Wow,” you marveled at your son, stroking his cheek with your thumb as you cuddled him close. Your own dear boy. Cradling him in your arms, it hardly mattered that he was a Min, that he represented the end of your house on the throne. Your son was all that mattered now.

Looking up, you saw Yoongi hovering by the entrance to the room, looking on hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure if he would be welcome. The idea was laughable to you – he was the emperor, there was nowhere he couldn’t go. You remembered your own father striding around as if he owned the place, because he did. No matter how fond he’d been of your mother, it had always been clear in the way he acted that he knew he was the boss. At best, she was a favoured subordinate.

You could see some of that attitude in Yoongi, and you accepted it – that was how men were, after all. But sometimes, peeking through the haughty exterior, you caught glimpses of someone kind and considerate. Someone you could grow fond of.

“Come in and meet him,” you invited.

As he came closer, he breathed, “It’s a boy?” His voice was slightly choked.

Smiling, you nodded. He knelt next to you and peered into the blanket, staring down at his son for the first time. Then he turned his head slightly to regard you. “You look beautiful,” he complimented, and you looked up, surprised. You didn’t know exactly what you looked like, but you were sure you were a mess after labour and childbirth. Your hair was a matted, sweaty mess, and you were dressed simply, in a cotton underdress.

Still, from the way he watched you holding the baby, you could have been dressed in the most beautiful of clothes and jewels.

“Do you want to hold him?” you asked, and his eyes lit up.

“Can I?” he asked. You nodded, passing the little bundle over to him.

“My son,” he said softly, leaning his head down to get closer to the baby. “Min Man-bok.” The name had been chosen by the astrologers, who said it would bring him great fortune throughout his life. You hoped it was true. This boy would grow up to be the emperor that united the warring houses of Min and L/n, and finally put an end to all the senseless violence that had stolen the lives of your brothers, and later, your uncle.

As you watched them – your husband and your son – you felt a sense of contentment like you’d never known before. In that moment, it hardly mattered that they were the emperor and the crown prince, that the weight of the kingdom rested upon your baby’s tiny shoulders. For that brief window, they could just be… yours.

---------------------------------

The birth of your son changed everything. The gifts that had once been so dear to you because they meant that someone was out there thinking of you now seemed almost uncomfortable, like unwanted attention that threatened the security of your family. You knew it was ridiculous – after all, the giver of said gifts had been quietly doing so for months, never trying to push his luck or making his identity known to you.

Still, though, as you became closer to your husband, that nagging feeling that you were doing something wrong wouldn’t leave you. Thankfully, the gifts seemed to dry up, and you wondered if your anonymous admirer was really that astute. Whoever he was, you owed him your gratitude. He’d known when to start, and, it seemed, just when to stop.

In actuality, Yoongi had just been too busy to think about sending the gifts. Having a son took up much of the time that he wasn’t already spending governing, which had also increased in the past month or so. There was so much entertaining to do, as the lords and ladies of the land came to express their fealty to the crown prince, and as Yoongi made ever more ambitious diplomatic alliances with other kingdoms now that his reign was secured with the birth of his son.

In whatever spare time he had, he was constantly hanging around you and Man-bok, fawning over his son and enjoying your company. Despite your confinement, you thwarted the rules by sitting right outside your door to get a little sun and fresh air, often holding your son while you did so. It was a beautiful sight, one he wanted to continue to drink in for the rest of his days.

It was no surprise, therefore, that his priority wasn’t sending cute gifts to you anonymously, since he was always around you. When your confinement finally ended, he threw a little two-person party, ordering the kitchen to make all of the food you’d been craving since you were pregnant that had been off-limits for you, including your old favourites. He even managed to get the cook from your country estate into the palace, to make your childhood favourite.

“Thank you for dinner,” you said at the end of it, resisting the urge to lean back on your hands to give your stomach more space.

“Thank you,” he countered. “I am forever in your debt.”

“It was my duty,” you demurred. It was the truth – you’d always known that it would be your job to bring heirs to your husband.

“Still.” There was a beat of silence as a servant rushed to fill your cups with rice wine. He lifted his cup to toast you. “You have brought new hope to this kingdom. An emperor who will unite the houses of Min and L/n.”

“I thought our marriage accomplished that,” you giggled. You might have had too much alcohol tonight, after almost a year of not having any.

“You really think so?” he breathed, looking at you like you’d hung the stars in the sky and told him they were for him.

“Yoongi…” It was the first time you’d called him by name. In your defense, the open, vulnerable way he was looking at you made it difficult to remember that he was a warrior king, despite the scar on his face that attested to his experience fighting a war. “Of course, Your Grace.” You recovered from your slip quickly, and you flushed slightly, hoping he wouldn’t remember it.

Of course, that was a doomed wish. He’d committed it to memory, the sound of your precious voice speaking his name, and in that almost fond and tender tone, too. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest, and knew he was done for.

When he left your quarters that night after dinner, he barely waited till he’d descended the steps to pump his fist in the air. That was the most successful interaction you’d had with him to date, not counting when Man-bok was born, of course, since he was pretty sure you were so exhausted you couldn’t snipe at him if you tried then.

“Your Grace!” Sambo, walking a step behind him, sounded scandalized.

---------------------------------

“So, tonight went well,” Ling prompted as she helped you get ready for bed. You sat in front of her, letting her take the pins out of your hair and sighing in relief. Your updo was often twisted so tightly it pulled on your scalp, and the giant metal pins hurt, to say the least.

“How would you know that?” you murmured, trying to keep a straight face. Ling would never let you live this down if you confessed to her just how much you enjoyed the company of your husband these days. Not after you’d screamed so loudly and for so long about how you hated him and didn’t ever want him to touch you.

In your defense, he’d really been a nightmare to live with at the beginning, cold and angry, mistrustful of your intentions. Not that he’d had any reason to trust you based on the way you’d treated him. You still cringed to think of the angry, cruel words that had been exchanged between you. You’d mocked the scar on his face from your uncle, the previous emperor, and he’d taken pleasure in describing the way he ran his sword through him in exchange. You’d laughed at his tenuous grip on the throne, and he’d—

Well. Suffice it to say, both of you had moved past that.

Ling reached over you to shift the mirror so that you could see your own face in it. “You’ve always had a shitty poker face, milady,” she explained. “You can’t hide anything from me.”

You sighed. “I knew I should have gotten different servants when I came,” you responded without any heat.

“Please, as if you have the patience to teach someone else just how you like your morning routine,” Ling scoffed, recognizing your teasing for what it was. Finally removing the last pin from your hair, she smoothed her hands over it as it tumbled down your back, then picked up the brush to comb through it.

“You’re right. I guess I’m stuck with you,” you responded, tilting the mirror slightly so you could look at Ling in it.

“Whatever. Stop trying to change the subject,” Ling ordered. “What happened tonight? You looked so happy when he left, and he could barely hold back his grin.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not that,” you said defensively. “I’m barely even recovered from giving birth; I’m hardly ready for more.”

“All right,” Ling conceded, though you could tell from her tone that she was still amused. Belatedly, you realised that your defense hadn’t been about how you felt about your husband at all. “Have a good night, milady.”

---------------------------------

Having a son changed everything. You knew, perhaps better than anyone else, save your brothers, the dangers that came with being an heir to the throne, and it worried you to pieces that his life would never be safe.

You’d told your husband before, completely unsympathetically, that this was what being the king would entail. Having people after you, coveting what was yours, always lurking in the shadows and waiting for a time to strike… the idea that your own son would be subject to the travails of being the emperor made you want to clutch him to your breast and never let him go.

Yoongi caught you in one of your moods one afternoon, sitting in the gazebo in your private gardens, leaning against a pillar as you rested your son against your thighs. You cooed at him as you played with his hands and feet, smiling as he laughed back at you, but the furrow of your brow gave you away.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, sitting down next to you. It was rare for you two to be alone – Ling and Sambo were usually hanging around, and Man-bok’s nanny and wet nurse weren’t too far from the baby either. But you’d wanted a little time to bond with your son alone, so they were hanging out by the pond a small distance away. Ling had become friends with the nanny and nurse, and they were more than happy to have a little free time to gossip.

You picked up your infant son’s hand and used it to wave at him. “Hello, daddy,” you said in a high-pitched baby voice, and Yoongi smiled tenderly at the both of you, although you were still looking down at Man-bok and didn’t see it.

“Hello, my son,” he replied, leaning in to pick Man-bok up. You straightened his clothes a little as Yoongi stood the baby up on his lap, bouncing him a little. Yoongi was truly a remarkably involved father, especially for being the emperor.

“Yoongi, I’m worried about Man-bok,” you confessed in a small voice, looking up at your husband for the first time. Even the scar on his face now was a reminder of how difficult it was to be the emperor – Yoongi had been lucky to escape with just a disfigured face. He hadn’t even lost his vision.

“What’s wrong with him?” Yoongi asked with a frown, turning the boy slightly in his grasp to inspect him. He looked healthy enough, but you never knew with babies, really.

“Nothing,” you rushed to reassure him. “It’s just that being the crown prince is dangerous, and being the emperor is even worse.” Your voice choked up as you explained. Saying the words out loud made them more real somehow, and you almost wished you hadn’t.

“Y/n…” Yoongi looked over at you, shifting Man-bok so that he was being held more securely against him. “Is this about your uncle?” At the beginning, he’d never thought much about the fact that you were related to the previous emperors, but now the fact that he’d basically murdered your uncle in cold blood hung over his head like the sword of Damocles.

“Y/n… I’m sorry.” The words stuck in his craw, but he forced himself to say them anyway. It was a lie, but if it was what you needed to feel better…

Instead of accepting his apology, you made a rude noise. “For what?” you asked.

“For your uncle…?” Confused now, Yoongi cocked his head at you and furrowed his brow.

“Why would you need to apologize? Of course you raised an army to take the throne. It was his fault for leaving potential heirs alive.” The nonchalant way you expressed that sentiment gave him pause. He’d never taken you for someone so cavalier about violence and death. “He did the same thing to my brothers.”

The way your lips tightened as you said it clued him in to the fact that that was what was really bothering you. Of course, your brothers. The two princes that your uncle had had imprisoned and then murdered to secure his rule. When your father had died, your uncle had been declared regent since the crown prince wasn’t old enough to rule, and he’d wasted no time cementing his own authority instead.

“Y/n…” You avoided his gaze, instead reaching for Man-bok. He relinquished the boy to you and you hugged him close, needing to feel your son’s warm, healthy body pressed against you. “I promise you,” he continued, his voice full of conviction. “Nothing will ever happen to our son. Not so long as I live and breathe.” Ducking in, he pressed a tender kiss to the top of Man-bok’s head.

“Really?” The faint hope in your voice made his heart clench. In all the time he’d spent alternately admiring your kindness and cursing your stubborn, know-it-all streak, he’d never seen the vulnerability that you were showing him now. In hindsight, it was silly that he hadn’t realized this earlier, but of course you were scarred from the civil conflict that had been raging. Your family was in the thick of it all, and as much as the men and women involved were royalty, they were also your blood relatives. Really, it was a wonder you’d turned out as normal as you had.

“I swear on my life.” He’d never meant anything as much as he did now.

“Thank you, Yoongi.” Holding Man-bok with one hand, you reached for him with the other, sliding your arm along his shoulder to pull him close for a kiss. It was sweet and tender, a wonderful, perfectly fitting first kiss. His eyes fluttered shut as you drew close, wanting to savour the moment for as long as he could. Your lips were soft and you smelled like roses, just like the perfume he’d given you in secret.

---------------------------------

It was highly unusual for the emperor to share a bed with his empress. Intimacy was carefully planned based on auspicious dates, and after the deed was done, you both got dressed and went your separate ways. You knew that, and yet you slipped into his room that night, after Man-bok’s 100-day celebration.

You’d gotten mostly undressed after the banquet ended, grateful to be out of your restrictive clothing. Man-bok was sleeping, of course, with his nanny, and you’d dismissed Ling too after she helped you out of the empress robes. Dressed in just your pajamas, you pulled a warm shawl over your shoulders and left your quarters. You just had so much pent-up energy from earlier, and you needed to talk to someone about it.

“Hey,” you said softly, slipping in through the doors just as Sambo was leaving. He gave you a sideways glance, but you ignored it.

“Hey,” Yoongi greeted, smiling at you. He too was in his pajamas, already in bed, the covers pooling around his waist as he sat up. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I just…” You swallowed, feeling a little silly now. This could have waited till tomorrow. “I guess I didn’t want the night to be over,” you confessed. It had been so much fun tonight, getting to meet and talk to everyone. Your sisters and old friends had come to the palace, and Man-bok had been so cute in his little ceremonial robes.

“I get it,” he said. “Come sit.”

You came closer, sliding the shawl off your shoulders, and knelt next to his futon. Illuminated in the soft light of the lamp nearby, the long blonde hair he’d left to tumble over his shoulders seemed to glow softly. Your own hair had been hastily put back in a bun – a lady never left her rooms with her hair down, after all. It was nowhere near as intricate as anything Ling could do for you, but it sufficed.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” he asked with a soft smile.

“You know I did,” you giggled, leaning closer.

“Yes, I saw you having a grand old time with your sisters,” he teased, fondness evident in his voice. Ever since the kiss you’d shared, your relationship had been evolving. Yoongi didn’t know if you would ever forgive him for what he’d done to your family – despite your dismissive attitude towards your uncle – but he was content with this. You letting your guard down around him, seeking him out and enjoying his company… it was more than he’d allowed himself to hope for.

“Oh, I haven’t seen them in over a year,” you enthused. “It was so nice to see them all again! Thank you for inviting them,” you said, more quietly now. “I know it wasn’t an easy decision, inviting the L/n clan tonight.” Despite everything, you knew he was still insecure about his rule.

“You’re welcome.” He smiled at you, then noticed for the first time the soft light glinting off the hairpin you were wearing, the one he’d bought for you. “Oh, you’re wearing the pin! I was right, it does look good on you,” he complimented.

“You— what?” Your voice was shaky, your eyes wide as you reached up to wrap your fingers around the pin, and Yoongi realized that he’d fucked up.

Just to be sure that it was the right one, you pulled it from your hair, causing the long locks to tumble over your shoulders. Brushing it aside impatiently, you inspected the pin. Sure enough, it was the same one that you’d received almost a year ago, and you’d never found out who sent it to you.

“It was you?” The words trembled, fragile in the darkness of the room, barely there, like a wisp of smoke.

“I… yes.” Yoongi was watching you carefully, his hands held out placatingly in front of him.

“But why?” It felt like your mind was shutting down, unable to reconcile this new information. Back when you’d gotten this pin, you could barely stand to be in the same room as your husband. You hadn’t even started being friendly until after Man-bok was born. To know that he hadn’t felt the same way, that he’d been quietly watching you, thinking of you…

“I just wanted to make you smile,” he said honestly with a half shrug.

“Yoongi…” Your voice was choked up, and he was starting to panic now, not quite sure what he’d done wrong. Even if you hadn’t welcomed his advances, he hadn’t overstepped, right? All he’d wanted to do was make you less miserable, and now he was thinking that he would have been better off leaving you alone altogether.

“Is… is that okay?” The words were hesitant, Yoongi ducking slightly to look at your face.

Sniffling, you nodded, swiping at your tears impatiently so you could look at him clearly. In the dim, flickering light, Yoongi’s face was the most beautiful, dear thing you’d ever laid eyes on. Your eyes roamed his face, seeing him as if for the first time. He was so handsome, your husband, your emperor.

“Are you disappointed? Is that why you’re crying?” Worry crinkled Yoongi’s brow. He knew he wasn’t the greatest catch. Throne aside, his hair was a strange colour and the scar running dramatically across his face marred him permanently. He was short and quiet, awkward, caustic… The insecurities came roaring to the forefront.

“No,” you denied, grabbing his hands and bringing them to your chest. You shuffled closer yet, so that your forehead rested against his. “I’m not disappointed at all. Yoongi…” you breathed, your eyes fluttering shut as you brushed your lips across his softly. “Thank you.” For caring about you even when you’d cursed him. For being by your side, even when you hadn’t known it. Just for being him.

Yoongi’s hand slipped from your grasp before reaching up to cup your face, his thumb running across your cheekbone tenderly. “You’re welcome.” He understood what you meant and responded in kind. “You give me more than you know, Y/n.”

The urge to give him more was rising within you. Holding onto his shoulders for balance, you swung one leg over his lap, so that you were straddling him. His hands went to your waist, supporting you and tugging you closer. “Y/n,” he groaned. “What do you want from me?”

Your response was unequivocal. “Everything.”

That was all the permission he needed. Yoongi’s hand travelled up from your waist to the back of your head, bringing you in for a fiery kiss. He poured all of the longing of the past months into it, his lips moving over yours with urgency. Try as you might to keep up, you couldn’t. You’d only had sex with him to conceive before, and it had always been a hasty, dispassionate affair. You didn’t know what to do with your hands or your mouth, your palms resting lightly on his shoulders. You liked this, enjoyed the way his tongue slid against yours, but your body was rigid with uncertainty.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Yoongi broke away from the torrid kiss to ask. His hand on your waist rubbed you soothingly as he leaned back to take a good look at you.

“Uh, yeah, I…” You stammered. “This isn’t like before,” you finally said. All you knew of sex was what he’d shown you before, quick thrusts with his hands holding onto your thighs while you clutched the bedsheets and tried not to let your pain and discomfort show.

It was vague, but Yoongi knew what you meant, and he flushed with shame. “I’m going to make it up to you, okay?” he said, wrapping his arms around you and turning so that you were lowered onto the futon. His forearms bracketed your body, holding his weight up as he lowered his head for another kiss. “I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he slurred against your lips, one hand reaching for the tie of your shirt.

“Yoongi,” you breathed, your hands sliding around his waist as you held on to his clothes, tugging him closer to you. You felt the hard press of his erection against your belly, and were filled with curiosity. Before, you’d never really wanted to get close to it, and he’d basically just shoved it into you with little fanfare. You’d never even gotten a good look before.

Undoing the ties to his trousers, you slid your hand in, running your fingers hesitantly along his cock.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and you jerked your hand back as if scalded.

“I’m sorry,” you started to apologize, and he backtracked immediately.

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he reassured you, nosing at your chin before he trailed kisses down your neck. You sighed and tilted your head, giving him more room.

“Really?” you asked.

“Yes, really,” he said, sucking a little mark right over your collarbone. Emboldened now, you tried again, this time wrapping your hand softly around the shaft. His skin was soft here, and so smooth, but you could feel the steely hardness underneath.

“Ah, you’re so good,” he praised, and you started stroking him lightly, carefully.

“Allow me,” he breathed as he slid his hand down your body, groaning as he found the wetness between your legs. “So perfect for me,” he sighed as he started stroking your clit softly, watching you for your reaction.

You moaned luxuriantly, throwing your head back as your hips rocked. You’d never felt anything like this before, and if this was what sex could be, it was no wonder everyone seemed to like it so much. As you grew distracted with the pleasure suffusing your being, your hand slowed down and then stopped on his erection, but he didn’t mind. Coaxing the sighs and moans from you was more than enough for him.

“I’m going to put my finger in now,” he warned you, and your eyes opened in confusion.

“Why?” you wondered.

“I have to stretch you out, love, so you can take me easily,” he answered, leaning down to kiss you.

“You didn’t before,” you pointed out, and he grimaced.

“Please forget everything I did before,” he groaned, sounding very much like he was in pain. “None of it was right, and I want to show you how much I love you.”

“You—what?” That was new. You hadn’t expected it so soon, if ever.

“Oh, fuck.” He reared back at that and clapped his hands over his mouth in horror. “I didn’t mean to say that! Please ignore it,” he pleaded. Honestly, he wouldn’t blame you if you put your clothes back on and ran out of there right now. What an embarrassing lapse of decorum.

To his surprise, you did none of that, instead wrapping your hands around his wrists and tugging them away from his face. “Did you mean it?”

“Y/n—” he whined, his face hot.

“Yoongi, please,” you said, and the tenderness in your voice gave him courage.

“Yes,” he admitted. “But I don’t expect you to say it back! I know it’s too soon, and you might never feel that way about me, and that’s okay, really, I—”

You cut him off by tugging him close to you and kissing him. “I love you too,” you murmured softly when you separated.

“Really?” His voice was small, and you smiled as you nodded.

“Fuck, I’m going to make it all better,” he swore, his voice deepening into a growl towards the end. With a renewed sense of purpose, he pushed you back into the futon. His hands were everywhere as they stripped you of your clothing, and you felt a little exposed lying there bare for him to see. You were more than aware that your body hadn’t quite bounced back from pregnancy, and he’d never seen you completely nude anyway.

The sheer reverence reflected in his gaze did much to boost your confidence, though. “You’re so gorgeous,” he rasped, bending to tug a nipple into his mouth. You cried out, your back arching as he laved at it, his hand returning to its previous mission of getting you ready to take him. His thumb rolled over your clit gently as he slid his fingers into you, first one, then two, pumping slowly to loosen you up. The wet, lewd sound soon echoed through the room.

“Yoongi,” you breathed to get his attention, pushing his shirt over his shoulders. The tie had already come undone and the front was hanging rather uselessly by his sides, and it wasn’t difficult to remove it. Yoongi got the message, though, stripping himself off with far less fanfare than he’d done for you before coming back with a vengeance, as if the seconds he’d spent away from your body were too much to bear.

“Yoongi, c’mon,” you begged inarticulately, pulling his body down to yours by wrapping your arms and legs around him.

“Stop it,” he admonished. “I’m going to get you nice and ready for me. You have to be patient.” But you could see the way his jaw clenched.

“Yoongi, I want you to fuck me,” you whined, writhing on the mattress.

That certainly got his attention, and he looked back up at your face, seeing the expression of wild abandon painted across your features. Your eyes were shut and your mouth open as you lost yourself to the pleasure he was giving you, long hair spread across his pillow.

“You ruin me,” he accused as he withdrew his hand, using the slick coating his fingers to lube up his cock before he positioned it at your entrance. You moaned and arched, tightening your legs around him to draw him in deeper.

Before, when he’d done this, it had hurt. You’d been dry and he hadn’t put any effort into preparing you or making it a pleasurable experience for you, and you tensed up, remembering how unpleasant the experience had been before. You wanted to make him feel good, though, because he’d done the same for you, and it was that which motivated you to urge him into your body.

When he slid in, inch by glorious inch, contrary to your expectations you didn’t feel pain. No, there was a stretch, but it was intensely pleasurable, and you writhed against him. “Ah, Yoongi, it feels so good,” you gasped.

“Yeah?” he said, sucking marks into your neck. “You like that?” When he finally bottomed out, he rested his forehead against yours, panting as he tried to retain some control.

“Yes, Yoongi,” you moaned, wriggling and clenching down on him, desperate for more.

“Fuck, don’t move,” he gasped, his eyes wide as he clutched your hip. “I want to make this good for you.”

“It is good,” you insisted, ignoring his instructions.

“Y/n, you don’t even know,” he groaned, bracing himself as he started to move his hips. He was gentle at first, making sure that it didn’t hurt, but you were impatient, whining that you wanted more, and before he knew it, he was really going at it, one arm hooked around your leg to hold you open for him.

“Yoongi, yes, yes,” you exulted, thrilled. The expression on his face, his brow furrowed tightly, was endlessly exciting for you, and you loved the motion of his jaw as he clenched hard, focusing on pleasing you.

Adjusting his position, he started thrusting again, this time skidding against your g-spot with every thrust. To really seal the deal, he reached down to rub at your clit with his fingers, drinking your every sound and movement up eagerly. You raked your nails down his back as your legs tightened around him, clenching down on him hard as you came.

Faced with the sensation of your walls fluttering around him rhythmically, he couldn’t hold it together much longer, pressing his forehead into your neck as he reached his own orgasm, groaning as his hips stuttered sporadically.

When it was over, he slumped down over you, barely remembering to tilt his body at the last second so that he slid off you and onto the futon. “I love you,” he gasped, throwing one sweaty arm over your chest to drag you closer to him so he could press kisses over your face. “I love you so much.”

Smiling, you turned your head, rubbing your nose against his affectionately. “I love you too, Your Grace.” The teasing lilt in your voice as you called him that warmed his heart. Before he could say much more, however, you yawned and turned, slinging your arm around his waist. “Good night,” you murmured, burying your face in his chest.

“Good night.” He rested his hand on the back of your head. His empress, his wife. His love.

---------------------------------

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cozy-the-overlord · 3 years ago

Text

Happiness

Summary: A daughter of Thanos, Eija had grown accustomed to the isolated nature of life on the Sanctuary. Only when her father orders her to keep watch over an injured prisoner does she begin to realize how lonely it is.

Written for @lucywrites02′s Lucywrites19 Writing Challenge on prompt #6

Word Count: 4,078

Pairing: Loki (Marvel) x OFC

A/N: Lucy: *puts together a list of really nice, sweet, loving prompts that would make for some wonderful, fluffy fics*

Me: And I took that personally

Honestly, this turned into more of a separate challenge for me to see if I could take a fluffy prompt and write an angst bomb. I can say I’m both pleased and thoroughly ashamed of myself.

Happy Birthday, Lucy! I hope you don’t hate me too much after this one ...

Warnings: Implied/referenced torture (it’s not super graphic, but it’s definitely there), blood/injury, character death

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

“Are you happy, child?”

It wasn’t the type of thing Eija had expected the hulking warrior to ask a street urchin like her, especially not after catching her wrist in his pocket. Really, she should have known better than to try to steal from someone so clearly capable of crushing her skull within his fist, but his golden armor had glistened so temptingly in the sunlight and besides, she had never been caught before …

When he caught her wrist and yanked her in front of him, Eija was sure that this was the end. The penalty for stealing was steep to begin with, but stealing from a noble (and certainly this man must have been a noble) could lose you your head. But he said nothing of punishment. Instead, he curled his purple lips into a smile and asked her that question.

“Are you happy, child?”

No one had ever asked her that before. No one ever really asked her anything—the most Eija ever got were the curses spat at her on the street, on the luckless days when pickpocketing had brought her nothing and she was forced to beg for sustenance. No one cared enough to ask after her.

No, she told the warrior-noble, no, she wasn’t happy. She was hungry and tired and cold, and she didn’t have money to buy food.

The towering creature laughed, caressing the brilliant hilt that hung at his waist. “I thought not. Come,” he said, stepping forward and motioning her to follow. “I have something for you to eat on my ship.”

…

Eija tugged at the laces on her boot. She had tied and untied them three times already, but she could think of nothing else to do in this tiny room, so she went in for the fourth. Besides her, the Jotun sagged against his braces in the metal chair, his labored breathing the only sound to break the stillness. He didn’t look very Jotun. Lord Thanos had explained that it was some kind of enchantment—the AllFather had magicked away his blue skin when he was a baby to make him look more Asgardian. Eija didn’t really understand the reasoning behind such an action, but she didn’t need to. Her job was simply to make sure he survived the night.

It was a frustrating assignment. Eija wasn’t a healer—she had no idea what she was supposed to do if death came knocking for the prisoner. Unfortunately, she wasn’t exactly an assassin either, and so unlike the rest of her adoptive siblings her role on the Sanctuary wasn’t considered to be of critical importance.

So here she was. Babysitting.

The Jotun groaned. It was a soft noise, but it was enough to rip Eija’s attention away from her shoes. He shifted against his restraints, but there was no force behind the movements.

“Hey,” she called. “Are you awake?” She shouldn’t have been talking to the prisoner. Somehow, she knew Lord Thanos wouldn’t like it if he were to find out. Still, the metallic room housed a lonely existence, and Eija was desperate for any kind of distraction.

Although the prisoner didn’t exactly seem to be the ideal conversation partner. He flinched at the sound of her voice, his feeble movement falling still as abruptly as it began. Perhaps she should have gone back to her laces, but Eija was intrigued. She left her stool to stand before the Jotun, peering down at him through his shackles.

“Are you awake?” she asked again. He didn’t respond. His eyes were closed, his head hanging limply against his shoulders, as if he hadn’t just been rustling about. The thought of some grand Jotun (Asgardian?) prince trying to trick her by playing dead was so comical that Eija had to bite back her laugh.

“Hey,” she said instead, trying to add some of that Black Order sharpness to her voice as she tapped his arm. “Knock it off. I know you’re awake.”

He looked up at her then, his movement slow and labored. It almost made her wince, just looking at the way he struggled to open his bloodshot eyes. Lord Thanos had allowed Proxima charge of the Jotun today, and she had clearly made the most of it—his face was so swollen that she never would have recognized the man Corvus had pulled out of the depths of space only a week ago.

“What do you want?” he whispered, voice low and hoarse. He was making a valiant effort to control his breathing, but Eija knew the look of fear when she saw it. She had seen it in the faces of almost everyone who found themselves in the presence of Lord Thanos and his children, although those faces were never focused on her. This must have been the first time she was the cause of such terror.

It was an odd feeling. Eija wasn’t sure she liked it.

She shrugged, dropping the serious tone. “I just wanted to talk to someone. It gets very dull in here.”

The prisoner only stared at her.

No, not the ideal conversation partner at all.

Eija sighed. It seemed she’d be returning to her shoelaces in short time after all.

“Can you tell me your name at least?” she asked. No one had mentioned it yet, and Eija had been afraid to inquire. Lord Thanos hadn’t been particularly happy when he gave her this assignment—his anger had been more directed at Proxima, for nearly killing the prisoner, but Eija didn’t want to give him a reason to turn on her. She wasn’t often the target of the Mad Titan’s fury, but the few times she was were enough of a lesson for a lifetime.

But the Jotun made no response. “Is this a trick?” he asked finally.

“No. I’m just curious.” A strand of black hair had fallen into his eye. Eija was tempted to brush it away, but she held herself back. “I’ll tell you my name, if it makes you feel better,” she offered.

She waited a moment for him to give some kind of answer. He didn’t.

“Eija,” she said. “My name’s Eija.”

He inhaled. “Did he send you to kill me?”

The question caught her off guard, although perhaps it was fair. “What? No, no I’m just— no,” she stuttered. “I don’t … kill people.”

He eyed her, unconvinced. “Why are you here, then?”

“To make sure you don’t die,” she said. “They were worried, you know.” Proxima had been quite proud of herself. Eija had overheard her bragging to some of the others earlier in the day about how she had the little prince calling out for his mother by the end. They had been laughing about it, how quickly he had succumbed to childish instincts, but the thought intrigued Eija.

She had never known her mother. Before Lord Thanos had found her, she had had no one but herself, scrounging up what food she could from what she stole on the street. She never cried for anyone, no matter how frightened she was. She had no one to cry for.

She wondered what it was like.

“Are you truly not going to tell me your name?” she asked. It was a bit disappointing. She had hoped he’d be at least a little more interesting than this.

He swallowed slowly, painfully. Whereas before it seemed he was afraid to take his eyes off of her, now he seemed unable to meet her gaze.

“Loki,” he finally whispered.

“Loki,” Eija repeated. The name made her smile, although she wasn’t quite sure why it would. “It’s nice to meet you, Loki.”

She asked him more questions as the night went on—questions about his home, his family, his childhood memories. At first, he wouldn’t answer any of them. He’d just stare at her blankly as she posed her queries or whip his head away as if he couldn’t stand to be faced with the words.

So, she changed tactics. She told him about growing up on Knowhere, before Thanos found her, about how when she was not yet six years of age the man she had known as her father dumped her on the side of the road and flew away into permanent obscurity, and about how she taught herself how to reach into another’s pocket and pull out exactly what she was looking for by practicing on the other unsuspecting urchins who lived alongside her on the street. It was strange, to relieve those stories before an audience. Because he was an audience, like it or not. He was listening to every word she said, even more so, she suspected, than he wanted to let on.

When she left that morning, after Corvus came to take over for the day, her throat was so dry she could barely speak. It was a nice kind of dry, though. The Black Order never demanded her voice anyways, so it wasn’t a noticeable inconvenience.

It was worth it.

“You again,” Loki muttered when she slipped into the cell the following evening. “Eija.”

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “You remembered my name!”

“You talked a lot.” He blinked sleepily. “You had a nice voice.”

Eija stopped. She wasn’t certain she heard him incorrectly. “What?”

He yawned. “You had a nice voice.”

She felt a flush rising in her cheeks. It was quite possibly the kindest thing anyone had ever said to her, as ridiculous as it seemed. Eija doubted her siblings could even recognize the sound of her voice—if they did, it would have been to scold her for stepping so far out of line, certainly not to pay her a compliment.

“If you’d like,” she said eagerly, pulling the stool across the room so she could sit next to him. “I can tell you more stories?”

It became the part of the day Eija looked forward to most—the moments where she could talk for hours about anything she wanted, without the ever-present fear of her siblings’ mockery or the Mad Titan’s chastening. It felt … safe, in a way that she hadn’t felt safe before. Warm. She always felt so alone on this ship, wasting away whilst awaiting orders. There were points where even her own thoughts seemed to abandon her to the darkness.

But not here. Not with Loki.

He seemed to enjoy it as well. Of course, she held no illusions that he was quite literally a captive audience, but he listened. He remembered the things she said to him. On good days, he’d even ask her questions, add in thoughts and stories of his own.

“You said you don’t kill people,” he asked suddenly, on one such visit. “Did you mean that?”

Eija shifted uncomfortably. This had always been an awkward subject. “Yes,” she said. “I’m not an assassin. I don’t have the training.”

“What do you do here, then?”

She inhaled. “Steal things.”

“Steal things?” he repeated. “What kind of things?”

Eija shrugged. “Anything he wants,” she said. “Weapons, passkeys, precious gems—whatever.” She remembered that day, when Lord Thanos had taken her from the streets to his ship, what he had said as she devoured the soup his servant placed in front of her.

“I have more trained killers than I know what to do with,” he told her. “But perhaps I could use a sneak thief.”

Eija had agreed to everything he said— it wasn’t as if she was in any position to refuse him, and besides, anything had to be better than sleeping in a trash bin. And so, she became the Titan’s personal retriever, sneaking her way across the galaxy and returning with the treasures he coveted in her pockets. Her methods were straight and to the point. She was in and out before anyone even noticed her presence, and, unlike her adopted siblings, there wasn’t a trail of bodies left in her wake.

“But if your role is to steal things,” Loki asked. “Then what are you doing with me?”

Eija didn’t answer right away. Thanos had not ordered her to continue her night watch over the Jotun prisoner. He hadn’t said that she couldn’t, but she was fairly certain that he wouldn’t be pleased to find that she had. What was she doing here?

“I just like to talk to somebody, I guess,” she said. “Besides, somebody has to make sure you make it through the night.”

Although it became exceedingly clear with each passing day that such a task may be outside of her abilities. One night, she could hear his hacking all the way down the hall, rattling the walls as she rushed to his side. She found him sagging limply against his shackles, soaked in blood and sweat and goodness knows what else as he choked on his own breath.

Eija didn’t know what to do—she could only wipe the blood from his face and hold the bottle of water to his lips.

“What does he want from me?” he croaked, once he could finally speak. There were tears running down the creases of his face, although whether that was from emotion or pain Eija couldn’t be sure. “Why is he doing this to me?”

For once, she said nothing. She had no answer for him.

She tried asking Gamora once. It was no secret that the Zehoberei was Lord Thanos’ favorite—if he were to tell anyone his intentions for the prisoner, it would be her.

But the assassin gave her nothing. “He has a use in mind,” she said. “Don’t question him.”

“But,” Eija hesitated. “If that’s the case, why is he hurting him?” She gulped. “If he has a use for him, shouldn’t he be … using him?”

Gamora glared at her. “If he’s not strong enough to survive this, he’s not strong enough to do Thanos’ bidding.” Her tone lowered in warning. “Remember your place.”

Eija did remember her place. She was reminded of it with every passing moment—leashed to her lord’s beck and call, every day walking that delicate tightrope of anticipating his wishes without asserting herself too far in his eyes, living in fear of the day when the bottom finally fell through and he decided to unsheathe the blade at his waist.

Was this his plan for Loki as well? Torture him to death’s edge until it pleased him to make him yet another glorified slave? She thought of Loki, shackled to his chair, heaving and coughing up blood, sentenced to wither away until Thanos found use for him … for what? The mere crime of existence?

And here she was, letting it happen, watching as Thanos sucked the life out of him, simply using him as a receptacle to her own selfish need for attention.

She was just as awful.

But there was nothing she could do about it. Was there?

Unless …

The thought started as a hypothetical. Isn’t that how all treason began? A tiny what-if, buried under one’s daily worries? The hangers of the Sanctuary were hardly well-guarded. There was little reason to guard them, after all—few on this vessel had cause to sneak off of it, and those who did hadn’t the opportunity. And with the current position they had been holding the last few days, only a small way from the Krylor jump point, which could then take you down through one of the major galactical traffic-ways …

Stealing a ship would be almost too easy.

It wouldn’t work, she told herself as she stood amongst her siblings in Thanos’ court. The ship was one thing, the passenger was something else entirely. Loki’s chains were specifically designed by the Mad Titan to stifle the magic of that whom they held. They were the very definition of unbreakable. And the key—Thanos kept it on his person at all times, hooked to his belt alongside his blades. Any scheme was doomed to fail.

But sometimes, opportunities present themselves.

“And where are you going, child?”

Eija jumped out of her skin when she turned the corner and nearly collided with the lord himself. It took her a moment to find her voice.

“To watch over the prisoner, as you ordered, sir.”

He frowned. “That was weeks ago. You’re not still doing that now?”

She bit her tongue, so hard it hurt. “W-with all due respect sir, you never told me to stop.”

“Well, I’m telling you now. Such action is no longer necessary.”

“Yes sir.” She nodded. “Apologies, sir.”

Eija stood there shaking long after he had continued down the hall. Her heart felt as if it might pound its way out of her chest. He had to have noticed. In a moment, he’d come storming back up the corridor, grab her by her neck, and crush her skull against the wall.

But he never did.

It was just Eija, alone in the hallway, clutching the golden key between her trembling fingers.

There was little time. Her theft could only go overlooked for so long. She didn’t have the chance to question herself as she rushed to Loki’s cell—any moment spent in doubt was a moment wasted.

Loki seemed to be unconscious when she first arrived at his side, but he popped up with a start the moment she reached for his chains.

“What—" he gasped, eyes wild. “What’s happening?”

The key clicked in the lock. He heaved a breath, falling forward as the shackles fell open.

“You’re going home.” Eija’s mind was racing at a mile a minute. They couldn’t steal a Q-ship—it was too big; they’d would be noticed immediately … “Can you fly a pod?” she asked.

He gulped. “Possibly?”

“Good enough.” She pulled him to his feet. It was at this moment she became aware of the fact that she had only every seen him seated. Loki was tall. Much, much taller than her, and when he sagged against her it took all of her strength to keep him from tumbling to the metallic floor. For a moment she feared that he was too weak to even stand on his own and nearly panicked, because oh goodness how was she supposed to carry him all the way to the hanger—

But he managed to stabilize himself, gripping her shoulder so tightly that she lost feeling in it, but standing on his own. Slowly, she was able to walk him into the hallway.

The hanger was only a few floors above them, but the elevator ride felt like an eternity.

Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop …

If it stopped before they reached their destination, they were both dead.

Besides her, Loki’s breathing was labored. He hadn’t said anything since she had come to get him.

She squeezed his forearm, hoping he couldn’t feel how she was trembling like a leaf. “You alright?”

He nodded weakly. “I assume you have a plan?”

“The pods are lined on the far wall of the hanger.” She inhaled. “When the door opens, we run like mad and get you on one. And then you take off for the jump point, and don’t stop until you’ve hit traffic.”

Loki turned to her, brow furrowed. “What about you?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Me?”

“Yes. Surely you’ll not stay here?”

Eija gulped. There wasn’t time to think about that now.

The elevator doors clicked open to reveal a thicket of barbed shadows and twisted metal. The hanger was lifeless and barren this time of night, lit only by the glow of the cosmos streaming in through the glass. They made their way in perfect silence, the only sound being the pounding of her heartbeat behind her eardrums. Every dark shape seemed like a waiting figure. Now, it was Eija that clung to him too tightly, terrified that at any moment someone would jump out and rip him from her grasp. By the time they reached their destination, they were both wildly out of breath.

The pods were small, thin one-man transports. Calling them ships was really being too generous. They weren’t really meant for long term travel, but they could work for a few jumps—long enough to get to civilized airspace, which was all he needed. She helped Loki into the compartment, careful to keep him from hitting his head on the low ceiling. This damn ship had caused him enough pain already.

He sighed, leaning against the seat in one short moment of rest before turning back to her. “You still haven’t said what you plan to do.”

Eija hesitated. What could she plan to do? She had nothing waiting for her beyond this ship. As with all of his children, Thanos held a piece of her that he would never relinquish, no matter how far she flew.

“I’ll stay here,” she murmured. “For now, at least. They might pick up on something if too much is out of place.”

“But—"

“Please,” Eija hissed. “You remember what I said, right? Take the Krylor jump, and just keep towards Xandar.” She inhaled so deeply it hurt, trying to bury the aching dread building in her chest. “Stay with the crowds whenever you can—he won’t bother with you if it means he has to go through heavy populations.”

Loki nodded, but she wasn’t certain he was listening. There was a sadness behind his eyes that seemed to pierce her very soul. He squeezed her hand, pressing her knuckles to his lips in the lightest of kisses.

“Thank you, Eija,” he whispered. “May fate be kind to you.”

…

The alarm went off some hours later, when morning dawned upon an empty cell. They came for her only minutes after. Eija hadn’t been certain of what she would do—would she scream when they broke down her door? Cry for help? Fight for her life? But as the Black Order filed into her room with their weapons drawn, Eija felt only an overwhelming calm. It was good that they were here. The longer they spent with her, the more of a chance Loki had of getting away.

She went with her adoptive siblings willingly.

They took her to the same tiny room where this had all begun, shackled her to the same chair she had watched over so diligently. Eija barely registered it.

Surely, Loki was hundreds of star systems away from here now.

Surely he was safe.

When the pain did come, it filled every fiber of her being, burning through her body as if she were nothing but dry kindling. Her vision bled white. Her screams ripped her throat raw.

They asked no questions. She was relieved for that at least, because her every coherent thought shattered to pieces long before it could reach her lips.

She understood now why Loki had cried for his mother. She would have too, had she a mother to cry for. Instead, she just cried.

Eija wasn’t certain how much time had passed before he arrived. It could have been hours, it could have been months, but at some point when she dragged her aching head to look up she found Lord Thanos staring down at her, the stony weight of disappointment heavy on his features.

Gamora stood next to him. She spared a glance at her former sister, softer, sadder, almost sympathetic, before she turned back to her father.

“Sir, the Jotun is out of tracking range. There’s nothing we can do at this point.”

Out of range.

Eija thought of Loki, raven hair streaming in the breeze behind him as he pulled himself out of the craft, safe on some green, luscious, faraway planet that the Black Order could never reach. She smiled, blood dripping from her lips.

Thanos’ expression remained immovable.

“Well, child,” he finally said, looking down at her as he caressed the glinting hilt at his waist. “Look upon this mess. See what you have done. Are you happy now?” He reached out with his other hand, tipping her chin up towards him with a single finger, as if the mere thought of touching her disgusted him. “You look happy.”

Eija felt a laugh tickle her throat. It came out as more of a cough, blood and bile staining her tongue. Still, she could not bring herself to stop smiling.

“I am happy, sir.”

It was true. A beautiful warmth flooded her aching chest. She laughed again, closing her eyes and letting the feeling wash over her.

She was still laughing when the blade severed her throat.

#lucywrites19 #loki marvel #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #happiness #cozy writes

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bktaro · 4 years ago

Text

rumour (part 1)

erwin smith x f!reader

warning: season 2 spoilers, eventual smut, drinking, one night stand, 18+

click here to read on ao3

summary: there’s a rumour about Erwin Smith amongst the aristocrats of Wall Sina, and you were determined to finally figure out the truth behind it.

“There he is.”

Your eyes followed the direction your friend nudged toward, leading towards the entrance of the ballroom. The grand double doors spread open, welcoming a group of people to into the hall, all dressed impeccably head to toe in their best outfits with matching emerald brooches either wrapped around the collars of their dress shirts, or dangling by a chain around each of their necks.

His tall figure stands in the front of the group, serving as the obvious leader, shoulders broad and chiseled chest puffed out. He doesn't disappoint from your imagination of him at all— he’s just as handsome, if not more, as the rumours claimed him to be.

Erwin Smith, Commander of the Survey Corps had finally made his long-anticipated entrance to the party.

“So, it’s true.” You whispered to your friend; eyes unable to peel away from Erwin. “He indeed is incredibly easy on the eyes.”

His reputation amongst the aristocrats and bureaucrats within Wall Sina was one that sparked a controversial debate depending on who the question was to be asked. To some, he was the genius leader of the Survey Corps that ventured out to seek truth behind the unknown, a job only a select few could ever possess the intelligence to handle. However, to others, he was nothing more than the head honcho of a group of suicidal maniacs wasting taxpayer funds with little to no returnable benefits to the grander society.

You consider yourself part of the first group, especially impressed after his ability to sniff out and take out the illegitimate trash that infiltrated the Military Police and Royal Government— something that you were always disgusted with but were too outnumbered to truly do anything about even as a part of one of the noble families. In your view, he was a daring, brave and admirable soldier, sincerely passionate about what he does.

But as much as you admired his courageous acts, there was a lingering rumour about him you just couldn’t ignore.

“There’s absolutely no chance those raunchy rumours could possibly be true about a man like that.” Your friend’s jaw is nearly on the ground, her eyes glued to every move the tall, blond man made.

A waiter balancing a tray of champagne glasses pauses and offers the drinks to Erwin and his group. Erwin gives a small, charismatic nod in thanks, grasping one of the champagne glasses and tipping the bubbling beige liquid into his mouth. His eyes survey the ballroom, observing the attendees across the room, and he eventually catches you staring at him.

You expect him to look away, ignore it and move on. You haven’t even fully introduced yourself to him yet, and you imagine even if by some chance your father who worked closely with him before had dropped your name or showed a portrait of you in conversation before, he would have never remembered it.

But Erwin surprises you, locking his eyes with yours and giving you a tiny smirk against his champagne glass. It’s more than enough to fuel your confidence, reciprocating him and giving him just a tiny grin back.

“You know what?” You mumble, and your friend looks at you, eyes widening at the realization of the interaction between you and Erwin. “I’m going to see if the rumour is true myself.”

—

The night continues to carry on in the traditionally extravagant ‘Wall Sina’ manner. The bureaucrats and noblemen continue to drink their wines and other alcohols, noblewomen gossiping amongst each other, food continuously being brought out and served, and live classical music playing in the background, allowing the open space of the dance floor to be available for couples to sway along with.

You had split with your friend, sitting with the rest of your family at your designated table and took sips of your own champagne while quietly analyzing the scene in front of you. Your mother is off gossiping with the other noblewomen, and your father being the head of one of few legitimately operating branches of the upper Military Police was busy, most likely drunk in discussion about how ‘finally-those-good-for-nothing-lazy-leaders-all-got-removed-and-got-what-they-deserved” and “now-the-Military-Police-could-finally-regain-its-former-glory’. It’s probably an interesting conversation, but at the moment you were waiting for just one particular thing you know is bound to happen at any second.

And as if he could read your mind, he comes just right on time.

“Look who it is!” Your fathers face is red from the alcohol, a toothy smile spread across his face at the arrival of a new guest at your table. “The man who brought glory back to the military himself— Erwin Smith.”

“Please sir, I wouldn’t have been able to do it all without the support of you and your honorable team.” Erwin’s voice breaks out into a deep laugh, drunk members of your father’s team hollering and even slapping Erwin's back in appreciation. “I hope the evening is treating you well.”

“Good food, good drinks and good company, nothing more I could ask for a good time.” Your father stops, glancing his eyes towards you before continuing his sentence. “By the way, this is my daughter, the one I’ve told you about previously.”

Bingo— the moment you’ve been waiting for was exactly this.

Your eyes look up right into his, the most professional and pleasant smile spreading over your face. Offering a hand outward, you introduce yourself, and Erwin bends forward, taking it gently into his and holding on to your fingers, bringing them up to leave a tender kiss against your knuckles.

“Pleasure is mine to finally meet the daughter the chief has talked so much about.”

“No, no. I take all the pleasure meeting you, Commander. You’ve done such marvellous things for the people of the walls.”

Erwin lets go of your hand, his eyes lingering on yours for a little longer than he knows he should, before he pulls back, facing your father once again.

“Erwin,” Your father begins, taking another sip of alcohol from his cup. “May I request something personal from you?”

Erwin raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but a personal request sure isn’t one of them.

“Of course, sir.”

“My daughter, she’s a smart one. Got into the Military Police on her own too, being top ten in her training year. I plan to pass down my position to her eventually, but only if she proves capable.”

You suppress a laugh from coming out at his words, trying your best to hold a straight face. You knew you were more than skillful enough to handle the position and found it rather cute your father thought otherwise. Not that you particularly felt offended at his words— you were smarter than to let the old man's dated standards of what ‘capable’ meant define your worth. But he was helping you get closer to the Commander Erwin Smith, what more could you do than just sit back and let him set it all up for you?

“I want a great leader like you to teach her more ways in becoming successful that aren’t the out-of-date methods us old folks use. You two are also close in age, I assume it would be much easier to understand one another's viewpoint.”

Erwin's response is nothing short of what you expect him to answer, the corners of his lips turning upwards into a small, confident grin.

“It would be an honor and a privilege to share my knowledge onto such a gifted young woman.” He bends his body slightly down towards you once more, offering the palm of his hand upwards towards you. “Would you be interested in having a discussion about it tonight?”

You eye your father, silently seeking his approval. When he nods his head in a way that is much more enthusiastic than you imagined, you eagerly place your hand onto his, letting him wrap his fingers around your hand.

“Gladly, Commander.”

His hands are large and calloused compared to yours, the years of training and firsthand combat clearly visible in the rough texture of his palms. Effortlessly, he leads you across the dance floor of the ballroom, heading towards the outside veranda that overlooks the city of Stohess, and where the noises from inside the party become muffled behind you.

“You smart, aren’t you?”

Erwin’s hand releases yours, admiring the view of the quiet city of Stohess under the night sky, the side of his body leaning against the railing. His broad statue is overwhelmingly large compared to yours, now emphasized by him standing mere inches away from you.

“Whatever could you mean by that?” You arch an eyebrow, questioning him back.

You’re not an idiot, and neither is Erwin. You’re more than aware he knows exactly what you’ve been scheming.

“I can see right past the facade you put up with your father back there. You’re not interested in the slightest talking strategies to become a better military leader tonight, are you?”

Erwin’s eyes shift to look at you, a knowing glimmer in his eyes in which you can’t help but release a tiny smirk in response.

“You caught me.” You take a step forward, bringing a hand up to rest your palm on the top of his chest. Your fingers traced the muscles of his well-defined chest through his dress shirt, eyelashes batting while looking up straight into his eyes. “Truthfully, I might have asked father to say I wanted advice just as an excuse to talk with someone as impressive as you in private.”

A smug grin forms onto his face. Erwin knew exactly who you were the moment he saw you, the famous beautiful yet intelligent daughter of one of the top Military Police chiefs. He never failed to get any woman he sought after, and he planned on making you no exception to that rule.

He’s enjoying this all just as much, if not more, as you are, internally gloating at it all unraveling quicker than he anticipated— partially due to your cooperation of course.

“You’re just as I envisioned. Quite the vixen.”

“Having daydreams about me already, Commander?”

“Can’t help it, the rumours amongst the soldiers said you were the most stunning woman in the entire Military Police.” Erwin’s gaze flickers from the bottom of your lips and works upwards, meeting your eyes once more. “And I can now confirm the rumours are indeed true.”

You want to roll your eyes, no, you should’ve rolled your eyes. But when such words come out of his mouth, they no longer felt cliched. That was the renowned power of Erwin Smith, he had just the right charm and skill to hypnotize just about anyone with his words.

And rumour had it he was a repeat offender in using this ability skillfully to the advantage of the Survey Corps.

“There also is a rumour floating around about you too, Commander.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You do exactly what you’re doing to me right now, charming and enticing me until I open my wallet to you to aid in the cost of the Survey Corps next expedition. Then to show your gratitude while taking the advantage of the opportunity to release your pent-up desires, you’ll offer me the night of my life, and when morning arises, you’ll be gone without a single word.”

Erwin does nothing at your accusation, staring at you blankly momentarily until breaking out into a low chuckle.

“That’s quite the ridiculous rumour, I must say.”

You embarrassed yourself. You let yourself get too cocky. Rumours were rumours for a reason. Your friend was right, there was no possible way such a dignified man like Erwin Smith would do something like that. Or at least, that’s what you think briefly.

Erwin’s hands find their way to the small of your back, pushing your body closer to his. His face looms over yours, illuminated by the moonlight shining above the night sky, and the smug grin on his face widening before asking you one last question.

“Would you like to make that rumour into reality?”

#erwin x y/n #erwin smut #attack on titan erwin #erwin smith #erwin x reader #aot fic

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bitchin-beskar · 4 years ago

Text

Honorable Intentions

Rating: M

Word Count: 14.2k holy shit

A/N: Damn. So, this started out as a fun little plot idea and then turned into this absolute monster of a piece. I promise the next thing I work on will be the next chapter in the I See Starlight Series, but this little plot bunny just would not leave me alone. So, here it is, my 14 thousand word one-shot about Oberyn... can I even call it a one-shot? I think it’s at, like, novelette length...

Anyways, I hope you enjoy!!

This story is rated M for a rather lengthy sex scene, please only read if 18+

Sighing, you look out at the arena, already bored and the jousts haven’t even started. It isn’t proper for a lady to seem bored however, so you keep your face carefully blank. You glance to your right to see your sister, Lyanna, eagerly awaiting the beginning of the event. She’s always appreciated these events more than you. Lyanna favoured stories of chivalrous knights and charming princes, fantasizing being swept off her feet by the handsome man of her dreams.

You, on the other hand, tended to be more down-to-earth. Yes, you enjoyed stories of knights and princes just as much as any other lady, but you also knew that real life was rarely like the stories. You knew the likelihood of both Lyanna and yourself being married off to your father’s bannermen was high. If you were lucky, you’d be married to lords who weren’t too much older than yourselves, but there were no sureties.

Your twin was especially excited for this particular event, you knew. Prince Rhaegar would be competing, and Lyanna was entranced by him. Ever since coming to Harrenhal, she’d watched every event he’d completed in, and in your rooms at night, she would talk for hours about him, wondering what he was like. You’d constantly tell her that the Prince was already married, to Princess Elia of Dorne, with a daughter no less, but your words fell on deaf ears.

Neither of your elder brothers were seated with you. Brandon was recovering from the previous event, and Ned was speaking with some of the sons from Houses Karstark, Hornwood, and Mormont. So, you were left with the ladies from the noble houses of the North and your sister, all of whom were extremely excited for the joust.

Instead of joining in with the tittering and gossip, you surveyed the arena, taking note of the other Houses present for the joust. You took note of the royals box, with Queen Rhaella and Princess Elia in attendance. King Aerys was nowhere to be seen, and from what you’ve overheard from the maids, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Princess Elia didn’t look pleased to be here, and you supposed you couldn’t blame her. All eyes would be on her if her husband lost the joust, and you didn’t envy her that pressure.

House Lannister was also in attendance, and you saw the way Cersei Lannister surveyed the stands, much the same as you, although her countenance suggested she felt as though everyone here was beneath her. You were honestly surprised she’d come, especially after being so publicly rejected by Prince Rhaegar previously.

Your eyes skipped over a few other Houses, Baratheon, Tully, Tyrell and Greyjoy, and focused on one particular house. House Martell was seated almost directly across from you, and the box held Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn of Dorne, Princess Elia’s older brothers. You’d first noticed them a few days previously, as your sister’s handmaid had pointed out how attractive Prince Doran was.

While you couldn’t disagree, you however, found your eyes constantly drawn to Prince Oberyn. He was two-and-six, not that much older than your one-and-eight. His beard was neat and trimmed, and his eyes were dark, glittering orbs that seemed to captivate anyone caught in their depths. Despite the warm weather, the Prince wore a rather heavy cloak, and you supposed it must be true, the rumors of the intense heat in the Dornish capital.

Being from the North, where snow fell no matter the season, the mere thought of a place with no snow or rain was baffling. It was said there were dunes of sand, and much like snow, they stretched on for miles, a solid expanse of singular color.

As your eyes fell on the box that housed House Martell, Prince Oberyn happened to raise his own gaze, and your eyes connected across the arena. He held your gaze, raising an eyebrow as you refused to duck your head in embarrassment or shame, a sly grin stretching across his lips. You bit one of your own, and found yourself captivated, as you’d often seen others fall victim to the same stare you were now being subjected.

The sound of the horn signaling the beginning of the joust startled you some, and you reluctantly tore your eyes from the Princes’, looking to the tents where the jousters would emerge from.

“Is everything alright, sister?”

You looked over at Lyanna, a question clear upon your face. “You’re flushed. Is something wrong?” You raised your hand to your cheek, surprised to feel the skin heated underneath your fingertips.

“I’m quite alright Lyanna, I suppose I’m just anxious for the jousts to start.”

With a suspicious hum, Lyann turned away from you, focusing her eyes on the tents just as the knights began to emerge. You fought to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as Lyanna and the other ladies began to whisper excitedly when Prince Rhaegar stepped forward.

You watched, disinterested, as the competitors mounted their horses. The Prince made a grand show of mounting his snow white steed, and you wanted to groan when your twin practically swooned. The Prince led his steed around the arena in a trot, and the ladies in your box titered as he rode by.

The other competitors in the joust were all Kingsguard, and while you were sure they were perfectly competent, you knew the Prince would be winning this competition. Even if he wasn’t an extremely skilled jouster–which you would admit, reluctantly, that he was–it would be suicidal for any of the Kingsguard to win, what with the King’s fragile sanity.

You didn’t want to imagine what would happen if one of the Kingsguard managed to best Prince Rhaegar, and clearly they didn’t either, for the first of the four went down quickly after the first charge against the Prince.

Wincing as he hit the ground, you watched as another took his place, only for the same fate to befall him. And again, to the third man. This competition is much shorter than all the others, but even then, you find it exceedingly dull, especially with your sister practically salivating next to you.

Finally, it is the turn of the fourth Kingsguard. The crowd seems to be sitting in anticipation, but you find no such anxieties when the outcome is all but assured. And, sure enough, the final Kingsguard is unseated, and the crowd roars. The Prince gallops around the arena, a show of misplaced pride, and you glance at the Princess Elia, only to see her looking just as unamused as yourself.

“Prince Rhaegar will now present the crown of blue winter roses to his Queen of Love and Beauty!” The voice of the announcer boomed out from his place beneath the royal box, and it seemed as though everyone held their breath, the loud cheers ceasing at once, as the Prince was handed the crown.

You watched in stunned silence and absolute horror as the Prince rode past the royal box, past his wife, to stop in front of your own box. He reached out, placing the crown on Lyanna’s lap, and you watched, mute, as he gave a stunning smile to your twin sister, which she returned, blushing furiously.

She held the crown in her lap for a moment, before placing it among her curls, grinning as Prince Rhaegar rode away from the box. Suddenly, the arena burst into noise, members of all the houses shouting over one another at what had just occurred. You watched as Lyanna continued to blush a brilliant red, a smile dancing on her lips, a smile that died as she turned and saw your look of horror.

Before she could open her mouth, you stood from your seat, leaving the box in a rush. You descended the steps and walked furiously towards the woods behind the arena, sure that if you spoke to your sister, you would be unable to control your temper, and praying to the gods old and new that she would not follow. Unfortunately, the gods did not grant your wish, and you heard Lyanna run after you, stopping you with a hand on your arm.

“Sister! Why did you storm off so? What has gotten into you?”

You spun around to face her. “Me? What’s gotten into me? Lyanna have you lost all sense? Have you gone as mad as the king?” Your voice was an angry whisper, words sharp and biting as her eyes widened. “What in the name of the gods possessed you to accept that crown?” You gestured to the blue winter roses atop her head.

“Prince Rhaegar named me his Queen of Love and Beauty! Why should I not accept?” Her voice was petulant and whiny, and for a moment, you wondered how it was possible the two of you were the same age, let alone related.

“Prince Rhaegar is married, Lyanna! He is married to a Princess of Dorne! She has already given him a daughter! You are the daughter of Lord Stark, Warden of the North! You cannot possibly be so foolish as to not understand the consequences of this!” Your voice rose louder and louder until you were practically yelling. “For the Prince to name anyone else other than his wife his Queen of Love and Beauty is a grave insult, for him to so name the daughter of a Great House different than the one he married into is an insult even more so! I would not be surprised if Dorne does not take offence to his actions, and refuse trade with the North!”

Lyanna didn’t look repentant however. “So? We do not need Dorne! We are perfectly fine trading with the other kingdoms, we don’t need them!” You wanted to grab your sister around the shoulders and shake her.

“We have trade agreements with Dorne, Lyanna! They provide most of the exotic trades for all of fucking Westeros! To destroy the alliance between our houses would be unforgivable, and quite frankly, terrible for our people!” You saw your brothers quickly moving towards the two of you, and you sighed heavily. “You should return the damn crown, and we should leave Harrenhal, and hope that you have not just single-handedly destroyed one of the North’s alliances!”

You stormed away, and as Brandon tried to stop you, you shrugged him off. “If I continue to speak to my sister, I may smack her. I suggest you attempt to talk some sense into her.” Your words were curt and sharp, and the word sister was spat with contempt and disgust. You continued to storm away, only to see Princess Elia ahead of you, walking with her ladies-in-waiting.

You sped up slightly, approaching her. “My lady, if I could speak with you for a moment?” Her handmaids eyed you distrustfully, but Princess Elia surprisingly waved them on. She waited until they were out of earshot before turning to you.

“What can I do for you, Lady Stark?” Her words were perfectly polite, but cold and unemotional. If you hadn’t been looking into her eyes, you would have thought she’d been completely unaffected by what had just occurred.

“I wanted to offer my sincerest apologies for the stupidity and arrogance my sister displayed at the end of the joust, my lady.” It was clear that was not what the Princess was expecting you to say, and her cold, indifferent mask cracked.

“Oh?”

You sighed, suddenly feeling much older than one-and-eight. “I will not lie to you my lady. My sister has been rather infatuated with your husband since the beginning of the tourney. I have attempted to talk to her on multiple occasions, but she refuses to listen to my council. I am truly very sorry for the pain this may have caused.” You didn’t want to presume any hurt on the part of Princess Elia, but neither were you willing to just let this go unaddressed. “I never could have imagined anything such as this happening, and if there is anything I can do…?” You trailed off once more, once again not wanting to presume anything on her part.

To your surprise, Princess Elia smiled softly. “Your words bring me some comfort Lady Stark. I thank you for the kindness you have shown me. You did not need to speak to me, but you have, and I greatly appreciate it.”

You shook your head slowly. “I did need to speak with you, my lady. My honor would demand nothing less. I am only sorry my sister seems to possess none.”

Princess Elia let out a soft laugh at your words, and you briefly found yourself wondering at how Prince Rhaegar could have named anyone but his wife his Queen of Love and Beauty. “Your honesty is refreshing, Lady Stark. Would you care to dine with me this evening? Ladies of your character are few and far between in court it would seem, and I would not be opposed to another friend.”

Stunned, it took you a moment before you nodded. “Of course, my lady. I only insist that you call me by my name. It seems rather rude to insist upon a friend referring to myself as Lady Stark.” You gave her your name, and she smiled once more.

“Of course. But I fear I must insist for you to call me Elia.”

You agreed, and Elia told you that she would have someone stop by your rooms to escort you to her private chambers. You watched as she rejoined her handmaids and continued towards the castle. Hearing the raised voices of your sister and brothers, you sighed, turning back to rejoin the familial argument, your eyes missing the slightly hidden figure observing you.

***

Later that evening, you were in your rooms awaiting whoever the Princess–Elia–sent to escort you. Brandon had argued fiercely with you, wanting to leave Harrenhal immediately, but you’d argued that if you had the chance to try and repair at least some of the friendship between House Martell and House Stark, you should take it.

Ned had been quiet, like always, only giving his opinion once directly asked, but surprisingly he agreed with you. Lyanna refused to make comment, sitting forlornly at one of the windows in the solar, glaring at you every so often. She was convinced Prince Rhaegar had fallen in love with her, and it infuriated you beyond belief. You had no idea your twin could be this dense, and it was only made worse when Brandon informed the two of you that your father had decided just before Harrenhal to sign a betrothal between House Stark and House Baratheon. Specifically, between Lyanna and Robert.

Oh how Lyanna had raged, screaming one second and then crying the next, swearing to the gods that she would never marry that “whoring and uncouth oaf of a man” and that her destiny was to be with Prince Rhaegar. While you understood her desire to not marry Baratheon–you had seen the many, many comings and goings of serving girls from his tents and quarters at inappropriate hours–you knew it was not up to her to decide. Your lord father had always made clear that the two of you were going to be used to strengthen alliances, and you’d thought Lyanna had understood that.

Clearly not.

A sharp knock resonated from the door to your chambers, and Brandon looked up at you as you moved to answer. “Are you sure–” He barely got the words out before you turned to him in a huff.

“Yes Bran, I’m sure. I have nothing to fear from Princess Elia, she’s been perfectly cordial, and I am looking forward to dining with her.” You pinned your brother to his seat with a glare, and turned to open the door.

Your eyes widened somewhat when you saw who awaited you.

“Prince Oberyn,” you greeted, dropping into a small curtsey. You heard your brother’s sharp intakes of breath at your words, and you tried very hard not to smirk. It had always amused you how cautious they were around the famed Red Viper of Dorne. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe the stories, oh no, you were quite sure a good many of them were true, you just weren’t afraid of him. Your brothers on the other hand had always been convinced that if you spent more than a few seconds in the Prince’s presence, you’d lose your life. Or your virtue. You weren’t sure which they considered to be worse.

“My lady.” His voice was low and smooth, and fit him perfectly. It took all you had to not react, especially when he raised your hand to his lips, brushing them against your knuckles. His eyes were just as intense as earlier during the tournament, and up close, the strong line of his jaw and the sliver of bare skin on his chest were quite distracting. You hardly noticed when Brandon appeared behind you.

Prince Oberyn gently dropped your hand before greeting your brother. “Lord Stark,” he began, bowing his head briefly. “My sister, Princess Elia, has sent me to escort Lady Stark to her chambers for the evening meal.”

Brandon nodded jerkily, his distrusting eyes focused on the Prince’s face. “Very well.” His words were forced, as though he spoke through clenched teeth, and oh you wanted to laugh.

Prince Oberyn offered his arm to you, and you tucked your hand into the crook of his elbow. With a smirking nod at your brother, he began to lead you down the hallway. You flinched somewhat at the loud bang of your door as it closed, and you fought back a grin.

“It seems, my lady,” Prince Oberyn began. “That your brother is rather displeased that I am to be escorting you.” You could hear the underlying question in his words, and you chuckled softly.

“Indeed.” You peered up at him, and his eyes bored into yours. “My brothers are quite convinced I will become your victim, although from poison or licentiousness they can’t seem to decide.” The Prince let out a startled laugh at your words, looking away from your gaze.

“My sister seemed quite eager to dine with you. I promise you are at no risk of any poisons from me this evening.” You raised your eyebrow at what was very clearly not said.

“And your licentious nature? Am I not also safe in that regard?” You knew it was dangerous to prod a viper, and doubly so to prod this particular Viper. You looked ahead down the hall, even when you could feel his gaze upon you.

You tried to not show your reaction as his head lowered next to yours, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered to you. “I am afraid I can make no promises to you in that regard, Lady Stark.” Before you could retort, you’d arrived at Princess Elia’s chambers. “This is where I leave you, Lady Stark.” Prince Oberyn once more took your hand in his own, pressing a lingering kiss against it. “I will escort you back to your chambers once you’ve finished.”

“Thank you, my lord,” your voice was soft, and you could practically taste the tension in the air. He pressed one more kiss to your knuckles before he turned on his heel and left. You secretly pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, where his lips had just been, and imagined you could still feel the warmth he left behind.

You turned and knocked on the door, almost surprised at how quickly it opened. One of Princess Elia’s handmaids stood to the side, and you entered the room.

You’d spent entirely too long in Elia’s rooms, but you found it hard to care. The Princess was wonderful company, despite being older than you. She had an innocence about her, an innocence that even marriage and a child could not dull. You’d once more expressed your regret at your sister’s actions, and your rage over Prince Rhaegar’s, and Elia spent much of the evening speaking to you of her frustrations with Rhaegar, as she finally found someone just as aggrieved as herself.

You’d been shocked to learn just how hard Rhaegar was pushing for Elia to have more children, despite her daughter having been born not many moons prior. She told you of the prophecy King Aerys was obsessed with, and her fears that she would be unable to provide the third child called for in the prophecy, as she was already pregnant with her second babe.

You were sworn to secrecy, as no one knew yet of the second pregnancy. The maesters had advised against another child so quickly, but Elia hadn’t had a choice. You listened to her fears, and comforted her as best as you were able. She apologized for burdening you, but you waved her off. You’d found a friend in Elia, one who seemed to truly understand you, and it was no burden at all to support her.

“When are you to leave Harrenhal?”

You sighed, setting down the glass of dornish red after taking a sip. “Likely soon. I know my brothers do not wish to stay for long, and with my sister’s actions... “ your voice trailed off. “I fear it would be best for House Stark to go back to the North sooner rather than wait.”

Elia sighed sadly. “I will miss your presence,” she admitted, turning to look at you. “I know we’ve just met, but you’ve already become such a dear friend. Would you write to me?” You nodded, smiling widely.

“Aye,” you agreed. “Only if you promise to write back.” Giggling, Elia nodded her acquiescence, and she was still giggling when there was a knock at her chamber’s door.

“Tis likely my brother, here to escort you back,” her words were plain, but the look in her eyes was mischievous. “I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable on the way here?”

Flushing brightly, you shook your head. “No, Elia. He didn’t do anything of the sort.” She grinned, as though knowing you were lying to her, but she didn’t press. “I’ll take my leave now, my lady.” Your words were cheeky, and Elia grinned, unrepentant, as she stood to offer you a brief hug.

You left the rooms, and true to her words, found Prince Oberyn standing at the door, waiting for you. “May I escort you, Lady Stark?” His grin was just as mischievous as his sister’s and you were sure your cheeks were still red, and not from the wine.

“I would appreciate it, my lord,” your voice was soft, and you allowed him to tuck your arm into the crook of his elbow once more, leading you out into the hallway. “I greatly enjoyed my time with your sister.”

You didn’t see the way Prince Oberyn looked down at you with a fond smile. “I am glad, my lady,” he murmured. “Elia has precious few friends in Westeros, and I am glad she has found one as fierce as you.”

His words caused you to look up at him in confusion, only for him to smirk. “Your argument with your sister was rather loud, and I will admit, it drew my attention.” He paused in front of one of the windows lining the halls, looking at you with an intensity you couldn’t hope to match. “I was rather furious with your House, you see, when Elia was slighted at the joust.” A shadow crossed your face, and he grinned darkly. “I was… pleased to see that at least one member of House Stark also took great offence.”

You flushed, tearing your eyes away from his and stepping away for a moment, looking out the window. “My family likes to pride ourselves on our honor,” you whispered, and the Prince moved closer to hear you. “I could not stand by as my sister acted so dishonorably at the tourney. Mine own honor wouldn’t stand for it.”

You were surprised to feel his arm wrapping securely around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. His lips were next to your ear, and his words caused a heat to rush through your veins. “Indeed, my little shewolf,” his voice was a low growl, and desire pooled in your belly. “And it only makes me want you more.” His lips attacked your neck, sucking directly over your pulse point. Letting out a soft gasp, you sag in the Prince’s arms, one hand over his on your ribs, the other reaching up to tangle in his dark locks of hair.

He bit at your pulse harshly, before soothing the sting with his tongue. Your legs felt weak from his ministrations, and though you knew he would leave marks upon your skin, you could not bring yourself to care. You gasped suddenly as he spun you around, pressing your back against the cold stone of the palace walls, his hands bringing your wrists up to cross them above your head, leaving you on display for him. He pinned your wrists with one hand, the other tangling in your tresses as he tilted your head up and claimed your lips for his own.

His taste was intoxicating, luxurious and heavenly all at once. His tongue begged your lips for entrance, and once granted, he tilted your head and devoured you. His tongue fought with your own, but his experience was far greater than yours, and he won the duel for domination easily. Pressing the length of his body against yours, you moaned into his mouth, wanton and lascivious and licentious and downright whorish as he took and took and took what he wanted from you.

You felt as though you couldn’t breath, tearing your mouth from his for a few gasping lungfuls of air, but he dived back in immediately, stealing that air right back. You were breathless, panting as the Prince ground himself into you, unable to do much more than just accept his advances, although you were certainly not going to complain. His lips sought to own yours, and you gladly gave control to him.

Finally he pulled back, just barely, and his breath ghosted across your spit-slicked lips. “Sweet suffering gods, woman,” he whispered, and you felt a flush of pleasure as you realized what you–you–had reduced the Red Viper of Dorne to. You craned your neck, inviting his lips to touch yours once more, and he gave in with a groan.

You’re not sure how long Prince Oberyn had you pinned against the wall, ravishing your lips like you were a common brothel whore, but you loved every second. You’d kissed a few boys back home in Winterfell, but nothing could ever compare to this. Prince Oberyn was no boy, he was a man, and oh it showed. Your tongues tangled together in an intimate dance, leaving you breathless and gasping for more all the same.

His hand stayed buried in your hair, anchoring you to him, and you weren’t sure you could escape, even if you wanted to. He finally pulled away, although it seemed to cause him great pain to do so. He was panting softly, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen, dark with a desire you only barely recognized.

“As much as I’d like to continue, little shewolf,” he practically growled at you. “Your lord brothers will be missing you, and I rather think they would be quite cross with us if they found me ravishing you in a palace alcove.” You flushed at his words, blinking up dazedly at the Prince as your heart raced in your chest.

He groaned softly as you looked up at him, the near-perfect picture of innocence, if not for your swollen lips and flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. He released your wrists, and you slowly brought your arms down, only to clutch at the front of his tunic. His hand cupped your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your lower lip, his eyes darkening as you wrapped your tongue around the digit, pulling it into your mouth and slowly sucking.

You twirled your tongue around his thumb, delighting at the way his features twisted in pleasure as you were sure he was imagining your mouth on other parts of him. You released him with a wet pop, watching his face as his eyes followed his hand as he trailed it down your chest, before cupping your breast, brushing his still spit covered thumb against your nipple. You whined, the noise high in your throat as he squeezed gently, and if your brothers had come around the corner at that very moment, you weren’t sure you could have stopped, even if you’d wanted to.

But they didn’t, and you panted as the Prince fondled you through the thin gown you wore, watching as he smirked at you before leaning down and taking your breast into his mouth, sucking over the fabric. Your hands flew to his hair, gasping at the sensation. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt, and you never wanted him to stop.

Alas, he pulled away, eying the darkened fabric around your breast with a dark smirk. You whimpered at the loss, and he leaned down to press one, two, three quick kisses to your still swollen lips.

He stood up straight, offering his arm to you once more, and you took it, flushing. As you continued down the hall, you prayed that you wouldn’t run into any servants, or–gods forbid–nobles. You were sure you looked a right sight, disheveled and thoroughly ravished by the Red Viper. You knew what your brothers would assume if they saw you, so you were very pleased when you arrived at your rooms, and found them to be absent.

You went to let go of the Prince’s arm and go into your rooms, but he spun you suddenly and pressed you hard against the wood, his thigh wedged between your own. His eyes were still dark with lust, and you felt every inch the prey, nothing like the predator of your family’s House.

“How irresponsible,” Prince Oberyn tsked as he looked down at you, “of your lord brothers to leave your rooms empty, without so much as a guard. Anyone could be waiting, lurking in the shadows.” His voice was low, and he practically hissed at you, very much reminiscent of the viper for which he was so named. “There could be dangerous men, hiding out, waiting to take the virtue of a young maiden such as yourself.”

You bit your lip, debating with yourself, before letting the words slip from between your lips. “I think there’s only one man here who wants to take my virtue this night, my prince,” you whispered, watching as Prince Oberyn’s jaw clenched tight. You stood on your tiptoes, bringing your lips close to his ear. “And I am inclined to let him.”

The Prince’s reaction was swift, striking at you before you could blink. His arm wrapped around your waist, bringing you flush against his chest before bending you back, his hand tangling in your hair and yanking your head back even farther as his lips claimed yours. You clutched desperately at his shoulders, sure you were falling, but his hold was too tight to prevent such a thing.

You could feel his desire for you, in the way his hands gripped you, the way his lips moved over yours. You pulled back to try to speak, but his mouth chased yours, causing you to speak in broken gasps.

“M–My… my… my room!” Your hand frantically grasping at the door handle, it swung open, and Prince Oberyn allowed you to straighten only briefly as he shoved you inside, shutting the door and pushing you against it once more. “Y–you… you seem to–to have… a–a passion…” you gasped, moaning brokenly as his hand gripped your hip tightly. “F–For pushing m–me… against things…”

Prince Oberyn nipped at your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth as you tried to speak. His lips trailed across your cheek, pressing fluttering kisses against your skin until he could suck at your ear. You moaned, uncaring if you could be heard, focused only on the pleasure this Prince was willingly providing you.

His fingers danced among the laces of your dress, toying with the ties. “Indeed,” he muttered, voice deeper than you’d ever heard it. “It’s not often a viper has a shewolf willing to submit to him.” With a sharp tug, the ties come undone, and your dress begins to fall, stopped only by the press of the Prince’s body against yours.

His head pulls back, eyes locked onto yours as he looks for permission to continue. Taking matters into your own hands, you push onto his chest, causing him to step back, allowing your dress to pool on the floor, leaving you bare except for your smallclothes. You’re flushed at your boldness, but the way Prince Oberyn’s eyes rove over your figure more than makes up for your brief flash of uncertainty.

He’s well within distance to be able to touch you, and touch you he does, his fingers ghosting over your bare side, trailing up until they run across the fabric of the band covering your breasts. He steps forward until your chests are nearly pressed together, but not quite.

“May I?” His voice is a whisper, breathy with want as his fingers trace the clasps. His other hand gently brushes against the small patch of wet fabric from his earlier ministrations in the hallways, and your whole body shudders.

With your nod, he releases the clasp holding the binding together, and gently unwinds the fabric from around your chest. His hands leave your skin long enough to drop the fabric to the floor, but not a second longer, rough fingers coming back to brush against the skin of your breasts, drawing tantalizing shapes and teasing your tender flesh until your nipples harden into peaks.

You’re unable to stop yourself from gasping at the sensation. Until this very moment the only hands to touch you there were your own, and oh gods the sensations are so, so very different. One of his hands reluctantly leaves your breast, grasping at your hip as he pulls you around, moving you towards the bed. You go willingly, allowing the Prince to move your body as you focus on his fingers, brushing gently over your breast, over and over and–

The air whooshes out of your lungs as you fall back onto the bed, hair fanning out onto the sheets beneath you as your Prince hovers above you, dark eyes trained on yours, watching for any signs of discomfort. But you’re comfortable, more comfortable than you think you’ve ever been before, comfortable laying under this man, being touched by hands you knew had killed, because you knew those hands would show you nothing but adoration.

He must see something in your eyes, acceptance or some other encouragement, because he dips forward until he can take a nipple into his mouth, suckling, not unlike a babe. Crying out at the sensation, your back arches, pushing your breast into his mouth, and he suckles harder. It feels as though he is trying to draw your very soul out of your body through your breast, but you couldn’t care less. The feeling is heavenly, and the desire that has been simmering in your belly since he first escorted you to Elia’s rooms increases, threatening to overwhelm you with forbidden pleasure.

Gods, if only your brothers could see you now, writhing underneath the Red Viper, a shewolf willingly submitting to a man not her husband, not even her betrothed, and loving it. Your hands are tangled in his hair, tugging this way and that, and with a particularly harsh yank, the Viper above you moans.

His voice sends streaks of desire racing through your veins, and by the gods, you want to hear that again. You yank once more on his strands, and he actually releases your skin as a groan escapes his throat. Suddenly ravenous, you pull him up to your lips once more, slotting your mouth against his own, and kissing him with a fervor you’ve never experienced before.

As you moan into his mouth, your hands are busy, tugging at his own tunic, desperate to feel his bare skin against your own. Dornish fashion certainly had the benefit of being able to disrobe quickly, as with one tug of the belt around his waist, his long tunic came apart, and you pushed it off his shoulders, greedily running your hands across the bare expanse of his chest.

His skin is bare, unlike many of the men of your household. Northmen often grew hair on their chest, but Prince Oberyn’s skin is smooth, unmarred. You rake your nails down his chest and he growls against your lips, fingers gripping the sheets tightly, refraining from touching you as you explore his body. Trailing your fingers down, you find that the Prince is not completely free of hair, as there is a small trail just underneath his navel, leading down into his breeches.

You run your fingers through the fine hairs, scratching gently, and you can feel the Prince’s muscles tense at your actions. He grabs your wrist and pins it above your head, and you blink up at him innocently. His chest is heaving, and you can see the conflict in his eyes. Using your free hand, you guide his lips back to yours, and at the same time, you wrap one leg around his waist, pulling his hips flush to yours.

Moaning into his mouth, you encourage him to grind into you, and Prince Oberyn does so, gladly. His tongue dances with yours, and you can feel the heat of him between your legs, so close, flesh only separated by a few layers of cloth. Breaking away with a gasp, he releases your wrist, only to grasp your smallclothes with both hands, ripping them away from you, the soft fabric tearing at the seams.

You cry out in shock, not expecting the sudden, violent act, but it does nothing to dampen your desire. The Prince easily lifts you further up the bed, his hands running over your bared skin before clasping the insides of your thighs, holding them apart. He moves down your body, and you’re confused for a moment, unsure of his intentions–

Oh gods.

You can’t even think, not when his tongue is there, not when he’s licking at you like you’re the last source of water on this continent, oh–

“F–Fuck!”

The curse forces itself from your lips as Prince Oberyn takes your clit between his own lips and sucks. Your back arches, and he quickly winds an arm around your waist to keep you anchored to the bed, to stop you from moving as he laves between your legs. You don’t even try to keep quiet, even though your brothers or your sister could come back at any time, you can’t keep quiet, Prince Oberyn’s tongue feels like nothing you’ve ever done to yourself, it feels incredible–

Your groan pierces the air just as Prince Oberyn’s finger pierces you, and you throw a hand over your mouth to try and stifle your gasps and moans of pleasure. It’s clear the Prince disapproves of your intentions however, as he begins to pump his finger in and out, setting a brutal pace that just gets more and more intense. Just as you think it can’t possibly feel any better, with his tongue on your clit and his finger in your cunt, he adds a second one, and you’re pretty sure you screamed.

The Prince chuckles, and the vibrations against your clit only increase your pleasure, the coil in your belly tightening beyond what you thought possible, but it’s when he adds a third finger that the coil snaps. Your hands are clenched in his hair, your hips undulating as much as his iron grip will allow, moans and gasps escaping your lips as the wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your muscles all tense with the release, and he never stops moving his fingers, doesn’t halt the movement of his tongue until you collapse back onto the bed, panting. He slowly removes his lips from you, but his fingers continue to pump lazily. He looks up at your face, taking in the way your eyes are closed in bliss, your lips parted as little puffs of air escape, desperately trying to catch your breath.

He pulls himself up with one hand, and watches as your eyes open to look at his face, his lips and chin smeared and glistening with your release. He looks so utterly pleased with himself that you can’t help but pull him down, crashing his lips to yours, tasting yourself on him. It turns you on more than you’d thought it might.

You lazily exchange kisses, tongues slowly tangling together as he continues to gently massage your inner walls with his fingers. His slow movements have only been stoking the fire, not extinguishing it, and you find yourself wanting that release again. You push on his shoulder, and he detaches from your lips with a small frown. He tries to ask you what’s wrong, but you don’t want to talk, so you take control, flipping your Prince over til he’s on his back, and you’re straddling his waist. His fingers are forced from your cunt and you whimper at the loss, but the promise of something more spurns you on.

You tug at the laces on his breeches as he watches with hooded eyes, hissing as you yank the cloth down his legs and take him into your hands. He’s big, a lot bigger than you were expecting, but the sight excites you. You watch your Prince’s face carefully as you dip your fingers between your legs, moaning as you brush against your sensitive folds, before wrapping your slick fingers around his length.

Prince Oberyn’s mouth falls open at the sight, his hands clenched so tight on your hips that he’s likely to leave bruises. Oh gods, you want him to leave bruises. You want to be able to feel where his hands clutched at your skin days from now. You slowly stroke him, biting your lip as you wonder if he’ll fit. He barely fits in your hand, and he’s supposed to fit inside you?

You’re distracted out of your musings as he brushes a thumb gently over your hip bone. You look back at him to see his eyes peering up at you, strangely tender despite the desire still lingering. “We don’t have to do this, my shewolf.” His words are a comfort, but you have no intentions of stopping this night.

“I don’t want to stop,” you whisper, watching as his jaw clenches when you run your thumb over the head of his cock. “I want you to fuck me, my prince.” You flick your eyes back up to his, watching as he groans when you curse. “I want your cock in my cunt,” you have no idea where the words are coming from, but you feel so, so powerful as you speak. “My lord father is likely planning my betrothal to some loyal bannerman as we speak.” The Prince watches you, trying to keep his attention on your words and not on your hand wrapped around his cock. “Likely some old widower, who cares not for me or my desires.” You shuffle up the bed, guiding his cock to brush against your cunt. “I do not wish to spend my life never knowing the pleasures of sex, my lord. I know that I will be a vessel for heirs, that is all they will wish of my body.” You slowly begin to sink down, biting back a whine as the Prince’s cock nearly splits you in half. “Even if it is only once, I want a man to fuck me.”

Prince Oberyn watched you, his jaw slack as you slowly sank onto his cock. He watched your face for signs of pain, but you hid your discomfort well. His eyes flickered down, and the sight of his cock disappearing into your cunt, combined with the intense tightness and heat enveloping him, nearly caused him to spill his seed inside of you prematurely, and you could feel the way he clenched his fists in an effort to hold back.

Finally, your hips were flush with his own, and you gasped for breath at the absolutely overwhelming feeling of being full. You closed your eyes, biting your lip as you adjusted to the sheer size of the Prince. Suddenly, you feel fingers gently brushing against your lower stomach and you open your eyes, only to see the Prince staring at you, stunned.

“W–What?” Your voice is quiet, worried something is wrong, but he’s quick to reassure you.

“Look at you.”

It’s all he says, the words reverent and awe-struck, and when you finally look down, you see why. His fingers are brushing over your abdomen, where you can actually see the bump of his cock deep inside you. You gasp, your hand covering his as he presses gently, and you feel pleasure shooting down your spine.

You clench, on accident from the sudden pressure of your hands, and the Prince groans, low and deep as he feels you squeeze around him. “Oh seven hells,” he breathes, head thrown back. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “I think it is less a matter of me being tight, my prince, and more that you are just big.” His hand, the one not resting on your belly, comes up to cradle your breast, thumb brushing over the nipple.

“Whatever the cause, you feel divine, sweet girl.”

You flush at his praise, eyes bright as you look at the powerful man resting between your thighs. You’d never imagined that coming to Harrenhal could lead to this, and you find yourself in awe that the Viper could allow himself to be ridden in such a manner. Most men would not deign to give control over to their women, in any manner, and yet this man has given you more power over him than you’ve ever imagined possible. It’s intoxicating, truly.

You’d always imagined going to your marriage bed a blushing maid, even though you’d technically lost your maidenhead while riding when you were younger. But this, this act of rebellion–for that’s what it was, a rebellion against all the plans your father had or would ever decide for you–was the one thing you truly had control over, and it delighted you.

Slowly, you begin to raise your hips, until just the head of your Prince’s cock rests inside you. Pausing, you lean forward and place your hands on his chest for leverage, before slowly lowering your body back down. You both moan at the feeling of once again being fully joined, and thus begins the slow rhythm, the gentle rocking back and forth as you work your inner muscles against his cock.

You can feel the coil simmering, still tense from your previous release, slowly beginning to tighten again, but slower than you wish. Your Prince must see the frustrations on your face, for he speaks. “You’re doing so beautifully, my shewolf. But I must ask,” his voice is low, dripping with desire. “Do you want more?”

You suck in a breath, nodding slowly. He searches your eyes, perhaps making sure that this is what you want, before he begins to take control. He plants his feet on the bed, hands gripping your waist tight, and just as you’re about to lower yourself back onto his cock, he surges up, slamming his hips into yours, burying his cock inside you swiftly.

A silent scream leaves your lips as you throw your head back at the sudden intrusion. You’d thought yourself adjusted to his size, but as he sets a relentless pace, you realize you were not adjusted at all. The wet sounds of skin hitting skin fills the room, punctuated by your pants and moans as your Prince takes you from below.

He suddenly and abruptly flips the two of you over, and you squeak when your back hits the bed. Yet, his cock never leaves you, and you barely have time to get settled before he restarts his brutal pace, pounding into you. You throw your arms around his neck, raking your nails down his back as he mouths at your breast, his hips never faltering.

“O–Oh, oh gods, f–fuck.” Your whimpering voice is nearly inaudible, the air in your lungs punched out with every thrust, your words senseless as your mind goes nearly blank from the pleasure. The coil is tightening faster than before, and you feel as though you’ll reach your peak any second.

When the coil snapped for a second time, you dug your nails into the Prince’s shoulders, crying out as he continued to fuck you through your peak. But, to your surprise, he didn’t stop. It took you a moment to realize he was still hard, that he hadn’t spilled yet, and this revelation, along with his relentless movements didn’t allow for your body to come down from the high you’d just achieved.

“O–Oh, oh, m–my p–prince, I–I can’t,” you were practically sobbing as he slammed his hips against you, over and over, and you feel as though his cock is in your womb he’s so deep inside you.

But he does not heed your words, does not slow his pace as he chases his own release. “I’m going to ruin you, my little shewolf,” he hisses in your ear, teeth nipping at your skin. “You’ll never be able to take another cock without thinking of me.” He punctuated each word with a brutal thrust. “When you lay in your marriage bed, and your lord husband takes you, he’s going to know that I was here first. That your sweet little cunt belongs to me, only me.” He circles your clit with rough fingers, and that’s the final push you need to fall over the edge. You come apart, legs shaking with the intensity, crying out into Prince Oberyn’s mouth as his lips take yours. He pulls away, thrusts beginning to falter. “W–Where, sweet girl?” His plea is desperate. “Tell me where.”

“I–Inside!” You gasp, and as he looks at you in shock, you repeat yourself. “Inside, please Oberyn, please!”

He comes with a violent growl, biting harshly at the skin of your shoulder as he pumps his hips once, twice, before he finally grows still. Despite feeling him grow softer inside you, the feeling of fullness remains. He does not pull out like you would expect, but falls to the side and pulls your sweaty body against his, hand stroking through your hair and down your bare back.

You lay your hands against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against your palm, racing, but slowing as you lay together. His arms around you are warm and sturdy, and you wish that the two of you could lay here for the rest of your lives.

Unfortunately, you knew he had to leave before your brothers or sister come back. Brandon and Ned would likely kill the Prince if they thought he’d shamed you in any way, although, could it really be shameful if you wanted it?

You could feel the rise and fall of his chest as Prince Oberyn breathed deeply. “I wish I could stay here with you, my love.” His hands toyed with your hair, admiring the way it slid through his fingers. “I am not in the habit of leaving a woman’s bed in the middle of the night,” he admitted softly. “If I could, I would wait til morning comes.”

You pressed your lips against his collarbone, feeling the warmth of his skin and the rush of his pulse. “I know, I wish you could stay, but I will not ask it of you. It would be too dangerous.” You whisper your words against his skin, closing your eyes tightly against the traitorous tears, but it is no use.

Oberyn must feel your tears against his skin, because he tilts your chin up to press a gentle kiss against your lips. When he draws away, he brushes his thumb against your cheek, wiping away your tears. “Please, do not cry, my shewolf. I do not wish to cause you pain.”

You laugh, throat tightening up as you try to stop the flow of tears. “I know this cannot last,” you say softly. “But I wish it did not have to end so soon.” Your Prince’s eyes are sorrowful as they look at you, but the both of you know there is nothing you can do. Your father would never agree to allow you to marry so far south, even for a prince.

The two of you lay in bed for a few minutes more, pressing gentle kisses upon each other’s skin, trying to memorize as much as you can before Oberyn must leave.

Before he leaves, he helps you clean up with a wet rag, watching as you pull your shift over your head, eyes dark as he sees the numerous marks littering your skin. He feels a vicious pleasure at seeing the imprint of his fingers at your hips, the bite marks across your chest and thighs. You will hopefully remember his touch for many weeks after this.

He dresses slowly, allowing you to sit on your bed and watch as inch after inch of bronzed skin is covered up by his tunic and breeches. He’s about to leave, when he turns suddenly, and marches back to where you sit, his hands resting on your neck as he tilts your head up and claims your lips one last time.

This kiss is different from all the others. The hard press of his lips conveys his sorrow and regret at leaving you like this, his fingers tightening on your skin to keep you still underneath him. Your mouth is pliant under his, letting him lead you in one last dance of passion and desire. When he breaks away, there are tears in his eyes, and you cup his cheek.

“I will never forget you, my Viper of Dorne.”

“Nor I you, my Shewolf of Winterfell.”

***

You were such a fool.

You’d woken up the next morning when Brandon had burst into your room, demanding to know if you’d seen Lyanna. He’d blushed when he’d seen you were still abed, but the worry clear on his face caused you to ignore the fact that he’d entered your private chambers without permission. When you’d told him that you hadn’t seen her since you’d left for Princess Elia’s chambers, he stormed out of your room, causing you to grab a dressing gown and rush out after him.

You found Ned, sitting in a chair, head in his hands, and Brandon was pacing frantically back and forth. When you demanded to know what was going on, Ned looked at you, and you were shocked to see tears in his eyes. You rushed forward, falling to your knees before your brother, taking his hands in yours and begging to know what happened.

“Lyanna’s been kidnapped.”

Eyes wide, you stared at Ned, mind blank as you tried to understand the words he’d said. You whipped your head around to look at Brandon, and the desolate look on his face told you all you needed to know. “Who? Who took her?”

Ned’s sorrow turned to anger. “The Silver Prince,” he spat. “Rhaegar Targaryen stole away with her in the night.” You couldn’t help the scoff that escaped your lips, and both of your brothers stared at you, confused.

“This isn’t a jape, a servant saw Rhaegar riding away with Lyanna on his steed, this is an act of war!” Brandon yelled, and you laughed bitterly, standing and turning to face him.

“Trust me on this, brother.” Your voice was cold, your previous panic and concern gone. “Prince Rhaegar committed no crime. Lyanna went with him willingly.” Your brothers both began to protest, but you held up your hand. “She has been smitten with him since we arrived. I told you that you should have dealt with her obsession, but you didn’t listen.” You sighed, dropping into a chair. “She was furious when you told her of her betrothal to Robert Baratheon. There is no doubt in my mind that she went with him willingly.”

Brandon sighed deeply. “It won’t matter if she went with him or if he kidnapped her. House Baratheon will not take this lying down. Robert has already declared that he will gather his men to march on the capitol.” You covered your mouth in shock.

“He didn’t ever speak with her and he’s willing to attack the Mad King, just to get Lyanna back? Is he insane?” You weren’t surprised, if you were being honest with yourself. You’d seen the lusty gaze of Robert on both you and Lyanna throughout the tourney.

Ned winced. “He loves her,” he protested, but the words sounded hollow, and you could tell he thought so too. You knew Robert didn’t love Lyanna. He lusted after her, there was no doubt, but it wasn’t love. But now that she was gone, he felt slighted, and wanted revenge. Sometimes she hated that she’d been born a girl, destined for men to sell her like cattle. She didn’t doubt that there would be war, and that her family would be right in the middle of it all.

Brandon stood, and she could see the tension throughout his frame. “Pack your bags, sister. You’ll leave with Ned for Winterfell as soon as possible. I need to write father, as I’ll be staying here, rallying the Houses in our alliance.” Ned began to protest, but Bran cut him off. “No, Ned, I need you to go to Winterfell, you have to protect her,” your brother’s voice was quiet, but you could hear it break as he looked at you. Standing, you rushed into his arms, burying your face in his chest as Brandon wrapped his arms around you, his shoulders shaking as he buried his face in your hair.

You’d never seen your brother this scared, and it silenced any and all protests you might’ve had. You’d dressed quickly, and as soon as your things were packed, you were on your way back to Winterfell. The trip took just under two days, and by the time you arrived, your father was just about to leave. He explained that Brandon had arrived in King’s Landing, only for King Aerys to take him hostage when he demanded Rhaegar return Lyanna. Lord Stark was going to King’s Landing to get his son and heir back, and that meant that Ned would be the acting Warden of the North.

Rickard Stark ordered you to stay inside, terrified that you would be taken next. You tried to argue, but your heart wasn’t in it. You knew how it looked, the Prince of Westeros kidnapping the daughter of the Warden of the North and the betrothed of Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. The North and the Stormlands would not let this insult go without punishment. But with the King’s madness, you were terrified for the safety of your father and eldest brother. You watched him leave, a pit in your stomach as you felt with a grim certainty that this would be the last time you saw your father.

When word arrived that Lord Rickard Stark and Lord Brandon Stark had been put to death by the Mad King, you were in Ned’s solar with him. You collapsed in shock and horror as the maester read the missive sent by King Aerys, demanding Ned and yourself present at King’s Landing, along with Robert Baratheon. You clutched at Ned as he cradled you in his arms, sobbing as he promised you that he’d never let the Mad King touch you, that he would get revenge for your family. You begged and pleaded with him to not go, but he told you that he didn’t have a choice. Jon Arryn was calling the bannermen to arms, and they were going to march on King’s Landing.

For the first two moons of fighting, you moved through Winterfell as a ghost. You spoke little, rarely leaving your rooms, and the only one you spoke to on any regular basis was your little brother, Benjen. You knew there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and you tried to help run the household as best you could, but your mind constantly wandered, worrying about your brother, and the attacks. You even worried about Lyanna, despite your anger at her.

You wrote somewhat regularly with Princess Elia, who told you of how she was being held in King’s Landing by King Aerys, to force Dorne to fight for the crown. Queen Rhaella protected her as best as possible, but now that she was showing, the King demanded she be kept guarded at all times. Your letters were disguised as being those written by a lady in the court in Sunspear, so that Elia couldn’t be accused of aiding the enemy.

At the start of the third moon after the beginning of what they were calling Robert’s Rebellion, you noticed that you were feeling sick with alarming regularity. You had a hard time keeping food down, and you were tired often. You wrote of your sickness in your letters to Elia, and all she could tell you was that your sickness sounded similar to how she felt when she was pregnant with Rhaenys.

And that’s when it hit you.

You hadn’t drunk moon tea after your night with Oberyn.

You wanted to hit yourself. You knew that he had a history of lying with women for a night, only for them to get with child. Gods, he had three bastards that he’d claimed, and who knew how many others could possibly be out there across Westeros and Essos. You lay a hand against your stomach, and noticed it felt firmer, hardened. You stared at the letter from Elia, the words seeming to float off the page. You were with child, Oberyn’s child.

You’d never imagined that any child of yours would be a bastard. You parents had told you often while growing up that you would marry some lord, to strengthen one alliance or another. You knew you’d be required to provide heirs. You’d thought about your future children with little fondness, knowing that you’d never love their father, and that they’d either be heirs or sold to other lords to forge yet more alliances.

But now that you were with child? A bastard child no less? You knew how Ned would react. He would be furious. You found yourself with a small sense of relief that Ned was off fighting, so that you might have time to figure out what to do. You knew if you asked the maester, he would give you a medicine to remove the child from your womb, but you didn’t want that. You couldn’t deny the excitement you felt at the idea of having a child with equal parts of you and Oberyn.

You decided to keep the child a secret as long as possible. The fewer who knew of your condition, the safer your babe would be.

***

The Mad King was dead. Prince Rhaegar was dead. Robert Baratheon was victorious over the armies of King’s Landing. You’d been summoned to the capitol, and Ned had sent word that he would be on his way as well, from the Tower of Joy. You were confused as to why your brother had been in Dorne, but didn’t press for answers. His letters had been getting shorter and shorter as of late, and you didn’t know why.

You didn’t know how, but you’d managed to keep the fact that you were with child a secret throughout the entirety of your pregnancy. You hardly showed, and you knew it had to be a sign from the gods, that you had done the right thing in not telling anyone. Your sickness had been easily explained away, and your tiredness was blamed on the loss of your father and brother.

But you were scared. As you arrived at the capitol, you knew you could give birth any day now, and giving birth in King’s Landing would be extremely dangerous. Robert Baratheon held no love for the Dornish, like most of Westeros, but the fact that Rhaegar had been rumored to have fled to Dorne with Lyanna ignited Robert’s temper.

As you walked into the throne room, you were shocked to see Elia, kneeling and in chains in front of the Iron Throne. Little Rhaenys was chained as well, and baby Aegon, not even half a year old, was in his crib, with a Kingsguard standing over him, weapon drawn. Robert was sitting on the throne, anger making his cheeks turn a ruddy color, and Ned stood next to him, looking exceedingly uncomfortable.

Running forward, you fell to your knees by Elia, ignoring the shouts of the men around you as you drew Rhaenys into your arms, shielding her as best you could. Elia looked shocked to see you, and you could see the tear tracks on her cheeks.

Whipping your head around, you glared viciously at Robert and your brother. “What is the meaning of this?” Your voice carried around the room, the tone as cold as a Northern winter. Robert and Ned looked at you, stunned. “I said, what is the meaning of this?!” You yelled, watching as your brother flinched.

But it wasn’t him who spoke. “The former princess and her children have been charged with crimes against House Stark and House Baratheon.” Jon Arryn swallowed harshly as you turned your glare on him. “They are to be put to death.”

You gasped, and Elia let out a sob next to you. You looked wildly from Robert to Ned and back to Robert. “What crimes could they have possibly committed? I was under the impression that hostages of war are not held accountable for the actions of their captors!” Your brother tried to speak but you would not let him. “You won the fucking war! Let it end! Peace has been brought back to Westeros, do not start this new era with the death of an innocent woman, a small child and a babe!”

“INNOCENT?” Robert roared, standing from the throne. “YOU WOULD CALL THEM INNOCENT? THEY’RE THE FAMILY OF THAT SILVER HAIRED BASTARD!” You saw your brother trying to frantically shush Robert, but he would not be quieted. “THE SAME BASTARD WHO KILLED YOUR TWIN SISTER! YOU DARE CALL THEM INNOCENT?”

Robert stood, chest heaving as he looked around the room. When his eyes landed on you, he took a step back. You were still kneeling, a look of shock on your face, tears in your eyes.

Fuck.

You hadn’t known.

Ned hadn’t told you of Lyanna’s death.

Faintly you heard Elia speaking to you, whispering frantically, apologizing over and over, swearing to the gods Old and New that she hadn’t known, that she’d had no idea Rhaegar had killed her, that she was so, so very sorry–

You cut her off with a hug, clinging to her dirty gown as you shook silently. Only Elia had known all of the emotions you’d run through during Lyanna’s disappearance. Only Elia had known that no matter how much you were mad at her, that you couldn’t hate your sister. That even though she’d been the catalyst to throw Westeros into war, you loved her still.

“You didn’t know.”

Robert’s voice was quiet, and you slowly pulled away from Elia to look at him. You were sure you looked a sight, tears in your eyes, an angry scowl upon your face. “No, Lord Robert, I did not know of my sister’s demise. Thank you, for informing me.” Your voice was thick with sarcasm, and you could see both men wince at your tone. “But if you think for one second that I would ever blame Elia and her babies for Lyanna’s death then you are as mad as King Aerys was!”

Ned’s eyes widened, and Robert stumbled back, sitting heavily on the throne as he stared at you. You were wrapped protectively around Rhaenys, glaring at the new king and your brother. You knew that your words could spark another conflict, but you would not sit back while Elia and her children burned for Rhaegar’s mistakes. You couldn’t.

“Exile.”

You looked at your brother, surprised. He looked surprised at himself, but when Robert made a confused noise, he continued. “Exile Elia and her children to Dorne. If her children swear to abdicate any right to the Iron Throne, they will be no threat to your rule. My sister is right, Robert.” Elia began sobbing anew at Ned’s words, but they were tears of hope. “Do not start your rule by executing a woman and her children for the crimes of her husband. Lyanna wouldn’t want that.”

It was Ned’s final sentence that seemed to break Robert out of his stupor. “Y–Yes, your right, as always Ned,” he muttered, and you dared hold your breath in hope. “Exile. They will be put on the first ship to Dorne. Elia Martell, you will forfeit on behalf of your children their right to the Iron Throne, and when they each reach the age of one-and-ten, they will reaffirm their forfeiture of the Iron Throne.”

It took Elia a moment to be able to speak, her voice breaking. “I so swear it, my lord,” she said, bowing her body, her nose almost touching the floor. “My children forfeit their right to the throne, and we will remain in Dorne for the rest of our days, my lord.”

There was a clanking as little Rhaenys tugged on your dress, trying to get your attention. You looked down at her, not noticing as the room fell silent around the two of you.

“I don’ want it,” the little girl’s voice was quiet, and she looked up at you with tears in her eyes. “‘M sorry, I don’ want the.. the…” She trailed off, little brow scrunching up as she tried to finish her sentence.

“Throne? You don’t want the throne, sweetheart? Is that it?” She nodded vigorously, and the rattling of the chains around her wrists as she shook in your arms made you flinch. “See, your highness? Rhaenys has declared she doesn’t want the Iron Throne. Is that enough for you?” Robert nodded weakly, gesturing for one of the Kingsguard to unchain Elia and Rhaenys. You hovered protectively, glaring at the guard, you thought it might have been Jaimie Lannister, when he was too rough in the handling of the former princesses.

As soon as Elia was unchained, she scooped Aegon into her arms, cradling him protectively to her breast. She bowed low, still shaking with fear, before Robert ordered one of the Kingsguard to escort her and her children to the docks. Ser Barristan Selmy stepped forward, gently laying a hand against Elia’s back as he began to lead her out. You went to follow, still hovering by Rhaenys, when Robert called for you to stay behind. You stopped, and Elia turned, nodding at your worried glance, telling you to stay behind. You nudged Rhaenys forward, before turning back to your brother and Robert.Robert looked uncomfortable as you continued to glare at him, and you finally turned to Ned for answers as to why you’d been asked to stay back.

“It was suggested…” Your brother looked just as uncomfortable as Robert. “That since Lyanna is… gone, the best way to show our support of Robert’s reign would be to join the two of you in marriage.”

You raised your eyebrows, looking back and forth between the two men as neither of them would meet your eyes. As your eyes fell on Jon Arryn, you realized that he must have been the one to suggest it, as neither your brother, nor Robert would have come up with marriage being the best way to join your houses. He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed at plotting the marriage between the new king and the twin sister of his newly-dead betrothed.

“Absolutely not.” Your eyes bored holes into Jon Arryn’s, refusing to back down, as would have been proper for a lady of your station. “I will not marry Robert Baratheon, now or ever. House Stark has lost more to this rebellion than any other of your allies, we have given enough. Now if you excuse me, I am going to say goodbye to Elia, as I will likely never see her again.”

You turned abruptly, storming from the throne room, and almost immediately, you ran into Lord Howland Reed. He was standing outside the throne room, holding a bundle in his arms. You stopped, surprised, and before he was able to hide the bundle, you saw what he was holding.

A babe.

A babe that looked like Lyanna.

Eyes wide, you grasped him by the arm and began to drag him with you as you continued out of the keep. “Lord Reed, whose babe is that?” You asked, almost afraid of the answer. He glanced at you cautiously, and you gripped his arm tighter. “Whose. Babe. Is. That?”

He sighed, looking around before leaning in to whisper in your ear. “When we found Lyanna, she had just given birth to Rhaegar’s child. She died soon after, but not before making Lord Stark promise to protect him.”

You stumbled. Lyanna? Pregnant? You clasped a hand over your mouth, and you feared you were going to be sick. And the fact that Rhaegar was the father? If Robert had wanted to kill Rhaenys and Aegon, just for being Rhaegar’s children, what would he do to this babe? You knew Robert would never accept that Lyanna had gone with Rhaegar willingly, and if he thought Rhaegar had raped her? He would kill this babe. You knew it.

“How does Ned expect to explain him to Robert?”

Lord Reed sighed. “Lord Stark plans to tell the King that the babe is his bastard–” You cut him off with a laugh.

“Ned? With a bastard? My brother must be insane,” you muttered. “The whole realm knows of the honor of House Stark, my brother the most of all. No one will believe he broke his marriage vows and sired a bastard.” You stopped, and held your arms out, gesturing for Lord Reed to give you the babe. “I will take him.”

Lord Reed looked at you, confused. “My lady, no one will believe him to be yours, I–” you cut him off once more, mind racing as you thought through your half-baked plan.

“People will more readily believe I gave birth to two bastards than Ned having just the one.” Lord Reed’s eyes widened, and they flickered down to your stomach before he flushed in embarrassment. “I will ride with Elia to Dorne. They are more accepting of bastards there, and while I will miss Ned and Benjen, it is difficult to stay in Winterfell when the rest of my family has perished. Please, give me the babe.”

Lord Reed handed you the child, and you looked down at the sleeping babe, his features thankfully purely Lyanna. “What’s his name?” Lord Reed winced.

“Lyanna named him Aegon.”

You frowned, anger coursing through you. How dare she? How dare your sister name her bastard the same name as Rhaegar’s trueborn son? You were sad at her passing, but the more you learned about what she’d done, the angrier you became. “Please explain to Ned what I’ve done. Tell him I will send a raven once I’ve reached Dorne. I do not wish to have contact with him until then.” At Lord Reed’s questioning glance, you sighed heavily. “His part in this war has angered me greatly. I need some time before I am able to speak to him rationally.”

Lord Reed nodded, and proceeded to escort you the rest of the way to the docks. When you reached them, you saw Ser Barristan, and quickly asked him which ship Elia was on. As he pointed it out to you, you curtsied to the men quickly, before rushing to the gangplank.

Elia was standing on the deck, and as she saw you approach, she rushed to meet you. When she saw the child in your arms, her confusion only grew, but you begged her to allow the ship to leave before you explained.

***

“What is going on? Why did you come with me? And where did the babe come from?”

Elia had been patient, explaining to the captain the change in circumstances, and waiting until nightfall to interrogate you. But now that the two of you were alone, with Rhaenys, Aegon, and Lyanna’s babe sleeping next door, she wanted answers.

“They wanted me to marry Robert, Elia. I couldn’t marry him, I refused.” Elia nodded in understanding. She wouldn’t want to be married to him either. “As for the babe? I’m so sorry, but he’s Lyanna’s son.”

Elia looked confused for a moment before she realized what you meant. Gasping, she threw her hands over her mouth, shock in her eyes. “H–He’s… he’s Rhaegar’s son, isn’t he?” You nodded, and she let out a small sob. “I–I never thought…”

“I didn’t think either of them capable of it either, Elia. I’m so sorry. I’m going to raise him as my son, as my own bastard.”

Elia shook her head frantically. “No! No, you can’t! That will ruin you, I know how they view bastards in Westeros. Your honor–” You smiled sadly.

“My honor will be besmirched any day now, Elia,” you told her softly, grasping her wrist and bringing her hand to rest against your stomach. “I will raise Lyanna’s son as my own, as a twin to my own bastard, and no one will know the difference. Besides,” You watched as her eyes widened when she felt your babe kick. “Mine own babe’s father is in Dorne.”

It took her a moment to realize what you had said, but you could tell when she did. She gasped loudly, eyes flying between your own and your stomach, before she swore. “Oh seven hells,” she groaned, and you laughed softly. “It’s my brother’s, isn’t it? It’s Oberyn’s.” When you nodded, she groaned again. “I should have known, especially when you wrote about being sick! Oh, I’m going to kill that man!”

“Please don’t!” You replied, laughing. “I rather like him, as it turns out.” You blushed as Elia smirked at you.

“I should force him to marry you,” she replied, looking at you critically. “I’d rather like having a sister, and it’s the honorable thing for him to do.”

You shook your head. “I don’t care about marriage. So long as he is willing to love his son or daughter, I will be happy,” you paused, thinking for a moment. “I do not expect him to love Lyanna’s babe, but as long as he respects my decision to raise him as my own, I think I can live with that.”

Elia looked pensieve. “I think he will be willing to overlook the babe’s parents. And if he doesn’t, well I can always smack him around.” The two of you laughed, giggling on the bed like a pair of young maidens, and everything was right with the world, just for a moment. “What will you name him? Lyanna’s son, I mean?”

You looked at her thoughtfully. “Jon. Jon Snow will be his name.”

***

You had hoped to arrive in Dorne before you gave birth, but the gods had other plans. Your water had broken one night, and Elia had called for the maester immediately. She’d stayed by your side the entire night, and after you gave birth, she was the one who handed your daughter to you. You looked down at her, and you could already tell that she was a perfect blend of your features and Oberyn’s. Her little eyes were scrunched shut, but when you held her against your breast, she latched on, clearly hungry. You had decided that you wanted to nurse your babe early on in your pregnancy, and when Jon had come into your life, you decided to nurse him as well.

As your daughter gently suckled at your breast, Elia came over, carrying Jon. You looked up at her, tired and sweaty, but overjoyed to finally be holding your daughter in your arms.

“What will you name her?”

You barely even had to think, as you had picked a name moons prior, and looking at your daughter, you knew it was perfect. “Sarella. Sarella Snow.” Elia cooed softly, stroking the soft hair on her head as she drank from your breast.

“A beautiful name. But are you sure she should be a Snow and not a Sand?”

You shook your head. “I want her to have a connection to the North, no matter how small. She is my daughter, and I am still a direwolf of House Stark, no matter where I reside.” Elia nodded in agreement, taking Sarella from you as she finished feeding, placing both babes on the bed next to you.

“We’ll be arriving in Dorne in a few days. I sent a letter ahead to Doran and Oberyn, so they know to meet us, but they do not know you are with me.” You looked at Elia, and she continued. “I figured my brother does not know of his daughter, and I assumed you wanted to be the one to tell him.”

You nodded. “Indeed. Thank you, Elia.” She left to allow you to get some rest, and you closed your eyes, knowing that your children were safe next to you.

***

You stood on the deck of the ship, watching as Sunspear came into view. Elia had come to get you a few minutes prior, telling you that you would be docking soon. You held both your children in your arms, Elia held Aegon, and Rhaenys stood between the two of you. As you got closer to shore, you could feel your pulse beginning to speed up, especially when you noticed the two Princes of Dorne standing on the docks, awaiting your arrival.

Elia lay a hand upon your arm. “Are you nervous?”

You laughed shakily. “Of course. I’d be mad if I wasn’t, I should think.” Elia squeezed your arm gently, and you smiled at her, thankful.

You could tell the minute Oberyn recognized you on board. You were close enough to see him physically react, grasping at his brother’s arm. You smiled, hoping he could see. You watched him as the ship pulled into port, gasping when he didn’t wait for the gangplank, instead he jumped, grabbing onto the ladder on the side of the ship. You stepped back, watching as he rose over the side of the ship, jumping over the railing and striding towards you, only to fall short as he realized what you were holding.

He stood in front of you staring intently at the babes in your arms, before his eyes raised to yours, the question clear. You took a small step forward, face deadly serious as you watched his reactions to your words. “This,” you said, gesturing as best you could, “is your daughter, Sarella.” You allowed him to slowly take Sarella from you, watching as he looked down at her, an expression of adoration clear on his features.

“And this,” you continued, drawing his eyes to the other babe in your arms. “Is my son, Jon.” You could tell he was confused, and you took a deep breath. “He is mine, in name and heart, and even partially in blood. My twin may have given him life, but he is mine son, and I will not allow anyone to take him from me.”

You waited with bated breath, for Oberyn’s reaction. You watched the emotions flicker across his face, confusion, understanding, then anger, and finally, acceptance. He raised Sarella up, pressing his lips against her forehead, before striding towards you, his hand not currently holding your daughter coming up to rest against Jon’s back, looking down at him. He pressed a gentle kiss to Jon’s forehead as well, and tears sprang to your eyes.

Oberyn looked at you intently, and you couldn’t look away.

“I think you must be confused, my love,” he began, his voice soft. “This is our son, Jon. He is our son, in name and heart and blood. You have given me two beautiful children, my shewolf. And I would take you for my wife, if you’ll have me.”

You gasped softly, somehow surprised, despite Elia’s reassurances that Oberyn would not reject you or Jon. Nodding, you smiled at your prince, the father of your children, and as he pressed his lips against yours, you felt peace for the first time in a long time.

Tagging, as promised: @din-damn-djarin, and @chibi-liz05! (And @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa!!)

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malfoymanortings · 4 years ago

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lavender and velvet //part two

SUMMARY: she had her fathers eyes, his aristocratic looks, her grandmothers spite, her mothers heart, but the one thing she didn't have was the love of her father that her god brother received. juliet black finally meets her father who has already decided who his child is.

PAIRINGS: to be decided.

hello again!! hope you all are doing well. i hope you all are enjoying juliet’s story so far! stay hydrated everyone.

“FILTHY BLOOD TRAITORS IN MY HOUSE, BESMIRCHING MY NAME, DISGUSTING-”

“Who the hell woke her up,” groaned Ginny, lifting her head off her pillow.

Juliet blinked blearily, the screaming words in the unfamiliar voice having woke her up. “What is that awful screaming?”

“That would be your grandmother's portrait,” Hermione yawned, standing up from bed and stretching her arms over her shoulder, her shirt riding up to expose her hips. “She absolutely hates us all.”

“Can we not burn it?” questioned Juliet, slinging her legs over the side of the bed and scratching her cheek.

Ginny shook her head, tossing her covers back and standing up. “Unfortunately, there's a rather tough permanent sticking charm on the back of it. No luck there.”

The girls made their way out of the room, watching as Sirius competed in a screaming match with his mother’s painting.

“Will you be quiet you bloody woman!” Sirius shouted, hitting the portrait with his palm. “Even in your death you manage to disturb me!”

“ROTTEN BLOOD TRAITORS, SHAME OF MY FLESH, IN MY HOME THE MOST NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK, HOW DARE THEY-”

“Enough!” roared Sirius, shutting the curtains with much more force than necessary. The screams filtered out, and finally silence echoed throughout the darkly lit hall.

“Who woke her this time?” queried Ginny, her voice quiet as to not wake the old woman.

“Your brothers,” Sirius shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his face. “They used their extendable ears on the meeting again, and they ran up the stairs to avoid your mother.”

Juliet watched as Sirius roamed his eyes over the girls, before stopping on her. He cleared his throat awkwardly, nodding to her. “Good morning.”

“One might think otherwise.” Juliet replied dryly, brushing past him.

There was an awkward silence that followed, and she was soon in the kitchen where Molly was cleaning up while Harry and Ron sat at the table, eating breakfast. Hermione and Ginny joined her, Hermione sitting next to Ron, and Ginny sitting across from them. That left Juliet to sit across from Harry, a slight frown on her face.

“You lot slept forever,” remarked Ron, taking a large bite out of his toast.

“Oh please, don’t act like you’re an early riser,” scoffed Ginny, scooping hash browns onto her plate. “This is the earliest you’ve been up in since the Quidditch cup, and I’m sure it was just because you were listening in with Fred and George.”

Ron’s ears turned red, and he mumbled something under his breath before taking a rather large drink of his pumpkin juice.

Juliet smirked, pouring herself tea, mixing in three sugars just as she liked it. A dash of cream, and it was complete. She sipped it slowly, the cup warming her cold hands. Grimmauld Place seemed to lack any sort of warmth, and the constant sound of wind blowing against the house was heard throughout.

“Morning, dears,” Molly greeted the girls, setting down a bowl of fruit. “Help yourselves.”

As the rest of the table conversed among each other, Juliet stayed quiet, mulling things over in her head. She supposed it wasn’t too much unlike her other summers, as she stayed with the Weasley’s quite frequently, due to Remus’ condition, but it was too different for her to compare. Her father was here this time.

She had imagined this scenario many times before in her head, especially at night as a young girl. It was much different than this, however; normally her father would break out of Azkaban for her, and steal her away from Remus so she could help him with the Dark Lord. Once she found out he was innocent, her story shifted, and suddenly it was him breaking out of Azkaban to live a life with her, and proclaim his innocence.

No matter the scenario she thought up, he always came back for her. She never thought there was someone else who he loved more.

“You alright?” Harry’s voice broke her out of her thoughts, and she realized she had been clenching her tea much so hard her knuckles were white.

“Fantastic,” she replied sarcastically, skewering him with a hard look. “I’m having the absolute time of my life.”

Harry blinked, and averted his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking away from her. Juliet rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

Ginny nudged her, a silent plea to be nice. Juliet sighed, tapping her nails on the table. She wanted to be anywhere else but here.

She finished her tea quickly, and slipped out of the room. Wandering the halls, she herself drawn to a small room with winding branches as wallpaper. As she looked closer, she realized it was the Black family tree.

Stepping further into the room, she looked closely at the names. She found the Malfoys, and she trailed her finger down the silver line connecting Lucius and Narcissa to Draco. A smile graced her face, and she wondered what her cousin was up to. Usually, the two of them spent time together over the summer, but with her spending time at Grimmauld Place, she wouldn’t be able to. Narcissa was lovely, and liked her niece, but Lucius wasn’t fond of her. However, she doubted Lucius was fond of anyone aside from Narcissa.

“I see you’ve found the family tree.”

Juliet turned to see Sirius leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. Instantly, she put her guard up, letting her arm drop to her side and her smile slip off her face.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Juliet paused. “I can leave.”

Sirius shook his head, striding forward. He stood next to her, looking at the branches. “This is your family history too. You haven’t got to leave.”

Juliet turned her attention back to the silver lines. Sirius leaned forward, pointing to a black spot on the wall.

“That’s where my name was,” he explained. “And your mothers. My sweet old mother blasted me off once I ran away from home.”

“How did mine and my mothers name get on here?” asked Juliet, looking sideways at her father.

“Well, whenever a Black is born they automatically get written into the tree,” Sirius let out a breath. “Your mother and I were both blood traitors, which is why our names were burnt out. Either she died before you were born, or she didn’t rush to make a judgement on you. I’m betting she died.”

Juliet nodded, her eyes drifting over towards Narcissa once more. Bellatrix was on there as well, of course, connected to Rodolphus Lestrange.

“I never thought I’d be stuck in this house again,” Sirius said darkly, shoving his hands in his pockets. He walked away then, pausing in the doorway. “You’re welcome to look anywhere you would like. Maybe you’ll feel more comfortable if you do, after all, Slytherin pride was rampant in this house.”

For some reason, that comment rubbed her the wrong way. Before she could question exactly what he meant by that, his demeanor changed. He smiled brightly, holding his hands out.

“Harry,” He grinned, walking out of the room. “Molly putting you lot to work?”

Juliet stared out at where her father had just been, feeling her chest tighten. It was like he couldn’t be bothered to have more than a five minute conversation without feeling the need to run off to Harry. Feelings of unwant swept through her, and her throat tightened.

She turned her attention back to the wall, and she drifted her fingers across the lines. There were many other burn marks in the wall, and she could almost imagine her grandmother blasting the names off, perhaps laughing wickedly while doing so.

Someone entered the room, and Juliet turned to see who it was. To her disappointment, it was Harry.

“This room is occupied, you know,” she said quietly, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m sure there’s many other places in this house you can be.”

“I can’t seem to understand why you dislike me so much,” responded Harry, stepping hesitantly in the room. “I dunno what it is that I’ve done-”

“I never said I dislike you,” she interrupted, stopping herself from rolling her eyes.

“If you don’t dislike me, then the way you’re acting is uncalled for.”

Again, her temper flared. “Uncalled for? You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Harry was cut off by Sirius entering the room, smiling at Harry. “Harry, there you are. I see you found Juliet. I’ve been meaning to talk to the both of you together, anyways.”

Juliet looked to Sirius, her fists balling up. She felt the sharp stab of her nails digging into her palm, but she didn’t care. She had a dark feeling she wasn’t going to like what he said.

“After my name is cleared,” Sirius began, his hands clasped behind his back. “I was thinking we could all finally be a family. We could all live here, or perhaps-”

“No,” Juliet cut him off, her temper coming to the surface. “You don’t need to include me in your plans out of pity. You want that for you and Harry. You don’t want me involved.”

“Why would you say that?” Sirius questioned heatedly. “I want the both of you-”

“Yet you only made time for one,” she shot back, her chest heaving. “You only escaped because Harry was in danger. Not because you missed your daughter. Not because you wanted your daughter. Because you wanted Harry. And each day, you make that abundantly clear.”

“You can’t seriously believe that!” exclaimed Harry, shaking his head. “He’s been trying to connect with both of us, but you keep yelling at him every chance you get-”

“Who did he send letters to?” Juliet seethed, glaring at Harry. “Who did he promise a life with third year? You. The only contact I had with him was Remus telling me it wasn’t safe for him to see me. But he saw you. He sent you letters. He couldn’t do the same for me?”

“Juliet, that’s enough,” Remus appeared behind Sirius, his face grim. “I understand you’re frustrated and hurt, but yelling at your father constantly isn’t going to bring the two of you closer.”

“I haven’t been yelling at my father,” she scoffed, brushing past the two men. “Not once did I shout your name, did I, Remus?”

It was quiet behind her after she said that. She was hoping the message had gotten through, that Sirius understood her hurt. That he understood that she didn’t view him as her father. As far as she was concerned, Remus was her dad. After all, he raised her. Took care of her. Told her stories of her father, making her think how great of a man he was, making her think that when she finally met him he would love her instantly-

Instead, that love went to Harry.

She didn’t realize she was crying until Ginny wiped her tears, leading her into their shared room. Ginny hugged her tightly, letting Juliet cry into her shoulder. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want to be weak.

Juliet pulled away, sniffing and wiping her face. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Ginny gave her a squeeze, nudging her shoulder. “That’s what family’s for.”

“I went fifteen years without him, y’know,” she said quietly, her hands in her lap. “I didn’t need him then, and I don’t need him now.”

Ginny bit her lip, and Juliet had known her long enough to know the fiery haired girl had something to say, but kept it quiet. Probably a good thing, because if one more person defended her father, she might combust.

“How about I go get you a snack?” Ginny stood, giving her shoulder one last squeeze. “You only had tea for breakfast. I bet mum has something sweet hidden away from Ron.”

Juliet laughed, nodding her head. Ginny left then, leaving Juliet to herself.

It was just like she had told Ginny. Fifteen years had passed without him involved. She wasn’t going to force him to be a parent. She had the Weasley’s. Remus. The Malfoy’s.

Maybe she should go visit them.

one

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five

taglist: @person1839

again, just send me a message if you would like to be added to the taglist xx

#sirius black daughter #juliet black #george weasley #hermione granger #ginny weasley #harry potter #fred weasley #weasley #granger #hermione #ginny #sirius black #remus lupin #hp

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hpdabbles · 4 years ago

Note

MORE ADAMS FAMILY ADOPT HARRY

The first day of term is always a hectic one. Just getting the children onto the train could be a headache and a half, especially when herding muggle-born and their families who stop to stare at anything randomly.

The conductor has been working this job for over thirty years, had seen lots of young faces come and go, strange, different, and magical. He experienced a lot through the years, have lived with the war was at it’s peak, and counted the children who disappeared never to be seen again on the along the tracks.

He has watch children , laugh, cry, scream, and run about as the train loaded for the trip. He’s good at his job, can get the trip done on time every time and had most of the work down to a art form. There has been trails and tribulations but he’s survived them all.

But nothing could prepare him for the day the Addams crossed the barrier.

At first he thought them a average magical family, the mother in a fabulous tight black dress, that played homage to robes at the edges and while the father looked more muggle he had a eye catching grin, that almost made up for it. The three children with them were all dress in black of different shades, the little girl in a black dress with her hair down in interesting loop braids. The youngest seems to be the boy in a white stripped shirt the only other color on him and the oldest- who most likely was the first year- wore a long trench coat with a fedora.

The family of five moved with a grace that screamed aristocrats, charm in each of their steps, but the conductor could not pin point the family line they came from. He watched as the children eyed everyone there, the eldest with a smile that held his father’s charm and cutting edge while the young girl seemed unimpressed with everyone around her.

The eldest pulled out the informative parchment Hogwarts gives muggle-borns families every year- explaining how to write letters, where to do, what the train entitles the likes- for his parents. The three bend over the parchment talking among themselves as the young girl walked around looking at the train with a almost detached interest.

The conductor couldn’t take his eyes off them, because while they seemed magical they also didn’t seem like they were around wizards or witches often.

As he was watching them he took notice that the youngest boy was playing with something and it came to a great alarm that thing, turn out to be a dagger that he passed between his hands. His parents didn’t notice as the young male turn around, thus keeping it out of their sight, twirling it back and forth while watching bystanders as if though he was picking a victim from the crowd to sink the blade into.

The conductor couldn’t allow that to happen. He was walking in their direction before he realized it. “Excuse me sir! Your boy is playing with a knife! He could cut his finger off!”

The man looked up form the parchment but instead of scolding the boy he smiled fondly. It had a hint of madness that had the worker feel slightly off-footed. “Yes. My Pugsley is quite good with the blade, he can cut a finger nail clean off. He wanted to bring his machete, but I had to talk him down and remind him this is Harry’s big day. Gomez Addams, a pleasure to meet you, good sir.”

He held out his hand and the conductor had no choice but to take it. The strange man shook it with a firm grasp. He gestured to the woman who offered her own smile, and the red of her lips stood out on her deathly pale skin. “My wife, light of my bleak empty life, Morticia.”

“Oh Gomez” The woman sighs in a lovely accent that he can’t identify,placing her hand on his shoulder in a act of utter devotion. It made the conductor feel slightly envious. A perfect marriage is something that has escape him through the years.

“And this here, is Harry, my eldest and soon to be student of Hogwarts.” He pats the shoulder of the boy with the fedora, his Spanish accent making the words honey. One green eye peaks up at him from around the brim and the boy offers him a wink and a smirk. “ My daughter Wednesday and Pugsley is the lad with the knife. They are terrible vile monsters who I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy.”

The conductor wasn’t sure what to make of a man who spoke in such loving tones but used such hateful words. “It’s...a pleasure? My name is John.”

“I once knew a man named John. He died screaming.” Gomez says with a eager smile and John finds himself taking a step back. He been a conductor for years, with some parents screaming in his face, demanding special treatment for the children who would be Heirs to noble and ancient house and never had he ever felt more terrified for his life then at that moment.

Suddenly Harry stepped forward, taking the burned of having to say anything back to the obvious mad man. “Dad, I have to get onboard, the train leaves in three minutes and I haven’t even found a seat.”

Morticia let out a sigh, reaching down to bring the child into a hug. The black of their clothing matching as she brushed his hair under his hat. “You will write to us won’t you? Keep us updated on everything. Try your best in class?”

“Yes, Mom” Harry said in a strange accent. Unlike his parents he sounded less like he grew up in a foreign language and land but there is still hint of it in the way he says Mum. “I want to make lots of friends too.”

Morticia smile turns slightly strain but then it evens out and she hugs him tight her arms wrapping him all around his back. “Of course you will. Get going now.”

“Have a lovely time Harry.” Gomez says stepping forward to hug the boy as well, with the same amount of arms as his wife, which surprises John. Most fathers only do side hugs and they are fleeting, but the way Harry leans into the touch with a smile has something in John warming.

Not many children get to experience such loving parents.

“Try not to let them make you too....normal while your there, Harry” Wednesday comments stepping up to her brother who laughs after letting go of his father and pulls her in a hug of her own. She makes a face but she returns it either way, and despite the lack of emotion in her expression John gets the sense she is relishing in her brother’s embrace.

“I’m already normal. Will you love me even though I am?” Harry asks and Wednesday is quick to agree, claiming he is her brother and it matters little anything else besides that. John thinks it adorable though he can’t help but wonder what do they mean with normal?

“Bye Harry! Blow something up and send me the scabs!” Pugsley chirps, going for his own hug which Harry easily accepts. The two brothers lean from side to side during their hug in a strange but excited hug and the fedora wearing one laughs loudly.

“I don’t like scabs, you know that. Would a toilet seat be alright? I promise to drop one of your bombs in it and send you the pieces left over.”

Pugsley beams like a star in the darkest of nights, jumping around in a circle and cheering. He’s acting like Harry offered his old racing broom.

John slowly backs away from the odd family, Gomez sees the actions calling out. “Have horrible day John!” as he makes a run back to the front and get the train going.

It’s much later, that he finds out Harry in the black fedora is Harry Potter and the most famous boy in the magic world has been adopted by the Addams Family, who have been known to mingle with some of the darkest of people. Rumors where one of them used to sleep with one of the Slytherin heir, learning Parseltongue and had been killed by a group of muggles who beheaded him for it.

The family is known in MCUSA for always tip toeing their laws, close to breaking them but never being caught and could be considered the American version of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, madness and all.

Harry Potter also prefers to go by Harry Addams Potter and bad things tend to happen to any of his classmates who don’t seem to understand that. If a boy who was able to kill a Dark Lord at the age of one is powerful, John shudders to think what Harry raised by blood thirsty evil Addams will accomplish.

He hears from one of his nieces that one of accomplishment is actually Harry overflooding all the female bathrooms until every female who ever participated in throwing books at Moaning Myrtle apologizes to the ghost. The boy somehow makes a point of letting them know he did it without a any proof to get him expelled.

His niece then proceeds to gush about Harry Addams Potter scaring some of his Slytherin housemates into leaving the Hufflepuffs alone, and that his “Dreamy in a scary way” which John doesn’t know what that even means.

#Anonymous #Harry Potter #Hpdabbles #Addams family #In which Harry Potter gets adopted into the Adams family #Morticia Addams #Wednesday Addams #Pugsley Addams #Dark but not evil Harry #Harry is the black sheep of the family as a normie but they love him anyway #John the conductor is scared #Part 2

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solastia · 4 years ago

Text

Love And Lies | 1

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x F!Reader

Summary: You are a simple maid. When your lady and dearest friend need help escaping an arranged marriage with King Seokjin so they might be together, you do the only thing you can - take her place.

A/N: It was my intention to not post this story until it was totally completed, but I got too excited. There are about three chapters already in my drafts and I just really like how it’s turning out. Don’t worry, I’m still totally working on everything else too. I’m just going through a list of popular tropes that I’ve never gotten around to writing for, and this one covers both historical and arranged marriage. I’ll be posting the last chapter of Tuqburni as soon as I get it back from my beta and finish any corrections. Make sure to leave lots of comments on this one!

“I will not do this. He cannot force me to marry some strange man for his own selfish grab for power.”

“He can. You know he does this with your best interests in mind, my lady. And everything is already arranged. You leave in the morning.”

You listen to the now familiar argument as you fold your mistress’s garments into the opulently decorated trunks. A door slams, followed by a crash like something delicate hit the wall and a high-pitched scream resonated throughout the massive bedroom.

You sigh tiredly, knowing that the woman’s ire was going to be filling your own ears next.

“What are you doing, ___? I just said I wasn’t going.”

Lady Eleanor Rose D’Aily flounced back into her bed chambers, her rosy lips turned down in a petulant pout and her wilting golden curls bouncing around as she flung herself across her bed.

“I’m afraid Master Steward already spoke with me while you were on your afternoon ride. He ordered me to pack your belongings and warned that guards would be here to escort us at first light. And,” you add, flashing a warning glance at your impulsive charge, “He informed me that guards are being placed outside of your doors and windows should you attempt to escape your fate.”

“Ugg, this is torturous. Why is Papa doing this? I always thought he’d want to keep me close. Why send me to some old man that I’ve never met and will never love?”

“I dare say he believes he secured his beloved child a bridegroom most could only dream of. After all, you’ve been selected by the King of Verinthia himself - who is not yet thirty, mind you. You’re to be Queen Eleanor of Verinthia. Think of all the wondrous things you can do for your people.”

At that her lady sighed, pondering that point. For though your mistress was unarguably spoiled, she still had a good heart. You had no doubt that if she were to be Queen, a great deal of good would be done under her reign.

“But...Jungkook. I don’t want to marry anyone but Jungkook.”

And that was the core of this rebellion. As cliché as it was, Lady Eleanor - the only child of the Duke Of Nevers - was in love with a mere Knight.

Sir Jungkook Jeon had basically been raised right alongside Eleanor after being sent by his Baron father to foster under the Duke. The lad was the youngest of eight and there was nothing left for him to inherit, so he was sent out to make his own way in the world.

He had started as a pageboy at the age of nearly eight, became the Duke’s squire at fourteen, and had been knighted and declared Captain of Lady Eleanor’s guard at eighteen. All of his formative years had been spent here at Nevers and all of them included his tiny blonde shadow begging for some scrap of his attention. The fact that somewhere along the line that childhood friendship morphed into love did not surprise you overly much.

Especially since you had been their third wheel for just as many years, and they were your dearest friends - as much as one can be friends between nobles and servants.

You had been assigned to the six-year-old Eleanor when you had been eleven, and she had always treated you more as a big sister than simply her personal maid. Therefore, you had been dragged through every mischievous plot the two had come up with, listened to them wax poetic about each other until you wished your ears would fall off, and helped transport letters between the two like their own personal pigeon.

However, no one cheered for their love more than you, either. Your lady was pampered and naïve but possessed a kind heart and a fun-loving personality that made her hard to dislike. Add to that Sir Jungkook’s honor and legendary ambition - tempered by his mischievous tendencies - and you had a match blessed by the heavens.

As far as you were aware, he’d been the very picture of Knightly chivalry and had not given in to your lady’s more impulsive urges for…taking liberties. Though you could often catch him staring longingly at Eleanor, she often bemoaned his refusal to so much as kiss his lord’s daughter beyond a chivalrous one on the back of her hand.

And now - now the poor Sir Jungkook was going to have to watch the love of his life being sent to the King. Your heart aches for the pair.

You watch as a single glistening tear rolls down your lady’s flawless cheeks.

“Do you think Papa and His Majesty will at least let me keep Jungkook as my Captain?”

You sigh and sit next to her, reaching over to run your fingers through her hair soothingly.

“He’s going to be part of our escort, but that’s it. Once we reach the palace, the Duke has stated that he’ll be granting Jungkook leave from the remaining year of service he owed - along with a keep of his own for his many years faithfully served. I heard him say it was about time Sir Jungkook started a family of his own.”

“And that’s not going to happen with anyone but my Ellie.”

The two of you whirled when the words reached you from her balcony, where a disheveled Sir Jungkook heaved himself from the massive oak he had climbed to get there.

“Jungkook!” Eleanor exclaimed happily, throwing herself at the beaming Knight.

How beautiful they looked together, even with Eleanor’s eyes reddened from tears and the leaves and twigs adorning Jungkook’s long ebony hair which had long been released from it’s usual leather tie.

“Greetings, Sis,” Jungkook grins cheekily over Eleanor’s shoulder at you.

“Evening greetings to you, Sir J…” Jungkook clears his throat at you in warning. You sigh wearily, “Fine. Greetings, Jungkook. What brings you to a chamber where you’re likely to get all our heads lopped off?”

His grin transforms into a smile of triumph as he holds Eleanor to his side tightly. “I had an idea!”

“Ooh, yes. That is news,” you nod, letting humor color your tone in the privacy of this room.

Eleanor giggles while Jungkook merely rolls his eyes. “I’m deadly serious. I have a solution that will be wonderful for us all.”

“Ohhh, My handsome Knight is so wise,” Eleanor sighs and leans her head into the preening man’s shoulder.

“You haven’t even heard the plan yet. It could be absurd,” you snort, rolling your eyes.

“It’s...a little absurd,” Jungkook muses aloud, and you grunt at Eleanor as if to say ‘Told you so.’

“Out with it, my love. I’m willing to consider anything to get us out of this madness,” She implores him with an impatient tug on his sapphire tunic - the one that Eleanor had hand-embroidered herself for nearly two years, you noticed.

“I will indeed escort you to the palace. However, once there…” Jungkook begins nervously, while you glare at him in suspicion. He refuses to meet your eyes straight on. This was never a good sign.

“Yes? Once there…” you prompt with a quirked eyebrow.

“Once there...you’ll switch with Ellie,” he says with an audible gulp. “She’ll pretend to be your maid in public and you’ll be the King’s betrothed. I’ll tell the Duke that I will stay on as Captain of the guard until I receive several copies of the deed to the keep he promised me. Once I have that in hand, Ellie and I will wed and it will be too late for him to stop us. You can simply tell the King that you don’t think you’ll suit and then I’ll spirit you both away to my keep!”

You were appalled. “So many sins in that one little plan. So many lies and…” you angrily huffed, folding your arms. “Jungkook, no one is going to believe that I’m a Duke’s daughter, nor a candidate to be Queen. My mother is a seamstress and my father is a tanner. I don’t have a single drop of noble blood in my veins. I’ll be found out and beheaded in a day.”

“Oh, but you’ve essentially been raised in a Duke’s household,” Eleanor added helpfully, obviously on board with Jungkook’s foolish plan for the simple reason that it came out of his mouth. “You were right at my side through every lesson and know everything as well as I,” she cocked her head as she stared at you thoughtfully. “And not that it will come to that, but I think you would make a wonderful Queen.”

Jungkook smiles fondly at his love, bringing her hand up to his lips to place a chaste kiss on the back of it before he strides purposely towards you. The Knight falls to one knee before you and grasps both of your hands into his, looking up at you with warm brown eyes.

“You have always been our dearest friend and the sister of our hearts, no matter our stations. I know what I’m asking of you is more than a simple favor - it’s a risk to our lives, though mainly yours. Know that I do not ask lightly, for your life is as precious to me as my Ellie’s. This is the only way I can think of to save myself and her from a life of misery. I have tried everything, Sis. I...I even dropped to my knees and begged the Duke for permission to court her.”

“You did what? When was this?” Eleanor exclaimed, and even you leaned forward in shocked wonder.

“A fortnight ago. That’s when he offered me the keep. He simply laughed at my request and said that I have been too isolated here and must have forgotten that other women exist beyond these walls. That I only offered for Ellie out of familiarity. He said perhaps if he hadn’t had better offers for her he would have considered it since I am a fine man, but he’d already talked up the King and no one could ask for better than that,” he finishes with a mocking scoff.

You sigh heavily and glance out the balcony window at the darkening sky. It was true that all seemed rather hopeless for the two of them. No doubt if you ignored this plan and simply went forward with the way it was supposed to, Eleanor would despise you. You would be instrumental in denying her from being with her love and shuffled off to an affectionless arranged marriage. Jungkook would either go off to his keep and live alone forever or demand a position in the palace to keep watch over her from afar, breaking his own heart day after day.

But...there was also your own self to consider. Say you did this thing...you would have to pretend for however long it took for Jungkook to get his affairs in order that you were the daughter of one of the most powerful nobles in the land. That there was something about you worth placing on the throne next to the young King and ruling over the lives of thousands. And if you were to slip up even once, you could spend the rest of your life in the dungeon or beheaded in the royal courtyard.

If you were wiser, perhaps less sentimental, you would say them nay. You would continue packing and close your ears to their pleas. However, when Eleanor drops to her knees next to Jungkook and stares at you imploringly with tears in her pretty blue eyes, twining her hand into her love’s like it might be the last time, you knew you were going to relent. No two people deserved to be with each other more than they. And besides, if this plot were successful, you would tag along to the new keep with them and happily stand at their side as they built a new life together, full of love and hope, and possibly children. You certainly had doubts about the two of them as parents without you around anyway. Jungkook would give their child a real sword at two years and wonder why people were missing ears. Eleanor would cry when it came time to change a nappie.

“Get up, you two,” you grunt wearily. What had you done to deserve being stuck with these two for life? “I’ll do it.”

“You will?” Eleanor squealed, throwing herself onto you with a whirl of costly silk and rose oil.

You nod. “I will do my best. Just know that if I die, I will haunt both of you.”

Jungkook grins, “We’d deserve it.”

He grabs your hand and places a brisk kiss on the back of it, then does the same for Eleanor before striding back towards the balcony.

“Get some rest, ladies. We leave at first light and it will take us several days to reach the palace by carriage.”

He vaults over the balcony onto the oak tree and disappears from sight. Eleanor sighs and sits next to you on the bed, lacing an arm in yours and placing her head on your shoulder.

“Think you this scheme will work?” She asks softly.

“It has to,” you whisper.

And it does. The consequences if it did not were far too dire.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #kim seokjin #seokjin #seokjin fanfic #seokjin scenarios #jin #seokjin x reader #mxr #solastia #medieval #historical!au #King Seokjin #love and lies #jin x reader

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cant-think-of-anything · 4 years ago

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Pirate AU (Part Nine)

Kamala sought out Grace as soon as she returned back to their own ship.

It wasn’t a difficult task, Grace was always lurking down near the lower levels when Kamala tried to find her. She desperately needed to talk to her before Tatiana recovered, before Tatiana tried to get into her daughter’s head as she always did.

“Grace!” She called, making her way down the winding pathways.

Before she could shout again she caught a glimpse of her, sitting cross legged on one of the empty beds that was meant to belong to a military official. Like most things in their life, the ship was stolen.

“What do you want?” Grace sighed irritably.

“You can’t be enjoying this,” Kamala said softly, approaching the girl carefully.

“Why wouldn’t I be? They deserve it after all.”

“Oh? Alastair Carstairs deserved to be jailed and sent to trail?”

Kamala was worried about him too. She knew the London government wouldn’t take mercy on a dark-skinned foreigner, especially one with a vague backstory that could easily crumble upon closer examination.

Grace stiffened, discomfort seizing her face for a moment. “If that’s what it takes.”

“I know you think that your mother is right, that these families deserve to suffer. But Tatiana lies.”

“They killed my family,” Grace hissed. “Why should I have mercy?”

“Tatiana may not be responsible for her husband’s death but she certainly played a role in her son’s death.”

Her eyes went wide. “Jesse?” Suddenly there was no hostility in her voice anymore. Just pain.

“Before I joined Tatiana I tried to dig up information about her. She let Jesse become sick and she let him die. Some sort of crude point to the Herondales, that if they wronged her they would have blood on their hands. And when that wasn’t enough she went after their children. Please Grace. I’ll prove it to you if I have to,” She gently laid a hand on the younger girls shoulder. “But don’t let your mother take another child’s life.”

~~~

Alastair inwardly groaned when he heard the door open once more. It had been doing that all morning, or at least, he assumed it was morning. He wondered if all prisoners were told so little about their situations. Even more unfortunately a rather unpleasant man was questioning him.

“Where were you born?” Charles Fairchild asked, his bright red hair giving Alastair an intense headache.

“Paris,” He responded, which was true enough.

Charles gave him a skeptical look which he leveled with a glare. Honestly were all English people so dim-witted?

“I would like to speak with my sister,” Alastair said before Charles could question his place of birth further.

“You are in no place to make demands.”

Alastair smiled lightly. Careful not to reveal anything true, he leaned forward. “Aren’t I? Fairchild, the youngest of the two is known to frequent scandalous places but the eldest is a reserved politician with a lovely fiance. So why was said eldest Fairchild seen multiple times near a bar reserved for rather improper activities among the youth? I could dig deeper if I wished but I don’t believe either of us want that.”

Charles had turned an alarming shade of red. At least he matched his hair now.

“So,” Alastair said tilting his head to one side. “My sister?”

~~~

Cordelia’s first choice for any venture would’ve obviously been Lucie, but she found herself quite amused in Ms. Lightwood’s company.

“You seem to be quite distracted lately,” Cordelia started, her voice low but clear in the chatter of the London streets. She’d been beyond relief to get a permit to visit her brother earlier in the morning, but she felt nerves build up thinking of what was to come.

“Haven’t we all?”

“Not in that way,” Cordelia responded, grinning when Eugenia’s face flushed.

“And you are an exception? Is staring at Lucie a hobby of yours then?”

Cordelia sputtered, and Eugenia laughed.

“So I was right! Delightful. Tell me all about it darling.”

Cordelia’s face heated up. She knew she wasn’t being subtle with her yearning but she hadn’t expected someone to pick up on it quite so fast. “I don’t know what to say about it-or to her. The timing of it all seems horrendous. I don’t even know how she feels about me. We’re friends aren’t we?”

Eugenia snorted, “Oh you’re certainly more than friends. I don’t see you wistfully gazing at me or Thomas.”

“You and Thomas seem to have your own people to gaze at,” She retorted, smiling when Eugenia stopped talking. She wanted to ask but she also didn’t want to push.

“We’re here,” Cordelia said, instead regarding the building with distaste. “Stuffy nobles and their stuffy rooms with their-” She broke off and looked guiltily at Eugenia. “I apologize.”

Eugenia simply looked amused as they stepped inside, following the person leading them to the jail room. “Don’t apologize. I’m rather tired of it myself. I wish-”

She was cut off by their guide opening the doors and saying “Five minutes. That’s all.”

Cordelia pushed past him, running to where her brother glanced up from his book, a half amused, half worried look on his face. Where he managed to get a book in prison was beyond her. She wrapped her hand around the metal bars.

“What do we do?” She whispered, horrified by the desperation in her voice. “How do we get out of this?”

Alastair didn’t respond for a moment, brief concentration flickering over his face before he responded, “The trail will be private. I have an idea but you’ll need to create a distraction for me.”

“Distraction? Of what kind?”

“Anything that will take their eyes off me.” Then he stopped. “But please Layla, do try not to destroy the entire city in the process.”

She glared at that, flicking his arm lightly though inside, she felt a bit of worry dissipate. “Fine. I will. Will you be alright? This prison seems rather cramped.”

“There are worse.”

“I suppose so.” Her voice went low. “Did they hurt you? On the ship?”

“No. They didn’t.”

Cordelia wanted to believe her brother but Alastair had mastered the art of spinning stories to soften both his pain and hers. Before she could push any further she felt Eugenia’s hand grip her shoulder. Cordelia nodded, pulling away from the cell.

“A distraction. We can manage that.”

~~~

Lucie tapped her fingers anxiously against the counter she was seated on, the repetitive noise drowned out by the chaos that was Christopher’s lab. She wasn’t entirely sure why she had come down to her cousin’s laboratory but she quite enjoyed it. There was something soothing about the disorder. Thomas had accompanied her, now sitting next to Chistopher, anxiously watching the controlled fire.

“Christopher!” She called, waiting for him to glance up from his notebook where he was furiously scribbling something down. “What would be your advice,” She started, choosing her words carefully, “to someone who needs to confess something, but isn’t sure how to go about it?” Thomas looked up as if he too was interested in the answer.

Christopher put down his pen, tilting his head. “This is about Cordelia?”

Lucie choked, nearly slipping off the counter. “Why- why would you-”

“I thought everyone knew,” He said, giving her a perplexed look.

Lucie had no response to that. She stared at the ceiling, willing her face to stop flaming. The door swung open and it took every ounce of her will to not run out of the room when she saw Cordelia and Eugenia step in.

“You’re here!” Cordelia exclaimed, smiling.

Lucie just nodded faintly, glaring at Eugenia’s knowing smile.

“We needed to get something, do you think you could help us?” Cordelia asked, looking at Christopher.

Christopher lit up, listing off ideas rapidly. Lucie smiled and crossed over to where her friends were seated, listening to him talk excitedly.

“Do you need help?” Lucie asked, once they had all reached a general consensus.

Eugenia and Thomas had to return home, worried that their parents would notice such a lengthy absence but Cordelia and Lucie opted to stay with Christopher.

When he shook his head, Cordelia piped in “Explain it to us then? My brother talks often about criminal forensics and I would like to recognize at least some of the words he uses.”

“You wish for me to tell you about it?” He sounded surprised, causing an uncomfortable twinge in Lucie’s heart.

It was often that when Christopher talked of science or her of writing, their friends would cease to pay attention, Thomas being an exception. To have someone care about something you cared for… Lucie smiled to herself and nodded.

“We would.”

Tagging: @adoravel-fenomeno @barbra-lightwood @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @foxglove-airmid

#listen to your friends when they speak about their intrests challenge #@the rest of the charecters that aren't here because i make the rules here #this was orginally supposed to be five parts #we're close i promise #joshwood #thomastair #lucelia #lucie herondale #cordelia carstairs #kamala joshi #eugenia lightwood #thomas lightwood #alastair carstairs

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leviiattacks · 4 years ago

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Two Faced | Chapter Four

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it's all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared. for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au, angst, fluff, slice of life etc word count :: 3k author note :: you should also check out my ao3 and wattpad my username is LEVIATTACKS on both platforms. ao3 usually gets to see my updates first, feel free to leave any comments you have i appreciate all feedback ^___^ → next part is here!!

"Refer to me with that name once more and I'll see to it that your neck is snapped in two. Fucking Brat." His voice curls into a low hiss.

He rises from the bed making you jolt, if he's moving towards his dagger everything will be over in a matter of seconds. The tension between the two of you is foggy and uncertain.

Your line of vision is cloudy, bleary tears seize it. You should have tried harder whilst researching, found a way to make Lev stay, it hits you like a sack of bricks - you didn't try hard enough, was that the issue, was that the mistake you made this time? Mind full of harsh expletives you continue to curse yourself. Of course he left, of course he fucking did. Your life was one large cyclical narrative of earning the love of others and ultimately losing it along the way some how.

The world conditioned you to become independent, to not rely on others for affection, earn what you must on your own. Making your own way through life is all you know yet here you are. On the verge of tears because this damn fool won't remember you. Happiness is a privilege.

Staring into the distance you don't see the way your husband's glare thins out, neither do you notice how he leans forward invading your personal space.

"Care to explain how we got into this situation?" Breath fanning across your face exactly the same way it had months ago you gulp and realise he's staring at your lacy nightgown in sheer distaste. Oh no, He's got the wrong idea completely.

You jerk your head up to explain and only then is the close proximity between the two of you evident, you nearly knock your head against his as if you're inebriated. "No, no. We've never done that. I promise we haven't. I wouldn't take advantage of you." You're sputtering and are all over the place trying to hold some sort of ground in this conversation.

"I see that you saw no issue with taking advantage of me in other ways. You scheming money hungry roach."

You want to clear your name and tell him you really haven't touched any of his money. None of it at all to the point it's shameful to admit, especially considering the fact that everyone else sees you as Duchess Ackerman.

"I have not spent any of your money I swe-".

A deafening bang resounds through the room - in his fit of rage he kicks one of the solid oak drawers at the side of your bed to the floor.

A squeaky gasp falls out of your mouth and you flinch away as you cover your chest defensively. Your arms aren't the best armour but they work for now. If he's to stab you your worst fear is him piercing through your heart. What you fear most is him ripping the vital organ out of the confines of your chest. If he laughs hysterically and watches it bleed out you'll never forgive him. Your worries and doubts are internally eating away at you as you witness the darkness seeping into the corners of his vision.

It's quiet and dark and with him as well as a heavy silence looming over you, the pressure on your shoulders is quite literally immense.

He takes a hold of your chin and obnoxiously squishes your rosy cheeks together, dark tundra eyes never falter from yours, that is until they abruptly sink south and he catches drift of the way your night gown has ridden up. Thighs on full display you want to pull the edges of the material down but are too afraid to move under his deathly stare.

"Do you know how long I was stuck inside of my own body? Having to act like a fool on the daily."

"What?" You shakily reply through parted lips.

He was able to see everything he did under the spell? This changes the dynamic significantly. Cheeks flaring up in embarrassment you recall how you ate up all the sweet nothings he whispered into your ears, the scarlet blush creeps to the back of your ears when you think back to how you fervently kissed him goodbye whenever he was sent to venture outside the walls. The sanguine tint only intensifies when you think about the night where you accidentally let his bare hands venture a little too far.

"Naive little thing," he grunts. "You will never be my wife." He scowls sniffing at you in pure repulsion.

Whiskey, cigarette fumes and strong sweat infused cologne revoltingly is what you're reminded of when you hear those words leave his mouth. The stench isn't present but nevertheless you feel your throat constrict, never expecting to see any sort of parallel form between Levi and that man. The one time you stood your ground against Father it led to you being dragged away from the palace grounds, beat until you were unresponsive and left for dead. He left you there with the intention of extermination, his final words as he bid you goodbye that night had been - "You will never be my daughter."

You have no words left to offer, you're tongue tied. Expressionless whilst he gauges your reaction, the both of you don't register how Levi's grip on your cheeks loosens, that is until the look in his hooded eyes changes. They're inky now smoldering with resentment, he lets go of the hold he has on your face completely.

The separation between your face and his palm is stony.

All you want at that moment is for Lev to come back and wake you up from all of this. You've had enough of this sick and twisted nightmare where he doesn't look at you the way he normally does. The way he manhandles you irks you and lights a dangerous fire in your stomach.

Blinking your tears away you finally speak after your long silence "I know that My Lord." taking what may be one of your final breaths you announce the unthinkable "Feel free to finish what you were unable to last time."

"No begging?" he chastises you pulling you by the back of your ear.

"Would you spare me if I did?" The close ended question you respond with leaves him stiff.

Snatching your forearm you note that even when he's not under the constraint of the spell physical touch is consistently one of his ways of getting a point across. He jerks your tired form forward. "Who do you work for?"

Blood running cold you know he won't kill you now. He thinks you've come here with a purpose, a motive, a reason. Hell, all you did was ask to be loved, to experience something before the candle which was your life burnt out.

"No one. You said you were conscious in your mind whilst it all happened, correct?"

He nods albeit begrudgingly.

"Then you must have seen how I tried."

His right eyebrow cocks upwards ever so slightly. "Tried?"

Now it's your turn to be frustrated. "Tried to keep my distance, tried to ignore your advances, tried to refuse your gifts, tried to maintain a level of respect so the both of us would have some dignity remaining if you were to return some day. When I realised you would not stop with your persistence I accepted." You fumed - the fretful irritation you feel only increases by the second.

"Cut the crap." He snarls at you.

You want to snarl back with just as much impatience but you bite your tongue.

Maybe it's because it's late at night, maybe it's because you're fatigued or maybe it's because you already felt feverish and emotional - Honestly, any other reason apart from your husband turning his back on you and announcing you're a mongrel. Feeling light headed you clutch at your scalp harshly trying to control yourself, even Levi's firm hand which until recently held your left arm recoils away.

Falling to your knees you feel the way the floor grates against your bare legs. Your urge to pass out is nearly met but then you hear him.

"Honey???" The concern in his voice which had made you fall in love with him now repulses you.

Fists balling at your knees you silently sob, pitifully shaking your head.

This can't be your reality.

It can't be.

You won't let it be.

That night you find out nightmares can happen in real life.

Levi Ackerman being a prime example.

After the bitter encounter you leave the room and order Lev to not come after you, you need your own space and as much as you want him to return to his sweet, loving self it's pathetic to seek any comfort in him. That tyrant is bound to make another appearance soon enough and mock you for falling into his trap again, but really can you blame the man? Is this his fault or your own?

Whoever is at fault there will still come a time where the Levi you love won't come back and call you his Love. You'll have to get used to that bleak desolate reality. Assuming he doesn't kill you before you have to.

Day has now broken and the brisk morning air bites at you, scantily clad in your nightgown, It's abnormal, you think to yourself. The position you're in is one you imagined countless times but you never really thought you'd end up this way. You're about to drift off to sleep right there in the middle of the Estate's field of hydrangeas, too tired to actually care anymore when you hear a rustle from one of the surrounding bushes.

"Duchess?" Your head turns when you hear Mikasa's soft voice emerge from the hedges, she steps through them and you both stare at each other. Mouth open, gaping in shock she takes in your appearance. You can only imagine how you look right now. Dark eye bags, you aren't wearing your usual noble attire not to mention Levi has accidentally left a bruise on one of your arms. It's faint because it is accidental (you hope) it does not go unnoticed by Mikasa.

Her gaze hardens and she approaches your disheveled form kneeling in front of you.

"What happened?" She whispers, the panic is evident in her voice and you awkwardly chuckle in response.

"I had a horrible nightmare. That's all, honest."

"And it's Y/N need I remind you again?" Mikasa is big on respect and sure, it is cute but you want to remind her it really is okay to call you by your first name. After all you would consider her a friend, you hope she sees you the same way.

Giving you a look of disbelief she takes the hint that you don't want to talk about it but much to your delight she does take the advice regarding your name. She sounds hesitant but that's how she usually is, she'll get used to it in no time at all.

"Well...Y/N, Breakfast has been prepared." You can see the way she eyes your unkempt hair and shivering form. "Would you like to eat with me and Sasha?" this is her way of comforting you.

Your lips quirk up into a smile for the first time in a while.

"I would love that."

Twenty minutes and a change of clothes later you've all relocated to your tea room, Sasha doesn't ask questions about your hair or odd choice of clothing earlier this morning. The shadows Levi's fingers left on your arm are now carefully hidden by the sleeves of your baby blue dress. "Oh! Viscount Kirstein me and Y/N saw him yesterday. He's just like the rumours." Sasha exclaims as she stuffs her face with a croissant.

Mikasa takes a short sip from her tea cup. "And the rumours would be?"

You pick a cinnamon roll from the center of the table."Undeniably handsome. I mean he's not my type though."

Sasha looks momentarily confused. "He was drop dead gorgeous what do you mean?"

You laugh a bit at the disbelief on her face, Mikasa chooses to not intervene - she's obviously yet to come to her own conclusions about him.

"Yeah but you said it yourself he fucks anything in a skirt." Sasha, is wide eyed at first and chokes on part of her buttered croissant, you have never been so vulgar before. You guess the argument has left you more likely to voice your reckless thoughts. Snorting you try to keep your laugh in, the ghost of a smile makes its way to Mikasa's face and eventually she too dissolves into a puddle of laughter. The three of you laughing together genuinely eases the recent burden on your soul.

Just as you're about to crack another joke the door to your tea room rumbles.

BANG! You seem to always be cut off when you're here because Eren Jaeger has burst inside perhaps for the seventh time this month. It's the same routine as usual, he's panting and catching his breathe before he speaks. You're in no mood to hear what he has to say.

"If the Duke has sent you please leave."

Mikasa gives him a "You better not ask any questions and take the damn hint" kind of look but bless Eren for he is completely and utterly clueless.

"It's urgent."

"Still rejecting." You hotly reply.

Mikasa icily interjects "Eren, would you stop being so bothersome?"

He looks between you and Mikasa helplessly. "The Duke says he expects your refusal but I can't return empty handed, I'll be given a punishment and it'll be worse than being made to clean the stables." He gives you a pleading look and he's so much younger than you, it makes you feel like he's your responsibility. Eren has a charming way of making himself feel like everyone else's annoying younger brother. You accept that he can't suffer because of your selfish denial.

Sighing deeply you take a final bite of your roll, if you're going to die you may as well do so on a full stomach. Before you depart you awkwardly get to your feet dusting your dress to buy some time as you bid Mikasa and Sasha goodbye.

You're now following Eren through the halls of the estate. Deep down inside, you know you aren't fearful. He won't kill you, not yet at least, he thinks you're a useful source of information relating to his external enemies, he would be stupid to overlook that detail. You'll exploit it for now, your key is survival, it always has and always will be that way.

Bumping into Eren's back you apologize for being absent minded, you swear the walk to Levi's office has always been much longer. He spares you a worried glance and looks as if he's about to offer you words of support but he stops himself before he opens the heavy door to Duke Ackerman's office. Perhaps he doesn't find it appropriate. Good, you think to yourself. You don't wish to hear motivation from anyone right now, it's nothing personal, it's that nothing can possibly be of motivation right now.

The door opens ever so slowly, your brain races making everything move at a sedated pace. Then you find yourself jolting upright in surprise. You soon realise expecting Levi to be the only person there was naive on your part. Eyes tensely land on the blonde in one of the cushioned caramel chairs. It's the Commander of the Empire's entire battalion — Erwin Smith.

Levi has ratted you out for sure, you spare a glance towards him and see the way he's trying to hide his feelings of amusement. You want to lunge over his desk and wipe that smug smirk off his face. The playful lilt in his usual unreadable expression is driving you mad. Next to Erwin is respected and high ranking Squad Leader Hange Zoe, you're quite well accustomed with them you've exchanged your fair share of words together and Hange has never failed to bring a smile to your face. The amusing air around them lights up any room they're in... Apart from this one that is.

Eren closes the door behind you and you're silent not really knowing what to do.

"Take a seat my beloved." Levi drawls. This isn't Lev you know that much, he's always enthusiastically jumping to his feet when he greets you.

Awkwardly sitting in the chair next to your husband you shake Hange's hand first then move to shake Erwin's. His warm palms envelope yours and he places a hand on your left shoulder. It's not at all similar to the way Levi held you earlier in the morning, the feeling is genuine. He has no ill intentions, all he seems to want to do is open a conversation.

"Y/N, we may not have much time but." He stops, unsure if it's for dramatics but you still intently listen.

The sea that is his blue eyes draws you in, you've only ever seen him from afar. If honesty and gentleness were a person it would be him no doubt about it.

He pats your shoulder and you snap out of your day dream. "Y/N. Thank you for your sacrifice and commitment to this Empire." His warm yet serious smile which follows simply confuses you, in fact this entire situation is doing that.

Jaw slacking you're dazed and bewildered, your thoughts are diverting in all sorts of direction now.

Whatever does he mean by sacrifice?

#levi ackerman #levi #aot #snk #attack on titan #attack on titan levi #aot fanfiction #aot headcanons #duke levi #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi smut #levi angst #levi fluff #levi fanfiction #leviiattacks

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