#like a servant toward her mistress

[granonine]

Have Mercy Upon Us!

Psalm 123. Unto Thee lift I up mine eyes, O Thou that dwellest in the heavens. Behold, as the eyes of servants look unto the hand of their masters, and as the eyes of a maiden unto the hand of her mistress; so our eyes wait upon the LORD our God, until that He have mercy upon us. Have mercy upon us, O LORD, have mercy upon us: for we are exceedingly filled with contempt. Our soul is…

[dark-konohagakure2]

Since your writing for black butler now how about sebastian x younger naïve reader maybe like ciels older sister

tw: dub/noncon, age difference, corruption, abuse of power, size difference, risky sex, virginity loss, blackmail, period typical misogyny

All characters depicted are 18+

Sebastian, despite not being human, isn't immune to sexual desire entirety. While demons don't experience attraction in the same way that humans do, they still feel it, and Sebastian's primary sexual attraction is towards those whom he can take advantage of.

While the terms of his Faustian contract prevents him from doing anything to harm his young master Ciel, there is a loophole, he technically wouldn't be harming or betraying the Earl by taking advantage of his elder sister, so that is exactly what Sebastian plans to do.

It isn't too hard, Sebastian has nearly unlimited access to his young lady given how busy Ciel is and how dimwitted the other servants are, and she's a naive and trusting young woman who's oblivious to Sebastian's true nature, so he can take advantage of her as easily as he can breathe.

He's tasked with assisting her in getting dressed every morning, so Sebastian is very accustomed to seeing her naked body, and he very much likes what he sees. It's a morning like any other when the demon butler finally decides to strike. He'll be helping her get undressed, but then he'll 'accidently' forget to give her a dress, but she has nothing to fear, because Sebastian has a solution to this mundane little problem.

"Ah, my apologies My Lady, but it seems I've forgotten to bring you your clothes for the day. Well, no matter, you can simply assist me with finding you the correct one in the closet..."

As soon as the closet door is shut behind them, Sebastian makes his move. He'll firmly force his gloved hand over her mouth, gently shushing her as she spreads her now trembling legs apart, testing her wetness with his skilled fingers. The naive young lady doesn't fully understand what he's doing, but Sebastian insists that she can trust her dutiful butler.

Despite his appearance as a tall and lean man, Sebastian is a very well endowed demon, so his thick cock will stretch her poor untouched hole to its limits as he bullies it inside of her, but he's an attentive butler, so he'll soothe and shush his young mistress if she's struggling and crying too much, reminding her that denying a man's needs is very unladylike.

Sebastian can just barely keep up his gentlemanly persona when he's balls deep inside of the object of his dark desires, the red color in his eyes glowing and becoming more pronounced as he pounds away at the poor girl, his hand still clamped over the young woman's mouth as he moves in and out of her, hardly able to hold back his primal demonic urge to bite down all the way into her throat.

Sebastian doesn't bother to pull out when he finally climaxes, he's almost certain that a demon can't impregnate a human, and even if he's wrong, she's at childbearing age anyway, so he'd be doing her a favor. When he's finished with her he'll almost instantly assume his butler persona again, but not before giving her some friendly advice.

"Th-There... I must say that felt great, my little lady... Do run along now, and don't speak of this to anyone. We don't want the Young Master to think his dear sister is a strumpet now do we?"

Sebastian's implicit threat seemed to work, as the young Phantomhive keeps her mouth shut about what happened between the two of them in the closet, this pleases the demon greatly, and now he gets to have a new human plaything to use as he sees fit.

[buttercandy16]

Mistress

PAIRING(s): Vampire!Agatha Harkness x Maid!Reader

SUMMARY: Your mistress becomes obsessed with you, leading to a dark, twisted relationship where love, power, and obsession collide.

WARNING(s): Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive, Blood, and SMUT.

A/N: Been a while since I've written some smut. Enjoy!

The halls of the Harkness estate were vast and cold, like a labyrinth of secrets etched into its ancient stone walls. Candlelight flickered across shadowy corridors as you carried a silver tray of wine toward the parlor, your heels clicking softly against the marble floors. You tried to focus on balancing the tray, but you couldn't ignore the eerie stillness of the estate or the way the other servants whispered nervously about their mistress.

Agatha Harkness.

Even among her wealthy contemporaries, her name was uttered with equal parts reverence and dread. She was a woman of unparalleled elegance and power, known for her biting wit and an aura of danger that clung to her like a second skin. Rumors swirled about her cruelty, her temper, and her insatiable appetites—not just for luxury but for something darker.

You’d taken the job as her maid out of desperation, knowing little of her reputation. Now, after only a few weeks, you wondered if the warnings had been an understatement.

And yet, you found yourself drawn to her in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

The moment you entered the parlor, you felt her eyes on you.

Agatha lounged in a grand velvet armchair, her long fingers elegantly wrapped around the stem of a wine glass. Her gaze slid over you like a caress, sharp and assessing, making your skin prickle under the weight of her attention.

“Finally,” she purred, her voice smooth as silk. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”

“My apologies, mistress,” you said quickly, setting the tray down on the table before her.

“Hmm.” She didn’t look away, her lips curving into the faintest smile. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Yes, mistress,” you said, fighting to keep your hands steady under her piercing stare.

She stood slowly, her towering frame somehow both graceful and intimidating as she circled you. The scent of her perfume—a dark, heady mix of amber and spice—wrapped around you, making it hard to think clearly.

“I noticed you the moment you arrived,” she murmured, her voice dangerously low. “There’s something… unique about you. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.”

Her fingers brushed your shoulder lightly as she moved behind you, and your breath caught.

“Tell me,” she said, her breath warm against your ear, “do you enjoy working for me?”

The air felt heavy, and the words got caught in your throat. “Y-yes, mistress,” you managed, though your pulse quickened for reasons you couldn’t fully name.

Her low chuckle sent a shiver down your spine. “Good. I have high expectations, and I’d hate to be disappointed.”

Over the following days, her interest in you only grew more intense.

She began finding reasons to summon you alone—fetching her wine, helping her dress, accompanying her on her nightly walks through the moonlit gardens. Always, she kept close, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of you.

At first, you thought it was simply her eccentric nature, but soon it became clear there was more to her obsession.

“I can hear your heart racing,” she said one evening as you stood in her chambers, tidying the delicate lace cuffs of one of her gowns. Her tone was amused, but her eyes burned with something primal.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you replied, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Oh, but I think you do,” she said, taking your wrist in her hand. Her grip was gentle but unyielding as she pulled you closer. “You’re quite… intoxicating.”

One night, you found yourself summoned to her private chambers. The room was dimly lit, the scent of wax and roses thick in the air. She stood by the fireplace, her long dark gown catching the light like a pool of ink.

“Come here,” she said, her voice low and commanding.

You hesitated but obeyed, stepping closer until you were standing just inches from her.

Her hand reached out, her fingers trailing over your cheek. “You’re shaking,” she whispered. “Are you afraid of me?”

“N-no, mistress,” you lied, your voice barely audible.

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You should be.”

Before you could respond, her grip tightened on your arm, and she pulled you against her. Her other hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze. Her eyes glowed faintly in the firelight, hungry and unrelenting.

“You don’t understand yet, do you?” she murmured, her voice dripping with dark amusement. “The hold you have over me. Your scent, your warmth, the taste of your fear…”

Her lips brushed against your neck, soft and deliberate, and your breath hitched. You wanted to pull away, but her presence was overwhelming, suffocating, and somehow… thrilling.

“I could devour you,” she whispered, her voice tinged with both lust and menace. “Body and soul. And I don’t know if I could stop myself.”

You felt her teeth graze your skin, a soft scrape that sent electricity coursing through you. But instead of biting, she pulled back, her expression carefully controlled.

“Not yet,” she said, more to herself than to you. “Not yet.”

Her fingers lingered on your wrist as she let you go, her touch burning long after she released you.

“Leave me,” she said abruptly, turning away.

You didn’t wait for her to change her mind.

The next day, she was colder, more distant, as though trying to suppress whatever had taken hold of her. But the heat in her gaze never dimmed when she looked at you, and you knew the storm wasn’t over—it was only just beginning.

Every interaction with her left you more confused, more tangled in her web of obsession. The line between fear and something far more dangerous blurred, and you found yourself standing at the edge of a precipice, unsure whether to flee or to fall.

And as her lips curled into a knowing smirk, you realized that decision might not be yours to make.

The air in the Harkness estate grew heavier each day, as though the house itself was responding to the tension between you and its mistress. Agatha’s presence loomed everywhere—her perfume lingering in the hallways, her voice echoing in the back of your mind, her piercing eyes locked on you at every stolen glance.

You told yourself it was just her nature, an eccentricity fueled by wealth and boredom. Yet deep down, you knew it was more. Agatha wasn’t merely interested; she was consumed. And despite the gnawing fear in your chest, part of you couldn’t help but lean into it, daring the flame to burn brighter.

One evening, you were summoned to her private chambers yet again. The summons itself wasn’t unusual by now, but the tone of her note was: “Tonight, you’re mine.”

You smoothed your trembling hands down the front of your uniform as you knocked on the grand wooden door. Her voice drifted through, low and sensual.

“Come in.”

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside, only to be greeted by a sight that made your breath hitch.

Agatha stood in front of a gilded mirror, her silhouette framed by the glow of the roaring fireplace. She was in a deep plum silk robe, tied loosely at her waist. The fabric clung to her curves, revealing far more than it hid. Her hair tumbled down in dark waves, and her gaze met yours through the reflection.

“You kept me waiting,” she said, her tone soft but full of unspoken weight.

“My apologies, Mistress Harkness,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Agatha,” she corrected, turning to face you fully. “When we’re alone, you’ll call me Agatha.”

Her smile was slow and predatory as she crossed the room, her bare feet silent on the thick rug. She stopped just in front of you, her presence commanding every ounce of your attention.

“You’ve been working so hard lately,” she said, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face. “Have the other servants been treating you well?”

“Yes,” you replied, though the closeness of her fingers to your skin made the word come out shakier than intended.

“And yet,” she continued, tilting her head, “I can see the exhaustion in your eyes. Do they know how much you give?” Her fingers lingered on your cheek, her touch as delicate as a whisper.

“I—”

“Shh,” she interrupted, pressing a single finger to your lips. “No need to speak. You’ve already given me enough with just your presence.”

The air between you crackled with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. Her eyes roamed over you, her gaze so unashamed and hungry that you felt exposed even in your modest uniform.

“Have you thought about me?” she asked, her voice a low, dangerous hum.

Your throat tightened. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”

Her smile deepened, a sly curve of her lips that seemed to peel away every pretense. “Don’t lie to me. I see it every time your hands tremble when I’m near. The way you avoid my gaze, yet I catch you staring when you think I’m not looking.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, your heart thundering in your chest. “Mistress, I—”

“Agatha,” she corrected again, more firmly this time. Her voice softened as she leaned closer, the scent of her perfume intoxicating. “Do you feel it too? This… pull between us? Don’t deny it.”

Her hand trailed down your arm, her fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your wrist. The touch was light, yet it left a trail of fire in its wake.

You stepped back instinctively, trying to create distance, but she followed. Her movements were slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring its prey.

“You’re nervous,” she said, her voice almost teasing. “Good. I like the way your pulse quickens when I’m near. Like it’s calling to me.”

Her fingers brushed the delicate skin of your neck, lingering for a moment as her gaze followed the motion.

“Do you know how hard it’s been to restrain myself?” she whispered, her voice dripping with hunger. “You’ve awakened something in me—something dark, something primal. I can hardly stand it when you’re near.”

Her lips ghosted over your ear, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “Every time I see you, every time I smell you, I wonder… how would you taste?”

Your knees threatened to buckle beneath you, but her hand moved to your waist, steadying you. It wasn’t just her words—it was her voice, her touch, her presence. It was overwhelming.

“You should go,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Her laughter was soft and rich, like the purr of a satisfied predator. “Go? You’re the one in my chambers, darling.”

Agatha’s other hand slid around your back, pulling you impossibly close. The silk of her robe brushed against you, her warmth seeping into your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” she said, her lips hovering dangerously close to yours. “One word, and I’ll let you walk out of here. But if you stay… you’ll belong to me.”

Your breath caught as her fingers tilted your chin upward, her dark eyes blazing with intent. It felt like the world had stopped, like the only thing that mattered was her—her lips, her touch, her dominance.

This was no longer just your job, your duty. This was something much deeper, darker, and inescapable. And as her lips brushed against yours, soft and commanding all at once, you knew there was no going back.

The kiss started soft—tentative even—but there was no denying the fire that ignited the moment her lips claimed yours. Agatha wasn’t the kind of woman to ask twice, and now, her dominance poured over you like molten honey. Her hand tangled in your hair, holding you in place as her lips parted yours, the taste of her intoxicating.

“Do you feel it now?” she murmured against your lips, her voice like a low growl. “How you’ve bewitched me?”

Your body trembled under her touch, your breath hitching as her sharp nails dragged lightly down the curve of your neck. The trail they left tingled, a shiver that rippled through you like electricity. She stepped back, just slightly, her hungry eyes roaming over you as though she was calculating her next move.

Then her expression shifted—intense and dark, her pupils dilating as she fixated on your neck.

Before you could speak, she moved, gripping your waist and pressing you against the cold stone wall of her chambers. Her lips brushed your collarbone, soft and deliberate, as she inhaled deeply.

“Your scent…” Her voice broke, heavy with need. “It’s�� maddening.”

Her mouth trailed along the line of your throat, kisses becoming hungrier, rougher. Then you felt it—the sharp press of her teeth.

"Agatha—" you gasped, half-panicked and half-lost in the thrill coursing through you.

“Shh,” she cooed, pinning your wrists above your head with surprising strength. “You’ve already given me your lips… your trust… What’s one more thing?”

Her teeth broke the delicate skin of your neck with a swift bite, pain mingling with the heat of her lips. Your cry was stifled as she pressed her mouth fully against you, drinking deeply. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt—the sharp sting giving way to a strange, dangerous pleasure as her body molded against yours.

The world blurred at the edges, your heart hammering as she drank, the wet, visceral sound filling the chamber. Your pulse slowed, your knees weak, but Agatha didn’t falter. When she finally pulled back, her lips and chin were smeared with your blood, crimson standing out stark against her pale skin.

“Look at you,” she whispered, her voice husky, her eyes glowing faintly with an otherworldly hunger. “So fragile, so perfect. Do you understand now what you do to me?”

Her hands slipped to your waist, her grip firm yet somehow tender, steadying you as you sagged against her. “You taste like heaven,” she murmured, licking the remnants of your blood from her lips as though savoring a fine wine.

“You—” You tried to speak, but the words didn’t come, your breath hitching as her thumb traced over the fresh wound on your neck.

“Shh, don’t speak,” she said, her voice softening, almost tender now. “You’ve given me so much already. Let me take care of you, darling.”

She lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the massive bed draped in deep violet and gold linens. You felt the world sway as she set you down, her robe falling open just enough to reveal the smooth curve of her shoulder. Her predatory grin had returned, but now it was laced with something gentler—a strange, possessive affection that made your stomach twist.

“I told you, didn’t I?” she murmured, brushing your hair away from your face. “You belong to me now. Completely.”

She leaned over you, her bloodstained lips brushing yours in a kiss that was gentler this time. It was possessive yet worshipful, as though she was memorizing every inch of you.

The blood loss left you lightheaded, the line between fear and desire blurring until it vanished entirely. Agatha’s hands roamed over your body with reverence, her touch burning like fire.

“Such strength,” she purred, her lips hovering over yours. “Yet so vulnerable.”

She pressed another kiss to your neck, careful to avoid the wound this time. Her tongue flicked over the edges of the bite, soothing the sting, even as her hands trailed down your sides, setting every nerve ablaze.

The fire in the hearth crackled, casting flickering shadows across the room as Agatha’s lips left your neck, her tongue lapping at the wound she’d made. Her hands were everywhere—tracing your collarbone, gripping your hips, sliding up your thighs with a possessiveness that left you breathless. She pulled back slightly, her eyes dark and glinting with something primal, something that made your stomach twist in a way that was equal parts fear and desire.

“You’re trembling,” she murmured, her voice low and rough, like the growl of a predator savoring its prey. “Do you want me to stop?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your body was betraying you, your pulse racing as her fingers slipped under the hem of your uniform, brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Her touch was electric, sending shivers up your spine, and you bit your lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape.

“No?” she teased, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “Good. Because I don’t think I could stop even if you begged me to.”

Her hands moved with purpose, yanking the fabric of your uniform up and over your head in one swift motion. The cool air hit your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of her gaze as she took you in—every curve, every inch of exposed flesh. Her eyes burned with hunger, and you felt utterly exposed, utterly at her mercy.

“Beautiful,” she whispered, her voice dripping with reverence. “Every part of you.”

Her hands were on you again, rough and demanding, as she pushed you back onto the bed. The satin sheets were cool against your back, but her body was a furnace as she climbed over you, her robe falling open to reveal the smooth, pale skin beneath. Her breasts brushed against yours, and you gasped at the contact, your nipples hardening instantly under her touch.

“You’re mine,” she growled, her lips trailing down your neck, your collarbone, your chest. “Every inch of you belongs to me.”

Her mouth closed over your nipple, her tongue flicking against the sensitive bud, and you arched into her, a moan escaping your lips before you could stop it. She chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin, and her teeth grazed you lightly, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through your body.

“That’s it,” she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Let me hear you.”

Her hand slid down your stomach, her fingers dipping between your thighs, and you gasped as she found your wetness. She groaned, low and guttural, as she felt how ready you were for her.

“So eager,” she purred, her fingers teasing your entrance. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

You couldn’t answer, couldn’t think, as her fingers pushed inside you, curling just right to hit that spot that made your vision blur. She moved with a practiced precision, her thumb circling your clit as her fingers worked you, and you writhed beneath her, your hands gripping the sheets for dear life.

“Look at you,” she said, her voice dripping with dark amusement. “So desperate for me. So perfect.”

Her pace quickened, her fingers thrusting deeper, harder, and you felt the coil in your stomach tighten, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “Come for me, darling. Let me feel you fall apart.”

As the firelight flickered in the darkened chamber, her mouth found yours again, her kiss consuming you entirely. She poured everything into it—her obsession, her hunger, and her unspoken claim over you.

When you woke, you were wrapped in satin sheets the color of freshly spilled wine. The dull ache in your neck reminded you that last night hadn’t been a fever dream. You touched the spot cautiously, your fingers finding tender flesh but no wound. Agatha had tended to it somehow; you could still feel the faint sting of her tongue against your skin.

As you turned, you realized you weren’t alone. Agatha sat on the edge of the bed, her robe draped loosely over her, revealing more than it hid. She held a glass of dark red wine in one hand, her other hand lazily tracing patterns on your thigh.

“You’re awake,” she said without looking at you. Her voice was calm, almost casual, but there was a sharp edge to it—possessive, in control.

You tried to sit up, but the room spun, and Agatha’s hand was on your shoulder in an instant, pressing you gently back down.

“Easy, darling,” she murmured, her fingers cool against your flushed skin. “You’ve given me so much already. You need to recover.”

Her words were kind, but her tone betrayed her satisfaction—like a predator who’d gorged herself on her prey and was now savoring the aftermath.

“Why?” you managed to whisper, your voice hoarse.

Agatha smiled, setting her glass aside. She leaned down until her face was inches from yours, her dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that stole your breath.

“Because I couldn’t resist,” she said simply. “You’re… exquisite. Every look, every breath, every drop of blood.” She cupped your face in her hand, her thumb grazing your cheekbone. “You have no idea the effect you’ve had on me.”

You flinched as her lips brushed over your forehead, but you didn’t pull away. There was a strange tenderness to her touch that made it impossible to move, even as your heart thundered in your chest.

“I should have left you alone,” she murmured, almost to herself. “But I’m not that strong. Not when it comes to you.”

The days that followed blurred together.

Agatha no longer kept her distance. She was everywhere—in the gardens during your morning chores, in the kitchen as you prepared meals, in your dreams every time you closed your eyes.

And always, her hands were on you—brushing against your arm as she passed, grazing your neck when she adjusted your collar, lingering on your waist as though she couldn’t stand to let you go.

“I’ve been patient,” she said one evening, pinning you against the cool stone of the hallway. Her voice was low, dangerous. “Do you think I’m a patient woman, darling?”

You shook your head, your words stolen by the heat of her body pressing into yours.

“No,” she said, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “I’m not.”

Her hand slid up your thigh, her touch searing through the thin fabric of your uniform. “Do you understand what you’ve done to me? How you’ve consumed my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment?”

Her mouth found yours before you could reply, the kiss rough and commanding. You couldn’t think—only feel. The way her hands gripped your hips, the way her teeth scraped your bottom lip, the way her breath mingled with yours as though she intended to drown you in her need.

The next morning, you woke again in her bed. She was watching you, propped up on one elbow, her fingers idly playing with your hair.

“Good morning,” she purred, her voice soft and lazy, though her eyes held that same dangerous glint.

“Why… why me?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Her smile widened, and she leaned down until her lips hovered just above yours.

“Because you’re mine,” she whispered, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

Her teeth grazed your ear, and you shivered. “And I don’t share.”

The days turned to weeks, and the line between fear and desire blurred beyond recognition. You found yourself waiting for her touch, aching for her attention, even as a small part of you screamed to run.

But there was no escaping her.

Agatha Harkness had claimed you in every way that mattered—body, blood, and soul.

And as her lips trailed down your neck, her sharp nails leaving burning paths along your skin, you knew you didn’t want her to let you go.

Because no one could consume you like she did.

No one could burn you so beautifully.

You belonged to her, entirely and inescapably.

And somehow, you didn’t care.

_-_-_

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[st4rg8te]

Twisted Affections (GL) (P. 1)

Yandere! Emperor's Mistress X Empress! Reader

✦✧✦✧

The lessons that had been instilled in you since birth resurfaced in your mind: ‘The Mother of the Nation should be dignified, elegant, and composed. She should never show any sign of weakness in front of her subjects.’ 

But you couldn’t help but break in her embrace.

✦✧✦✧

P. 2: x

[tw: adultery, s*xism, slight description of blood/injury]

✦✧✦✧

Your marriage with your husband—the Emperor, was a cold and loveless one, devoid of any warmth or affection. 

The two of you were betrothed to each other at a young age for the sake of politics. You were the daughter of an influential duke, while he was the heir to the throne. To the gaze of others, it had seemed like the perfect match. 

You had once thought the same. Hoping that the differences between the two of you would find a resolution in the arrangement, but that wish gradually withered away, unfulfilled. 

What could you do but silently endure the circumstances you were placed in? Until now, you had always maintained the perfect facade expected of an Empress.

As the years passed, the weight of responsibility overshadowed the absence of love in your marriage, settling deep within you as resigned acceptance.

But deep down, a small, naive part of you still wished for a happy ending with your prince charming, like in all those fairy tales your mother had once read to you before she died.

Your parents’ marriage had also been an arranged one, but as a little girl, you remembered the way your father would look at your mother as if she had hung all the stars in the sky. Perhaps one day, your husband would look at you in the same way?

It was simply too bad that this small hope of yours had been mercilessly crushed the moment your husband brought her home.

The sight of them together made your stomach twist into knots, and your words were caught in your throat. You felt your hands tremble as you clutched the silky fabric of your gown, trying to maintain a steady composure.

She was beautiful, with flowing blond locks and bright blue eyes that sparkled in the sunlight filtering through her delicate skin.  Although dressed in a simple gown that marked her status as a commoner, she exuded the grace and elegance of a noble princess.

A faint smile played on her lips as she laughed lightly with your husband, and he returned her smile with an equally warm one.

Why had he never smiled at you like that before?

“Her Majesty has arrived!” announced the servant behind you, and only then, did the lovers part.

Your eyes met bright baby blue ones. Her face lit up with excitement and delight as she took several steps toward you before stopping abruptly, realizing she was in front of the Emperor's wife.

Her eyes widened, and she immediately fell into a curtsy. Her dress rustled softly as her head dipped lower, revealing the graceful lines of her neck and arms.

The action made your lips twitch.

"G-greetings, Your Majesty! I've been looking forward to meeting you." Her voice held a slight tremor as she spoke.

She seemed younger than you, an edge of innocence that stirred people's protectiveness under her words—it served as another bitter reminder that the man you married did not belong to you.

You ignored her gaze boring into you; instead, turning your eyes back to your husband.

Your tone was icy, "What is this?"

"Lucia is going to live at the palace." He replied smoothly.

A hazy sense of familiarity washed over you once you heard her name come out of his mouth, but that was quickly forgotten with his next words:

"I intend to make her my concubine."

"What?" Your breath hitched sharply. "Why was I not informed of this sooner?"

He furrowed his brows in disapproval, "I do not need to explain my decisions to you. Do not get ahead of yourself."

"Have you not thought about what others would think—"

"Is that all you worry about?”

“Excuse me?”

“You have failed in your duty as my wife, for four years, you have not bore me a single child. It was about time someone else took care of it."

The harshness of his words cut through you like a blade, leaving you momentarily speechless. He continued, unperturbed by your silence, "My decision is final. I expect you, as the Empress, to give her suitable accommodations and see that she gets properly educated and trained."

You suddenly felt the urge to laugh, a humorless scoff ripping from your mouth as a cold fury burned within you. Shaky fingers curled tightly against your palm until it drew blood.

Your voice was hollow.

"I have important matters to attend to. Enjoy your stay, Lady Lucia."

Without waiting for an answer, you turned on your heel and strode out the grand corridors. The entourage of servants silently trailing behind you.

The sound of thundering steps echoed throughout the halls, but you had never felt as lonely as you did in that moment.

✦✧✦✧

Soon, word had spread quickly of Lucia's arrival as the Emperor's new concubine.

Even your family had heard the news. You were quickly met with a wrathful letter from the Duke, shaming you for losing to another woman—a commoner, no less.

For days, you had remained alone in your chambers. Rereading the scathing remarks written on the crumpled letter over and over again. Your father’s scorn a heavy burden on your already weary shoulders.

But what could you do? The Emperor's actions were beyond your control. It wasn't unheard of for a monarch to take lovers, and in some ways, even expected.

And the task of ignoring the jeers and taunts behind your back was becoming increasingly harder. In order to distract yourself, you began to drown yourself in the your duties.

"—They say Her Majesty is infertile. If that's true then here's no doubt about it; she'll be replaced by that new girl soon."

"—She's growing older each day, but there is still no sign of a child being conceived. Of course His Majesty would become tired of her."

"Poor thing."

Humiliation coiled in your gut like a snake. Behind you, your personal maid, Mary, spoke up, her voice filled with indignation on your behalf.

"Your Majesty, I'll go teach them a lesson—"

"No need," You replied, with a composed exterior, you continued walking. "Let's go."

As your husband had requested, you provided Lucia with everything he had asked for: servants, new gowns, jewelry, and suitable living quarters (which you ensured were as far away as possible from your residence). The lavish gifts and living space were more than generous, a testament to your patience.

You had also ensured that her presence would be kept minimally invasive to your daily life. Hopefully, the only times you would encounter her were on formal occasions, and nothing else.

At least that was what you had wished for, but it seemed that fate had a cruel way of playing tricks on mortals.

From the corner of your eye, a hint of blonde hair caught your attention. You halted in your steps as Lucia's face came into view, accompanied by a small group of her attendants.

‘Why was she here?’

The sight was enough to put you on edge; the last person you wanted to see right now was your husband's mistress.

She wore a delighted expression on her face as the group made their way toward you, "Your Majesty! I've been looking for you.”

Before you could respond, Mary stepped forward and quickly curtsied before the blonde woman, a hint of unfriendliness in her tone:

"Lady Lucia, how can we help you?"

An indiscernible emotion flashed across Lucia's eyes before she smiled again.

"I wanted to thank Her Majesty for all the help she has given me, and was going to invite her for tea."

Was she testing your patience on purpose? You couldn't believe your ears.

"Her Majesty has important business to attend to. Perhaps we could arrange another time." Mary suggested firmly. 

But the blonde woman ignored Mary’s words, and turned her expectant gaze towards you instead. You remained composed, offering Lucia a polite smile that did not quite reach your eyes.

"I appreciate the kind gesture, Lady Lucia. But perhaps another time.”

Lucia's smile faltered, and she slowly nodded her head, "I see... I'm sorry if I'm bothering you,"

You made a mental note to instruct the guards later not to let her wander around freely anymore. Seeing her every day would likely ruin your mood even more.

"—But,"

Shocked gasps rose from the attendants around you.

“My lady!”

Lucia paused, then her delicate fingers lifted the hem of her gown to reveal the crimson-stained slippers underneath. The blood had seeped through, staining her pristine white stockings a dark, ominous shade of red.

Your eyes widened in shock. Unaccustomed to the sight of blood, the gory display was enough to send shudders down your spine.

"Lady Lucia... What is the meaning of this?" You demanded, your voice trembling slightly as an unsettling feeling began to settle in the pit of your stomach.

Lucia's eyes were wide, and her lips curved up into a serene smile, "It wouldn't hurt Her Majesty to join us this once."

Her voice rang out, sickeningly sweet:

"I only wish to repay you. It would be a shame for His Majesty to hear about his beloved concubine getting injured in the Empress' own quarters. Wouldn't you agree, Your Majesty?"

✦✧✦✧

[enchantress-arc]

It's honestly kind of transphobic of the universe that I don't have any cute vampire hunters coming to my home to try and "hunt" like that one meme. This one.

Like idk, feels like there should be beautiful heavily armored women busting down my door attempting to slay me with holy swords before making the mistake of briefly looking into my eyes and starting to lose control of herself, fear overtaking her as her body freezes in place. I ask what she really came here for, and after teasing her and caressing her cheek, watching her tremble while she struggles to stay upright, she finally admits that she wants to lose herself, to become a thrall. That looking into my eyes wasn't a mistake. She wanted this. With her intentions known, I sink my fangs into her neck, and feel her drop to the ground. And I sit down and move her head into my lap, holding her face tilted upwards towards mine before she reopens her eyes, a newfound smile on her face, staring into the eyes of her new, beautiful, kind mistress feeling nothing but absolute devotion and love.

And then I train her in the ways of dark magic and get her shadowy intimidating armor and she becomes my dark knight, my strongest servant, known throughout the land as an unbeatable foe, unstoppable force and immovable object all in one, who strikes fear into the hearts of all good and godly, an enforcer of evil that could rival the very gods in strength. Stronger even than me, kept in line by her love and devotion. Feared by kings and beasts alike, a monster in human form. And also we have lots of hot sweaty lesbian sex.

All I'm saying is that it's pretty transphobic that this hasn't happened yet.

[heich0e]

(part 2 of emperor!sukuna)

It's dark, and so terribly silent.

It's not the kind of quiet you find comfort in. No peace, or tranquility, in the stillness. The silence is tense, like a breath you hold until your lungs begin to burn. Like time itself has frozen.

Two red eyes watch you from the shadows.

Vicious. Hungry.

You wake with a start.

"Noble guest!"

Your head whips to the side, only to find the young handmaid who had been assigned to serve you kneeling at the edge of your bed. Her hair is tied, as ever, into two neat knots on either side of her head, but her endearingly lopsided fringe still hangs down over her worried eyes.

"Miwa," you breathe, and perhaps it might be in relief if you had the right to feel any. You lift a hand to your chest and feel the way your heart is racing under your ribs.

"Are you quite well, Mistress?" she asks you in concern.

Miwa is a young girl, no more than twelve if you had to guess and, though occasionally her manners fail her, she's dutiful in your care. You're fond of her in your own way. Grateful for a face in your chambers that doesn't mean you harm, or reproach.

"Yes," you say quietly. Barely a whisper and even less truth. "I'm well."

Your eyes sweep around your quarters, and suddenly you have a thought.

"What's the hour?" you ask her. It's night time, you're sure of it. Late if you were put upon to wager. "What brings you here so late?"

Miwa's eyes slip away, like she suddenly has trouble meeting yours.

"Miwa?" you ask again, more insistent this time.

The young girl fists her robe in her small hands, her head hanging slightly.

"It's the Crown Prince, Mistress."

Your chest feels tight.

"Yuuji?" You sit yourself further up in your bed, your sheet slipping down to pool in your lap. "Is he well? Has something happened?"

Miwa looks up at you with eyes that glisten in the soft light of the lanterns around your room, her lips pulled into a tight line.

"I know you and the Crown Prince have become good friends, Mistress," she says to you quietly, and you're surprised. You didn't know that anyone was aware of the little Prince's visits to your quarters. The girl's nose scrunches up. "Which is why it upsets me that the head of household forbid the staff from telling you."

"What's happened to him?" You feel panic in your veins, hot and quickly spreading, in the wake of her words.

"He's ill, Mistress. Fevered. The poor thing has not had the strength to leave his bed for some two days now."

You rip your blankets from your lap, throwing your legs over the side of your bed. You stand quickly, ignoring the way your blood rushes to your head and makes you feel dizzy.

Miwa stares up at you in shock from where she kneels at your feet.

"Come," you tell her firmly, extending your hand down towards her to help her up. "Take me to him."

Miwa knows her way through the Emperor's palace in a way so familiar that you could never hope to memorize the paths similarly yourself. You wonder how long she's been serving in the royal household to be so intimately familiar with every corridor, path, and passageway. She manages to take you all the way across the expansive property, from your own court to the one in which he Prince resides, without being seen by another living soul.

The two of you pause, pressed close together in a narrow passage covered by a tapestry.

"Will there be guards inside?" you ask her, keeping your voice low.

She shakes her head emphatically.

"The guards are outside the door. This is an entry that the servants in the Prince's household use. I assure you he's quite alone in there—his maids are away to take tea since he's resting, and the court physician has left him for the night."

You nod slightly.

"If I hear anyone coming, I'll fetch you," Miwa assures you, and you know she is sincere.

You lift the edge of the silk that covers your small hiding place, and step into the Crown Prince's quarters.

His room is not wholly dissimilar to your own—a realization that only makes you feel a little ill as you realize just how out of place you are in the place you've been confined. On the other side of the wide room is an elevated bed, and there in the centre lies the small form of the Prince.

His round cheeks, though always somewhat rosy, are flushed a violent scarlet with fever. His skin is pale and waxy, and is dewy with perspiration though his little nose is ice to touch. His chest rises and falls in shaky exhales, and his lips—parted as he gasps for breath—are dry and cracking.

Your heart rends at the sight of him.

"Miwa," you call quietly towards where you know the passageway to be. When you get no response you dare to repeat yourself a little louder. "Miwa."

Her head pops out from behind the fine silk weave.

You wave her over to where you kneel at Yuuji's bedside.

"Mistress, what is it?" she asks as she approaches.

You look down towards Yuuji, brushing some of his soft blush-coloured hair back from his sticky forehead.

"How long do we have before the maids return?" you ask her.

"They often take longer than they should," she says, rolling her lip between her teeth. "They bring wine to the guards outside and overindulge in their company. The head maid of the household often scolds them for it."

You feel a pang of resentment towards the women who fall short in their care for the little boy before you. You ache upon the realization of his neglect.

"I'll need hot water, and cloths."

"Pardon, Mistress?" she squeaks, watching as you roll up your sleeves.

"Hurry, Miwa," you brush off her effort to clarify, peering up at her with resolution in your eyes. "We haven't much time."

You scoop the small boy up into your arms, carrying him over to a nearby window. You open it as quietly as you can with him in your grasp, and then settle in on the floor as the cold night's breeze rushes in. Miwa appears soon with a basin of warm water and the cloths you requested, her eyes wide as she sees the way you cradle Yuuji in your arms, smoothing your hand along his back.

"Bring it here," you instruct her, and she does as you say. She sets the steaming basin before you, and the cloths just at its side.

You shift Yuuji in your arms.

"He needs the steam to help clear his lungs and break his fever," you tell her carefully leaning the sleeping child face-first above the basin. "Place a cool cloth to the back of his neck, and drape another overtop to trap in the vapours."

Miwa doesn't argue, quickly doing as she's told.

After some time passes, you remove the cloths and shift Yuuji towards the window, his head cradled in the crook of your arm like a babe.

"He needs the dry, cool air now," you tell Miwa as she watches you curiously.

"Mistress, you know a great deal on how to treat a fever," she remarks quietly, ringing out another cool cloth in case it's needed.

You hum, eyes glued to Yuuji's sleeping face. He's breathing a little easier now, his skin a bit less sallow. You dip your finger in the cool clean water and dab it lightly upon his lips to moisten them.

"I have three little brothers," you tell her quietly.

"Really?" she gasps in surprise. "I had no idea!"

Of course she didn't. No one in this land knows anything about you. At least not anything true. They know only what hateful rumours have been circulated through the court, and nothing of your person nor your character.

"Do you have any siblings, Miwa?" you ask her in turn.

"Two older sisters, Mistress," she replies.

"And are they too employed by the royal household?"

"They work at a teahouse just outside the palace, the nicest one in the city!" she says proudly. "They have many noble customers who they attend to."

You smile a little, though it's feeble. You know the kind of teahouses, and the kind of customers, she speaks of. You also know just what attending to them means.

"They must be proud to see their little sister working at the palace," you remark.

She huffs a little. "They still treat me like a child."

You laugh a little, reaching out with the hand not holding Yuuji and ruffling her fringe. "You are a child, Miwa. But there's no harm in that, nor is there any question of your capability in spite of it."

Miwa's cheeks flush pink and she looks away shyly, though undeniably pleased.

"In any case," you note, "my older brothers are the same as your sisters, though I'm long grown. I suspect that treatment never changes."

Her eyes go wide. "You have older brothers too?"

"There are six of us in total," you tell her. "The two eldest sons above me, and then three more who are not yet taller than yourself. The youngest is around the Prince's age, in fact."

You stare down at the six year old in your arms. He looks so much like his father, a man you've come to so deeply resent, but you're helpless to the affection you feel for the little boy. You find yourself holding him a little tighter without thinking.

"Thank you for bringing me here," you say to Miwa quietly.

"You've taken excellent care of his majesty," the maid replies. "He looks much improved in such a short time."

You're grateful that you helped care for so many brothers that you have the kinds of skills needed to help in a time like this. Though the muscle memory seems to ache all the same.

"Come," you pick up Yuuji and move to return him to his bed. "The Prince's maids will return soon, shut the window and remove any trace of our having been here. We should depart."

Miwa hastens to erase any lingering evidence of your presence in the Prince's quarters, and you tuck Yuuji carefully back into bed. As you draw his blanket up to his chin, the little boy stirs for the first time. His eyes, bleary and unfocused, search unseeingly as they open. As though too heavy for his weary body to muster the strength to lift, his eyelids flutter closed again soon. His hand, clammy and small, finds yours.

"Mama?" his little voice croaks, though you know he's unaware of what he's said—too far from the periphery of proper consciousness to even remember this moment when he wakes, you're sure.

You place your hand gently on his forehead, over his eyes.

"Sleep, Yuuji," you whisper to him, and his body slackens as he obeys.

You and Miwa depart soundlessly, the beautiful silk tapestry over the servants passage slipping back into place behind you as you take your leave. The way it swings is the only evidence left behind in your wake.

On the other side of the room, cloaked in the shadows away from the soft light of the lamps, a ruby-eyed stare narrows.

The emperor laughs, but there's no mirth in the sound.

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [4]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 3 | Fic Masterlist | Part 5

"Mistress, please allow me to help you back to your quarters." Eunsook pleaded, once again attempting to gently pull you up from the floor. But you shook your head weakly, keeping your forehead stubbornly glued to the ground.

Jongho sighed, stepping in to help, "Miss Jang, it's the general's orders. We've been tasked with taking you back to your room. If you don't cooperate, we might be in trouble."

To the relief of both employees, that seemed to work. They quickly moved to assist your limp and defeated form, with your tear-stained face and the bruise forming on your forehead breaking their hearts. Without wasting another minute, they moved you onto the assistant's back before rushing back to The Cold Palace.

You were already unconscious when they gently laid you on your bed, the toll of your crying apparent. Eunsook sighed, pulling the blankets over your petite frame and tucking you in. She then moved to dab your wet cheeks lightly with the sleeve of her uniform.

Observing you, Jongho frowned, "She feels so light; that doesn't seem normal. It's as if she barely weighs anything. Just what in the world was her life like in the Jang estate?"

The head maid gestured for him to keep quiet, putting a finger to her lips and shaking her head in warning. She didn't want to risk waking you up or, worse, letting you hear them talk about you as if you weren't there right in front of them.

Outside your room, the two took a moment to process the events of the day. It became apparent to them that you were just as much a pawn in your father's game as their master. It was also clear that your sudden presence was set to shake the very foundation of everything they had ever known in the general's estate.

"Let's just... take a break for the night and see what happens tomorrow." Eunsook mumbled, massaging her temples to alleviate the approaching headache.

Jongho agreed, "At least we've learned that our master isn't completely heartless." They exchanged knowing smiles before retiring to their respective quarters for the night.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the estate, Seonghwa stayed awake until he was sure that his assistant and head maid had carried out their assigned task. Laying in his bed, he forced himself to sleep, but the haunting image of you sobbing and kneeling on the ground plagued his thoughts incessantly.

He tells himself that perhaps he should have begun eating a bit first during dinner; that would've allowed you to have more energy during the extended hours of kneeling. Your reaction to the food lingers in his thoughts. In retrospect, he acknowledges that instructing the servants to discard all the food while you were hungry might have been a bit much; he realises that now.

Tomorrow, I'll allow her breakfast.

Tossing and turning throughout the night, the general found no reprieve until the early hours of the day. Even when he did manage to drift off to sleep, his dreams were filled with recurring scenes of the heart-wrenching dinner. His guilt and remorse persisted even in his unconscious state.

As the morning arrived, the voice of the head maid echoed from the entrance of your room, waking you from your sleep, "Good morning, mistress! May we please enter? We will be fixing you a bath and helping you get dressed for the day."

"N-no! I don't need help getting ready!"

You gasped, a sense of panic seizing you as you tried to move towards the mirror to inspect your reflection. The prospect of them assisting you with bathing and dressing meant they would inevitably see the bruises and scars littered across your body. The risk of being ousted on your second day loomed over you, and that was something you couldn't allow.

Your legs betrayed you and gave out, succumbing to weakness due to prolonged hunger. You crawled the remaining distance to the worn-out mirror in your room, suppressing a sob as you covered your mouth upon seeing your bare, unadorned self. The tears from the previous night had washed away your makeup, unveiling the stark reality of your appearance.

"Mistress, please. We've brought a new set of clothes for you, along with the freshest rose petals for your bath. It will be relaxing and enjoyable, we assure you!"

The kindness in Eunsook's voice intensified your emotional turmoil. As you stared at your hideous reflection, you realised you didn't deserve such luxury. You weren't the beautiful and elegant first daughter promised to Seonghwa; you felt like a fraud. How naive could you have been to believe you stood a chance of becoming the wife of the renowned General Park?

You weren't good enough; you'll never be.

"No, I don't want anything! J-just leave me alone, please..." You cried, pulling your knees into your chest and hugging them close. Despite the continuous persuasion from the elderly woman, you ignored her and remained curled up in the corner.

"Mistress... please," Eunsook gave up with a sigh, shaking her head at the servants behind her, "Take it away for now." They obeyed and dispersed with the clothes and bath supplies they had prepared. She knew there was nothing she could do if you refused to grant her permission to enter.

As the footsteps of the departing servants faded away, you released a sigh of relief. Your gaze remained fixed on the marks on your skin, cruel reminders of the abuse inflicted by your father, scars that seemed destined never to fade. So long as you have these on your body, you will never know what happiness is.

A bitter, humourless chuckle escaped your lips as you contemplated the fading hope for happiness. The general's response to your heartfelt words served as undeniable proof that, no matter how sincere your efforts, he would never accept you. The burden of the Jang surname seemed to ensure that you would never be given a fair chance, regardless of how hard you try.

While you wallowed in self-pity, Seonghwa was on the opposite side of the estate, reluctantly getting dressed for the day. His sleep had been far from restful, leaving him in a sour mood.

"So... how is she doing?" He asked in a detached tone, staring out of his window to avoid meeting his assistant's eyes.

Jongho arched an eyebrow at the question, suppressing a knowing smile as he observed his master's attempt to maintain a nonchalant demeanour, "Are you referring to Miss Jang, sir?"

The general clicked his tongue in irritation, "Who else would I be asking about?"

His aide nodded, "Right, how silly of me. Well, it seemed like she was sleeping quite well when we returned her to her quarters. I haven't checked on her since then, but Eunsook has organised a group of servants to assist her with a bath and preparations for the day."

Seonghwa hummed in approval, doing his best to mask any sense of satisfaction, "Very well. She better be punctual for breakfast then, we shall see how she plans to prove her innocence."

Despite his insistence on you being suspicious, Jongho could discern that there was no malice in his master's words. Perhaps there was hope that things could work out between the two of you after all. It seemed like the general was already letting his guard down, even if only slightly; the assistant could see it.

Or not.

"Where the hell is she?"

Seonghwa frowned, growing impatient as he had been waiting for some time, and you were nowhere to be seen in the dining hall.

Breakfast had already been served, and he even had the servants prepare slightly more than usual, anticipating your need for extra food since you hadn't eaten dinner the previous night.

Just as he asked the question, Jongho pointed at the head maid rushing towards the dining hall, strangely without you in sight, "There, Eunsook's coming."

The elderly woman bowed upon reaching the dining hall, catching her breath before addressing the general, "Good morning, master."

He waved off the greeting, "What's going on? Where's Miss Jang? Were you not getting her ready?"

She appeared to hesitate in her response, stammering, "W-well, I was trying to, but—"

"But what?" Seonghwa pressed, annoyance evident in his tone. Sensing her master's foul mood, Eunsook knew she had no choice but to tell the truth.

Jongho nodded encouragingly at his colleague, not wanting her to get in trouble. The head maid lowered her head in defeat, "I arranged for her bath and everything first thing in the morning, and we've been stuck outside her quarters for nearly an hour. Master, she refuses to let us in. It seems she doesn't wish to be bathed or changed."

The general and his assistant found themselves baffled by the revelation. Your new husband struggled to comprehend why anyone would be foolish enough to refuse a pleasant bath and a fresh change of clothes. But he was becoming less surprised after witnessing your odd behaviour the day before. By now, he had accepted the fact that you were far from normal.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he pressed a hand against his head, "Just... if she doesn't want to be bathed that badly, leave it. Just tell her to come out and eat," He muttered, recalling your longing gaze fixed on the dishes during dinner, "Go, get her now."

"Yes, master." Eunsook bowed before heading back to you. She hoped that this time, you would finally show yourself. Her concern grew as she remembered hearing the anguish in your voice when you asked to be left alone just earlier.

To be sure, she checked with the nearby servants if you had called for anyone or even emerged from your room while she was away, only to sigh in disappointment when they shook their heads.

She raised her hand to knock gently, "Mistress, I've come to inform you that breakfast is ready. The master is waiting for you. He wants you to know it's alright if you prefer not to be bathed or changed, but please, come and eat."

Instead of providing comfort, that only heightened your anxiety. Was the general summoning you to further interrogate you? It seemed likely. If he were to see you in this state, he might resort to beating you to death in an instant. Surely, being wedded to someone like you would be an insult to the great General Park.

As appealing as the idea of breakfast was, you feared you might not get to eat, similar to the previous night. Especially not with your current appearance. You winced, feeling the ache in your stomach from going without food for so long.

Perhaps this is how you'll meet your end.

"Mistress, wouldn't you like to have some breakfast?" Eunsook made another attempt, her concern deepening as she noticed your silhouette huddled in pain in a corner.

You shook your head, holding onto your stomach, "No... I-I don't want anything! Just... just go away, please..."

Seonghwa's impatience reached new heights as he waited, and it only intensified when he saw the head maid returning once again, without you by her side. He narrowed his eyes, feeling stupid for trying to be considerate towards you this morning. Here you were, revealing your true colours by being an ungrateful brat already.

His anger finally erupted when the elderly woman bowed deeply with a regretful grimace, "I'm sorry, master. Miss Jang refuses to leave her room."

The general slammed his fists against the table, scaring both Jongho and Eunsook as he pushed himself off his seat, seething, "That's it. If it's my attention she wants, then she's about to get it."

In a panic, the two employees chased after their furious master, making pitiful attempts to calm him down, "Master, please, perhaps she is still emotionally recovering from what happened last night!" But no amount of words could extinguish the fire in Seonghwa's eyes as he stormed towards The Cold Palace.

Truth be told, the assistant and head maid had never seen the general so worked up over any of his fiancées before. In fact, he barely paid them any attention, and they would all flee the estate in less than a day. Had it been any other woman, he probably wouldn't have cared if she came to breakfast or not; he probably wouldn't even bat an eyelash if she died in her room.

But he was oddly affected by your absence.

"Get out of my goddamned way!" He roared, pushing through the servants working around the garden paths that led to your quarters. They scrambled to their knees, bowing their heads low to avoid angering him further.

Jongho and Eunsook shot apologetic looks as they hurried past the poor servants who were just trying to do their jobs. But they had no time to worry about their colleagues when they saw Seonghwa closing in on your room. They scurried over to hold him back, trying to prevent him from scaring you any more than he already had.

"Master, please—"

Before they could intervene, the general forcefully slammed the flimsy doors of your room open, causing one of them to break off its hinges. Your cowering form was immediately revealed, but your new husband was too furious to show any sympathy.

"Are you angry because I didn't give you the wedding night you desired? If you want it that badly, I'll give it to you right now." Without allowing you to respond, he yanked your arms away from your body and tore the outer layer of your hanbok open, exposing your innerwear and shoulders completely.

"N-no, please!"

In just a split second, all of his fury vanished.

The sight of the numerous marks covering your skin, along with the newly revealed ones on your face, left Seonghwa frozen in place. He couldn't move as he observed the bruises and scars scattered all over you, and these were only the ones visible. He dreaded to think about what might be hidden beneath the rest of your body.

What the actual f—

Having tortured more than enough prisoners as part of his job, he was able to distinguish between old and fresh wounds. Judging from all the ones on you, he was repulsed to realise that you had a bit of everything – your injuries ranged from years to a few months old. This meant that you had been enduring abuse for a really long time.

A series of horrified gasps escaped Jongho and Eunsook as soon as they entered the room and witnessed the condition of your skin. You let out a heart-wrenching sob, making a feeble attempt to cover yourself again, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." You whimpered, despite being violated.

It's over. My life... is over.

Feeling lightheaded from all the crying and prolonged starvation, your vision darkened, your eyes gradually fluttered shut, and you slumped forward. The general acted swiftly, catching you and, for once, displaying gentleness as he nestled your head into the crook of his neck, holding your fragile form close.

"Hand me the blanket." He instructed. The head maid hurried over with the fabric, witnessing her master wrapping you in it.

Rising with you in his arms, he moved toward his private quarters with a newfound determination, "Jongho, go summon Physician Jung." The assistant bowed and hastily departed to fulfil his orders.

Entering his room, he laid you on his bed and carefully covered you with the sheets. Examining you more closely now, he became aware of your true frailty. Carrying you earlier, he noticed how remarkably light you were, like a feather. He clenched his fists in rage as he took in the horrendous marks that marred your skin. The new bruise forming on your forehead from the night before only made him feel worse.

Letting out a sigh, he tenderly wiped away the tears staining your cheeks, "What in the world happened to you? Who did this to you? Who dare lay their hands on you, hm?" He whispered, his heart tightening with more guilt than the previous night.

Eunsook stood in the corner, witnessing the scene unfold before her eyes with mixed emotions. While she was pleased to finally see her master display genuine care and affection towards you, it saddened her to realise the extent of the hardships you had to go through to evoke this response from him.

At the same time, her heart ached even more at the sight of the visible evidence of what you had been trying to conceal from everyone. It now made sense why you resisted a bath; you must have been terrified of anyone seeing the marks on your body. The thought of the horrors you endured in the Jang estate sent a shudder down her spine.

"Sir, Physician Jung has arrived," Jongho announced at the entrance, awaiting permission to enter. Seonghwa nodded tersely, "Let him in." The general rose from his seat to greet the physician, a familiar face who had become somewhat of a family doctor.

"Good afternoon, General Park. Are you feeling unwell—" The physician's words halted as soon as his eyes landed on the frail figure lying on the bed.

"It's not me this time, Yunho. It's... my wife."

« Preview of Part 5 »

"Jongho," The general called out softly, his eyes staying fixed on your unconscious form. Despite the softness in his tone, he was anything but calm on the inside. His aide stepped forward, "Sir?"

Finally shifting his gaze from you, he turned to his assistant, dead serious, "I'm going to need you to dig deeper this time. Hire a private investigator if necessary. Find someone willing to infiltrate the minister's estate and get someone to talk. Pay them as much as they need. Just find out what the hell happened while she was in there."

Deep down, he had a gut feeling about who might be responsible for all this, but he needed to know what exactly was done to you and why. He needed confirmation, and most importantly, evidence.

"General Park, I eagerly anticipate our forthcoming union. I assure you, my eldest is a gem; you'll come to adore her."

Recalling the smugness in Minister Jang's tone as he uttered those words, everything began to click. The puzzle pieces were coming together. The narrative of you being an accomplice for whatever your father had planned against him was finally being discarded; it was clear to him now that you were as much a victim as he was, except you'd had it much worse.

"Leave it to me, sir. I'll do everything to find out what happened to Miss Jang." The assistant said with determination, bowing.

Before he could leave, Seonghwa added, "Mistress. It's mistress to you all now. From today onwards, she's the official wife of General Park. I don't want to hear anyone calling her by that ridiculous surname ever again, understand?"

Jongho and Eunsook couldn't hide their smiles as they bowed rather enthusiastically, "Yes, master!"

Umm, surprise? HAHA I know I said I was sick, and I still am, but I'm feeling slightly better and gosh, not even the cold can keep me away from working on this! All your kind replies and messages got me so hyped, I had to finish this asap🤭

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[jaune-submissive-and-breedable]

'Jaune father sold him to Weiss's family as a servant/bodyguard. And of course, Weiss's asshole of a father would have him experimented on, making him taller and place him to be a guard the mansion like a dog. But Weiss and her family/friends take full Avenged of their sweet power guard dog.

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"Oh, Of course, we'll be happy to see you dear" Willow chirped. The screen before her had the visage of her eldest children, standing at attention with a crispy military uniform. "And I'm sure HE will be happy too~"

After closing the call, Willow leaned back in her chair and sighed happily. It's been a long while since she's had all her children together, maybe longer, with Weiss and Bleiss going to separate combat schools. She rose to inform her daughters that their elder sister would be visiting soon, pausing to ask her personal maid a very important question.

"2P, where is Jaune right now? I'm sure he'd be overjoyed to hear Winter's coming for a visit"

"I believe he's playing with the twin mistresses, ma'am" the dark skin maid replied.

Willow sighed and raised a hand to her temple. "I swear...those girls..."

She left her office and headed towards the twin heiress' room. they always wanted to play with the blonde boy, even from a young age, despite Jaune being a faunus. Honestly, she couldn't blame them, he was a really good boy. And the way his ears and tail wagged when he was happy is just the cutest.

Years ago, before Weiss was born, her husband, Jasque had acquired Jaune from his family for a pretty penny. The transaction was visibly illegal, but the law meant nothing to wealthy men like him. After doing so, he had atlas physicians and scientists experiment on the poor boy for months before introducing him to the family. He was tall, almost to her hips, had scars all over his body and his eyes were dull and lifeless from the experiment. What shocked her and enraged her most was how young he was. For this reason, he was placed as Winter's bodyguard and servant since they were the same age. They were inseparable since then, always doing things together no matter who was present. Be it eating playing, bathing, or even sleeping Jaune was there for her, he even got a little life back in his eyes After Weiss, Bleiss, and Whitley were born, he became their bodyguard and servant as well. All including Willow, the servants, Klein, and some of their guests loved Jaune's company for one reason or another. He also lived up to his bodyguard status in the family quite well. He truly was a good boy.

As Willow neared her daughters' room, she could her the muffled sounds of flesh colliding, moans of pleasure, and the distinct shouts of swears, no doubt from that vulgar child of hers.

*I swear that girl is gonna be the death of me* she thought as she turned the nob.

When she opened the door, Willow was immediately hit with the distinct smell of sex emanating from the twins' room. Looking inside, she saw Jaune lying on Weiss's bed. His clothes were thrown all over the room leaving him naked as the two girls in question had their way with him. Around his feet, and presumably, his hands were black glyphs that held him in place.

Weiss sat atop his face with a groin smashed into his mouth. Her long white hair was loose and tangled around her sweat-caked body. She wore only her pure white panties and a pair of white thigh-high socks. Her mouth was wide open from Jaune's long flat, dog-like tongue licking and probing her pussy.

Bleiss, on the other hand, sat on his groin, moaning and shouting as his cock speared her tiny pussy. Unlike her sister, she was completely nude save for the lacy pair of panties that hung loosely around her ankles. Her pitch-black hair was held in a neat ponytail allowing any onlooker to see her cup breast bouncing wildly up and down.

"FUCK, HIS COCK IS SOO~ GOOD!" She shouts ceasing her bouncing to wildly grind against Jaune's cock.

Across from her, Weiss moaned as his voice vibrated in her pussy "Bleiss you sow...*Moan*....Get off his it's my turn now!"

The haired girl flipped her twin off with a smirk, "Oh please, you snooze you lose bitch~"

Weiss's face scrunched at her twin's reply, her face red with anger "Why you listen here you....you"

"Ahem"

Looking to who said that, they girls' eyes widen when they saw their mother standing in the doorway, arms crossed with a disappointed expression.

"Oh.....fuck"

"Mother!..."

"Care to explain what you two are doing.." she paused looking at Bleis. a splatter of cloudy fluid covered his ass and leaked from her womanhood. Looking down Willow also saw a bright blue cockring laying on the floor "Bleiss....turn around"

Bleiss had a nervous expression on her face and protested "Oh...but umm.......I'm...uhhh"

Now, Bleiss"

She wanted to protest more but begrudgingly turned around. Willow shook her head upon seeing her daughter's bloated stomach, no doubt allowing Jaune to cum inside her.

"Really dear...." she sighed

"I warned her not to but she wouldn't listen, Mother" Weiss chimed, despite having a bloated stomach as well, albeit small.

Bleiss turned around to face her twin, fury covering her face "YOU FUCKING ASS KISSING!!!!..."

Willow was about to stop their arguing but 2P beat her the punch. The android grabbed the duo by their arms and roughly pulled them to their feet. Their stomachs emptying themselves of cum now that they're unplugged, the cloudy white fluid forming into lakes on the floor. From the bed, Jaune sat up coughing, his throat full of his own cum from Weiss sitting on his face.

"Jaune" Willow called out calmly. The blonde looked in her direction for his orders "Go clean yourself up and wait for me in a quarters please, I'll be along to talk with you shortly"

He nodded and made his way towards the door, passed Willow, and into the hallway, leaving his clothes behind. She bit her lip as he passed. Over the years, He's grown into a handsome man. He was well built, still very tall almost 7 feet, and had a decent amount of muscle on his frame. His hair had grown long enough to reach his shoulders. He also had some stumble growing that made him look a bit more mature. She could understand why her daughters risked pregnancy with that stud. Not letting herself be led astray, she turned back to her daughters, disappointed and overall just tired of their shenanigans.

"You too are to be attending two of the best huntsman academies in the kingdoms and yet you risk getting pregnant before you even graduate? You know Jaune's sperm is highly potent" She sighed and turned to leave, giving 2P one small task. "2P, please make sure these too are cleaned and dressed. Also, inform Klein that they are not to have any desserts for a week"

"What!"

"Bullshit"

"Make that two weeks"

Hours later, in Willow's bedroom

A muted groan escaped Jaune's mouth as he squirmed on the soft mattress. On his lap sat a half-naked Willow, her blouse torn open, skirt hiked up to her waist, and pantyhose ripped with her panties moved to the side. Her stomach was bloated with cum with small streams leaking from her stuffed pussy. Her left hand was raised in the air holding a syringe of pink fluid while her right used Jaune's chest for balance.

"Your taking to the aphrodisiac nicely" she cooed as she gently rolled her hips on his cock. "I can feel your balls churning with cum~"

"Mistress...I....need to.....BREED" he growled dangerously, his eyes had a feral look in them

She gently kissed his lips and looked into his dull blue eyes, bringing him back to his senses for a moment. whispering huskily"Then breed me~"

Willow gasped as he thrusted his impossibly large cock inside her. He was already skewering her womb from just that one thrust. She hardly had time to process anything before he trusted again then again before fully pistoning his hips inside her. She watched his face twist and contort into a feral expression, his pupils' mere slits in an ocean of blue. She watched him open his and lean to her right, groaning as she felt him nibble on her shoulder. All the while her trusted into here cunt like a dog in heat.

"Oh...Jaune your...AHH!!!"

Willow gasped as Jaune bit hard into her skin, though not enough to draw blood. It was sudden, but a welcome surprise from the faunus. But when she felt him increase the force in his mouth, she began to feel a bit afraid, but even more aroused.

"Jaune...Not so rough" she chuckled, only to be met with animalistic grunts from the faunus. Her smile faltered as felt him biting hard, his teeth threatening to break skin. "that's enough, Jaune"

He didn't reply instead applying more force.

"Jaune....That's Enough"

Still no response.

"Jaune..." she called with more authority "I said that's enough...."

Willow lost all thought in that moment. He had broken through her skin resulting in streams of blood to flow from her shoulder. All according to plan

PLAP PLAP PLAP PLAP

"AHH...BREED ME YOU FUCKING ANIMAL!!!" she cried. Ignore the pain from having her snatch destroyed by his massive cock.

The faunus man obeyed his mistress's request, never stopping his thrusts for a moment. His mind clouded with only one thought, Breed. His cock stretched her vaginal walls as he pushed in and out, occasionally scrapping out leftover bits of cum from earlier. His balls churned with more of the life-giving seed, eager to release it inside of Willow's battered womb.

the matriarch moaned loudly as she felt herself getting dominated by the faunus. It wasn't the first time he ravaged her form, in fact, it was a near-weekly occurrence. Ever since the "tragic" death of her husband, she along with her daughters had been using Jaune for sexual relief. And he was leagues better than Jacques ever was. After their first rendevous, the night of Jacques's death, she secretly had a special aphrodisiac that would make him into a horny beast hell-bent of breeding. Sure it left her sore for weeks, but it was well worth it to feel his seed swimming inside her.

"PUMP ME FULL OF YOUR SEED" She screamed, "MAKE ME HAVE ANOTHER PUPPY"

He was more than happy to oblige, his cock twitched and pulsed as he felt his climax rapidly approach. With a mighty grunt he shoved himself deep into her pussy and release a torrent of cum inside her womb, never stopping his thrusts as his seed flooded her womb. Willow's eyes rolled back in her head, moaning loudly as she came alongside her lover, their juices mixing inside her cunt. Even though it was a safe day, there was no way she wouldn't be impregnated afterward, though it wasn't the first time. She moaned contently, knowing he was nowhere close to being done. Sure Winter wouldn't mind if she stole her lover's seed.

Atlas Military base, Winter's quarter.

Winter screamed into her hand as she came. She laid on her bed with her other hand inside her pants, rapidly pumping her fingers inside her drooling snatch. She could hardly wait to visit Schnee Manor and reunite with Jaune. Ever since he entered her life, living had been much better than what it used to be. Especially since the death of her bastard father. That was the day she finally gave herself to I'm. Pinning him to her bed she rode him like a horse forcing every drop of sperm from him til she looked pregnant.

*Jaune....*she thought as she rode out the last seconds of her orgasm.

She wanted him to com with her, but he declined, saying he was nothing more than a guard for the Schnee family, and she needed him no longer. It broke her heart to hear him say those words, but she knew he wanted her to walk her own path. Though she made sure to return home to see him whenever she could. She knew her mother and sisters would use him too, but she knew he longed to her.

*I will make you mine* she thought as she pulled the covers over her *You'll see*

with that last promise, she fell asleep. Dreaming of when her knight slew the foul beast that imprisoned her.

He truly was a good boy.

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Sent by @dumbawesomev69

Hope you like it.

Also it is implied that jaune killed Jacques

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (23)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: masturbation, sexual tension, smut, angst, manipulation, blackmailing and threats ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Alys had always known that, like any bastard child, she could only rely on herself. Her existence was merely an unfortunate accident to her father and brothers, with which they nevertheless came to terms, and she, in their minds, should be grateful for being allowed to stay and serve in Harrenhal.

Indeed, she never considered herself to have been significantly harmed by fate.

Compared to women who had to sell their bodies for money in order to survive, her function as herbalist and wet nurse completely satisfied her.

Milk filled her breasts along with the baby that one of the guards had put inside her. When he pressed her against the wall and lifted her gown, panting that he had desired her for a long time she did not stand up to him, even helping him by bending over and spreading the folds of her womanhood before him so that he could more easily hit the right spot with the thick tip of his length.

This particular man never aroused her desire, however, he supervised her chambers, and since she allowed him to enjoy the pleasures of her body, he closed his eyes to when and where she went out, giving her more freedom.

His wife, however, was not comforted by the fact that her husband had a mistress.

She could not conclude that her husband was a good lover; his hands only clenched greedily on her firm breasts, his thrusts violent, fast and deep. She knew that as he chased his fulfilment hissing that he would fill her with his seed, it did not even cross his mind to touch her between her thighs or ask what would give her pleasure.

She did not, however, resent him.

She recognised that this was how men were.

Although she tried not to think about it, the sight of his wife, one of her father's servants, filled her with remorse, for although she knew that this woman did not love him, she humiliated her every time she took away what belonged to her.

She had nothing to justify it, but she knew that if she told him to stop she would arouse his anger and his behaviour towards her would change.

He might want to take revenge on her for rejecting him.

She couldn't allow this to happen.

What he didn't know was that he wasn't the only man she allowed to sink between her thighs for the benefit; it was easier and sometimes even more enjoyable than trying to bribe them with money, which she didn't have much of anyway. What she was able to do perfectly was to observe people from the sidelines − their reactions and desires, coming to her own conclusions about what they needed and wanted.

Usually these men wanted not only sensation and elation, but also reassurance, a warm word and understanding; they lay with their faces cuddled between her breasts, muttering for her to stroke their heads, and she did so, allowing them to turn from men into innocent children for a moment.

The women in the fortress began to whisper among themselves that the ease with which she seduced men and with which she maintained her beauty despite her age was due to the fact that she was a witch.

She smiled piteously as she strolled through the corridors of the fortress, overhearing their conversations from afar, hearing about the potions she gave to poor, unaware men so they could not forget her, that she bathed in milk and blood to keep her face young and bright.

She did not deny the accusations, because she derived satisfaction from the fact that they feared and avoided her.

Fear, however, also tended to provoke interest and curiosity, and the young, newly arrived servants who were just learning their trade could not tell what they thought of her.

When she needed a break from the men's sweat and their aggressive, deep thrusts she sought peace and solace in the arms of young girls, much more gentle and understanding when it came to the nature of female fulfilment, their sweet moans and surprised expressions as she caressed them made her feel a pleasant pulsation between her thighs.

Although the prospect of becoming a mother did not fill her with particular joy, when she woke up one morning, feeling a pool of wetness under her thighs and saw blood, the squeeze in her throat and the tears she felt under her eyelids were proof that some part of her hoped she could love this innocent creature that was growing inside her womb.

This did not happen, however, and she, not wanting to waste her milk, from which her breasts had already swollen, decided to feed the children whose mothers had too little nourishment.

She considered her life quite prosperous and peaceful until her father and half-brother died in a fire.

Until Larys became the Lord of Harrenhal.

Everyone, including her, feared him.

He was like a writhing viper, tightening slowly around the necks of those who aroused his suspicions, his gaze black and completely blank, as if he experienced nothing, felt nothing inside himself.

He could not be seduced, appeased, pleaded with, persuaded.

He was like a stone, merciless, cruel, taking satisfaction in domination and power.

She never got in his way.

One evening, however, he summoned her to his chamber, and she feared what he desired.

When she stepped inside he was sitting at the table, having just eaten his evening meal. He smiled slightly at her in a way that made her feel the cold sweat on her back; his eyes remained indifferent, glowing mischievously in the firelight.

"Sit down, sister. I wish to discuss something with you." He said softly, and she swallowed hard, keeping an indifferent, satisfied face, looking at him from under half-closed eyelids. She sat down opposite him in one of the chairs, spreading out comfortably in her seat, sighing quietly and nodded for him to speak.

"We will have guests of honour. Prince Aemond and his wife will be arriving here within two days to spend the night here and then head off the next morning to meet Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon." He said calmly, putting a few pieces of cake from the tray onto his plate, with a hand gesture he encouraged her to eat as well, but she shook her head, analysing his words quickly.

She had heard of them.

Prince Aemond had married and taken his niece's maidenhood on the same night he chose Maris Baratheon as his wife.

His brother the King, to save the situation, married them in the eyes of the Seven before an enraged Borros Baratheon could arrive in King's Landing demanding justice.

There would not have been all the commotion if Prince Aemond had taken her as his second wife, but he clearly only wished to have one, therefore, Maris was sent away with only a dowry and humiliation.

Her half-brother continued, seeing the lack of response on her part.

"I want you to host them well. Both of them, if you understand what I have in mind. Myself and his grandfather do not believe in the success of their mission. Like most of the kingdom we know how it will end: with a war. A war we wish to win. However, our Prince, if I may say so, does not think with his mind now, but rather with what he has between his thighs. He gives in to his wife and her persuasions to bring about a reconciliation. I know you are well acquainted with human nature and will surely win both her trust and his heart."

She chuckled under her breath, shaking her head in disbelief as she looked at her fingers, trying to hide the horror and squeeze in her stomach she felt.

He wanted to expose her, to put her head under the Prince's sword if it turned out that her attempts would only enrage him, and he could wash his hands of everything.

"In any case, in a few days' time the matter of the succession will resolve itself with the help of my birds in the Eyrie. They know what to do. Of course, I'll let our Prince believe that his decision matters, however, everything is already arranged. I hope this should settle the matter. With the help of the gods, the girl might try to take her own life for the second time. Let us raise our cups for that." He said lightly, as if indeed such a course of events would please him the most; she looked at him in disbelief, thinking that she had not even noticed when he had become such a disgusting creature.

A monster that, like a black, empty hole, was consuming everything around him, destroying it and crushing it.

She wasn't in a position to refuse, and he knew it.

That was why she walked out with him to greet their guests, thinking she would simply do what he ordered her to do.

She blinked as the figure of a petite, pretty girl jumped down from the shimmering blue and silver dragon, her long, dark hair of a shade similar to hers tied into a braid, its unruly strands dishevelled by the long journey through the skies.

She stepped out in front of them, breathing heavily, her eyes big, full of curiosity and uncertainty, her gaze warm, kind, her cheeks all flushed from exertion. She stopped in front of them and forced herself into an innocent, almost childlike smile, from which she felt a squeeze in her gut.

Gods, have mercy.

"Your Grace. What a joy." Said her brother. The girl blinked, not knowing for a moment what to answer, shifting from foot to foot.

"My Lord Strong. Thank you for being willing to host us." She muttered at last, clearly tense − her was voice pleasant, melodious, soft, the kind that gives comfort with ease, brings peace of mind.

They all turned their faces towards the approaching figure as they heard his footsteps; Prince Aemond in his long black leather coat and black eye patch indeed looked like someone menacing, commanding, as powerful as the great dragon he was riding.

What immediately caught her attention was that as his gaze traveled over their faces he stopped at his wife, assessing her figure from afar as if quickly examining whether she had suffered any damage after such a long journey and whether she was well.

He must have evidently concluded that she was, for his gaze turned after a moment towards her brother.

"Lord Strong. Take us to our quarters."

The Prince and her brother moved first, followed by his wife, looking around the interior of their fortress with genuine curiosity, not even listening to what her brother was saying.

She didn't even notice that her uncle was glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, checking that she was near and in no danger.

She thought he would sooner stab her in the heart than take her to his bed.

Her brother opened the door of the chamber that had been prepared for him, the largest in the entire fortress, not coincidentally located close to hers. The Prince, however, did not look impressed; his lips pressed into a thin line in disapproval when he heard that Lord Strong had assigned his wife other quarters.

"No need. My wife will spend the night in my chamber." He said coolly, as if the very suggestion was offensive and insulting to him.

He had kept her with him the whole time, she thought in disbelief, glancing out of the corner of her eye at the girl standing next to her.

She stood, gazing at her uncle as if she were looking at a statue of one of the gods; her bright, shining eyes large and filled with affection, devotion, longing, even though, after all, he was standing in front of her, at her fingertips.

She realised, swallowing quietly, that he had not taken her by force the night he married her or any night after.

How long had they looked at each other like this?

"As you wish, my Prince. However, I will leave the rooms I spoke of at your wife's disposal for her own convenience. I have also assigned her a servant to ensure that while we men are conversing, she will have company. There are several matters I would like to discuss with you." Her brother replied.

Prince Aemond then looked at his niece with a gaze as if he was about to explode − his wife pressed her lips into a thin line, immediately understanding what the expression on his face was meant to convey to her, her look of understanding and sigh was meant to add to his patience.

His gaze softened and after a moment he nodded, letting her go.

The girl looked at her, so she smiled quickly and pointed with her hand the way they should go to her quarters. Before moving behind her she looked at her husband, the Prince leading her away with a cold, sharp gaze.

Overwhelmed by this revelation, no longer knowing herself what she thought of it or what she should do in such a situation, she simply followed her into the room, closing the door behind her. She watched quietly as the prince's wife walked to the window, placing her hand on the glass, and smiled slightly, noticing something outside.

Had she been like this all the time?

"Do you desire to change into something…more comfortable, Your Grace?" She asked finally, recognising that she needed to start any light conversation, to try and understand who was standing in front of her.

The girl shuddered and blinked, as if forgetting her presence for a moment, turning to face her. She nodded, forcing herself to smile, unsure and embarrassed, playing with the fingers of her hands in a nervous reflex.

"Yes. What do they call you?" She asked lightly and kindly, willingly shortening the distance between them, which surprised her.

Usually women of her ilk took satisfaction in calling her Lady Rivers, reminding her every time that she was a bastard.

But she, even if she was married to the Prince, was also one.

She was her relative, her brother's daughter.

She swallowed hard at that thought, feeling a squeeze in her throat.

"Alys, Your Grace."

She lowered her gaze, as if pondering something for a moment, and then her bright eyes looked at her again.

She thought with pain that she was like a small flower, a daisy or a forget-me-not, which one picked to weave into one's hair, to feel as innocent as a little child again.

"I would not wish to… misunderstand who you are and what you have in common with Lord Strong, Alys." She muttered with some sort of embarrassment, from which she involuntarily burst out laughing.

Good gods.

"I am not his mistress. I am his relative, though I do not bear his name, as any bastard would." She said softly, amused; her gaze shifted, her brow furrowed in concern and curiosity.

She knew what she was going to ask her, she could feel it in her bones.

"Did you know my father?"

She named him as her father even though she was officially Laenor Velaryon's daughter.

She admitted to her that she too was a bastard without a grimace of embarrassment.

"Yes, Princess."

Her whole body tensed, her hands clenched into fists.

"His death wasn't an unfortunate ordeal, was it?" She asked in a trembling voice, and her lips involuntarily lifted in a dangerous smirk at the thought that her directness was surprising her.

Was this how she spoke to her husband?

Was this how she forced her way into his heart?

"There are no such thing as unfortunate ordeals, Your Grace."

A silence fell between them filled with the weight of their words and what they meant; she licked her lips involuntarily, feeling that she was incapable of denying herself the pleasure of having to see her reaction to her words.

To see if she was right.

"After the word has reached us here all the way from King's Landing, I have been looking forward to our meeting with impatience, and while I will admit that it is not what I expected, I am beginning to understand your husband's desperation." She said with amusement, feeling a tingle in her fingertips and in her lower abdomen at the sight of her flushed cheeks.

"What do you mean?" She mumbled quietly, embarrassed; however, it was not shame feigned and exalted, but more an expression of genuine surprise and excitement at her words.

"Men are easily driven to desperation, though it usually takes time. They like to gain and take pride in what they have conquered; the greater, in their mind, the value of what they enclose in their embrace, the less they are willing to let it go." She said calmly, turning her head away, immersed in her own thoughts.

"Your husband follows you with his thoughts even when he is not looking at you. His head, even when he is not speaking to you, is directed towards you so that he can see you out of the corner of his eye. When he feels discomfort, he involuntarily seeks your face to experience understanding and comfort."

She looked at her, wanting to see her reaction, and sighed almost imperceptibly, feeling heat in her lower abdomen at the sight of her parted, plump lips, her dreamy, hot gaze.

She knew that she had felt something at her words, that it had taken deep root in her heart and made her return with her thoughts to her husband.

Was this how she had looked at him when he made love to her?

She could not imagine that he could take her maidenhood brutally and cruelly, that he would allow her to cry beneath him in pain.

No, she thought − he surely took her with slow, lazy thrusts of his hips, letting her get used to his shape deep inside her, assuring her in a whisper that just a little more.

She felt a strong throbbing and tickling between her thighs at that thought and licked her lips, looking up at her again − her gaze lowered meekly to the stone floor, a soft, thoughtful smile on her face.

She decided on second thought, helping her change into one of her gowns, touching her soft skin, smelling the wonderful scent of vanilla in her nostrils, that she would braid the most elaborate hairstyle she could think of on her head, just so she wouldn't have to leave her chamber before supper.

She knew that her half-brother expected her to then take the opportunity to venture into the Prince's chambers to make sure he was not missing anything.

Therefore, she began to braid her soft, long, dark hair, creating a beautiful, complicated hairstyle surrounding her head.

She escorted her to the proper quarters and bowed, Larys gave her one impatient look.

She felt a cold sweat on her back, leaving immediately.

He was not pleased.

She thanked the gods that the Prince's wife had summoned her herself, wishing her help with her bath, giving her another reason not to head to her husband's chambers.

She thought that if she went on like this perhaps the situation would work out in such a way that she simply wouldn't have the opportunity to do anything, though even if she did she wasn't sure Larys would believe her.

As she walked into her chamber she saw that she herself was trying to untie her bodice, so she approached her, undoing the tangles with ease, looking at her face with curiosity.

"Was the Prince pleased with his wife's appearance, Your Grace?" She asked softly, noticing from the corner of her eye that the girl had lowered her gaze, ashamed and saddened.

"Yes. Though he expressed his opinion that he prefers it when my hair is loose." She said with resignation, and she couldn't stop the smile that appeared on her face.

Of course, she thought.

The sight of her loose hair reminded him fondly of how it had been spread in disarray around her head, shining in the darkness of his chamber as he fucked her greedily.

"Oh, that's understandable. He surely associates it with your intimacy and closeness, as any man would. The entwined curls and braids are for those around you, meanwhile the softness of your hair, the smell of them, the sight of them spread on the bed is something meant only for him." She replied lightly, for some reason wanting to lift her spirits and comfort her; she heard her move in place, the sweet blush appearing on her cheeks again.

She was embarrassed, she thought with disbelief and tenderness, as if she were looking at a small child.

She was so innocent.

Was that what attracted him to her?

The idea that he was surrounding her with himself like a dark cloak, devouring her again and again?

"You know a lot about men…don't you?" She heard her uncertain, curious voice; she looked at her in the reflection of the mirror, noticing that she immediately lowered her gaze, as if she could not bear the intensity with which she was looking at her.

"Yes, Princess."

"Have you seduced many yet?" She asked intrigued, and she smiled again involuntarily.

"Yes."

When her gown finally fell to the floor she saw her girlish, pleasing curves peeking through from under her nightgown. She watched as, with a light, confident step, she walked over to the bath and bore herself into the hot water, tilting her head back, sighing in relief, her head still adorned with the braids she had woven herself.

Such a pretty little thing.

"I would like to … make my husband happy tonight. I know he needs relief from what's about to happen tomorrow. However, I can't do it, at least for now, in the way I usually do." She mumbled out at last, looking at her with those big, warm eyes of hers, seeing in her apparently her guide, someone who could help her with these complicated and intimate matters.

She felt a pleasant squeeze in her lower abdomen at the idea that popped into her head.

"The easiest thing to do in that case would be for you to use your mouth." She replied amused, drawing out of her exactly the reaction she wanted − her cheeks turned scarlet, her gaze fled downwards, her tiny long fingers clenched into small fists.

She was wonderfully embarrassed, so sweet that he would have gladly shown her everything, step by step.

"I'm…inexperienced in these matters." She confessed with shame, and she involuntarily licked her lower lip with her tongue, feeling the throbbing between her thighs at her words, her nipples hardening under the material of her gown.

Gods.

"I see." She muttered, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad as she moved slowly towards her, her surprised gaze lifting to her as she knelt right next to her tub, cupping her wrist in her hand.

Her skin was as soft as silk.

Her gaze escaped involuntarily to her breasts, now perfectly visible through the wet material of her shirt clinging to her bare flesh; she felt a tickle in her swollen lips at the thought that she longed to lick and caress them.

She was sure that as he teased and sucked her nipples she moaned sweetly beneath him, begging for more, and he always, always gave in to her.

Because how could he refuse her?

"I can show you how you should do it, if that's what you wish, Your Grace."

She saw her pupils dilate in disbelief, her lips parted as she swallowed hard, her chest beginning to rise and fall in accelerated breaths.

"…How?"

She couldn't stop the smirk that appeared on her lips, nor what she did next.

She heard her sigh quietly, surprised and thrilled when her lips ran over her pointing finger, enveloping her skin with her hot breath.

"Imagine that this is his manhood. Men don't say it out loud because pride won't let them, but they adore it when a woman shows them with gentle, tender caresses." She whispered, running her swollen lips up and down her finger leaving a sticky, warm trail of her saliva on it, surprised at how wet it made her between her thighs, how wonderfully arousing it was, how obscene it was.

She heard her draw in a deep breath without moving away, but as she guided the tip of her finger between her lips, teasing and licking it lightly with her tongue, out of the corner of her eye she noticed that her thighs clenched in some helpless, subconscious reflex.

What other reactions could she draw from her?

"− and then − when he begins breathing faster − when you feel he's completely ready −" She sighed quietly as she suddenly slipped her whole finger deep into her mouth, feeling her swollen folds pulsate hard again and again as she began to suck it in slow, steady movements with the quiet click of her saliva.

She heard her gasp on the verge of a moan as her tongue began to trail over her skin with her low murmur of satisfaction, her free hand involuntarily sliding down to the material of her gown, wanting to slip under it and bring herself to fulfilment with her own touch.

She slipped her finger out of her mouth with a loud plop and looked up at her − her face all flushed, her gaze dreamy, hesitant and warm, as if she herself didn't know what she felt or why.

Something in her gaze made a pleasurable heat spill over her lower abdomen as she dug her own fingers into her fleshy folds, all sticky with her moisture, pulsing aggressively with her every stroke in pleasure.

"− you pretty little thing − it’s usually him taking care of you, isn’t it? − he can’t deny himself − I can’t blame him −" She whispered, trying not to move her hips so that she wouldn't notice anything; she lost the battle with herself as she felt herself getting closer and closer to fulfilment, pushing against her own slit with the tips of her fingers.

Unfortunately, it turned out that her husband was more vigilant than she thought.

When he burst into his wife's chamber she barely had time to remove her hand from under her own skirt and let go of her, standing quickly and bowing before him.

"My Prince."

"− get out −" He growled, and she walked out obediently, grateful in spirit to the gods that he hadn't stopped her to question her, that he hadn't noticed the glistening wetness on her fingers.

Or he saw it and it infuriated him, she thought with amusement, feeling her heart pounding like a mad in her chest.

She finished what she had started in her chamber, bringing herself to fulfilment with sure, swift strokes of her fingers, driving their tips into her sensitive, fleshy womanhood, able now to afford to moan and rock her hips, imagining her body peeking through from under her wet nightgown.

She imagined that she knelt before him to lunge and soothe him, that she barely fit his fat cock in her small mouth, all swollen from the desire she had always aroused in him, that this proud, dark, cold man whimpered before her like a small, innocent boy when he finally gave in, thrusting again and again deep into her warm throat.

She came with a low moan of relief, panting heavily, hugging her face into the pillow, rocking her hips for a while longer, slowly coming down from her peak.

She was sure that as she lay half asleep, feeling a blissful, pleasant peace, she heard their moans in the distance and grinned involuntarily.

Of course he forgave her.

He always did.

She often had dreams whose meaning she did not understand; she saw people she had never met before, observing events that might as well have happened in the future or in the past. That night, however, her dream particularly troubled and worried her, as she had no idea what it actually meant.

Two streams of blood finally merging into one, flowing like a river, which then, however, became a lake that reminded her of a dragon's head in a crown, only to spill over after a while, and she saw nothing but red.

Was this what was about to happen?

Would Princess Rheanyra and Prince Daemon be murdered and another dragon's reign begin upon their blood?

She swallowed hard, thinking of that young, cheerful girl, of how obvious it was that she was not aware of anything, that whatever her uncle-husband knew, he had not shared it with her.

She thought that if he betrayed her, she would wilt like a flower, fade like the sun in a setting sky.

She stood up and headed for his chamber.

His gaze expressed nothing less than disgust and rage at the sight of her. He reached for his tunic, dressing it hurriedly, tense and pale, knowing full well what was to happen if the negotiations did not bring the results he hoped for.

She wondered if he realised that even if he didn't give the order, they would be murdered anyway.

"You will betray her." She said indifferently, and he threw her a quick, horrified look, his nostrils quivering in disbelief.

He knew perfectly well what she was referring to.

She thought that sometimes all it took was a gentle push, putting a mirror in front of someone's face to make them think carefully again about whether they were ready for the consequences of their choices.

"You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most. You will break her. You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again. You will come back here to face your nephew and you will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your pain and longing. You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death."

She said and grinned, seeing that he shuddered all over, that his mask had cracked, his lips parted as if he wanted to groan in despair.

She knew he saw it in his mind, felt it in his heart, and she left his chamber without a word.

She let out a loud breath as she walked down the empty corridor, thinking with some kind of hope that her words, the vision she had invented to break him would terrify him enough to make him fall to his knees before his wife and confess everything he knew.

And if he doesn't, if in fact he betrays her, it will prove that he was never worthy of her.

She had come to her summons when she wished to clothe herself; she saw, crossing the threshold of her quarters, that she too was frightened and anxious, only for completely different reasons.

She wished for them to come to an understanding.

She believed it was possible.

She felt a squeeze in her throat at the thought, at the realisation that she was alone in a world where everyone but her craved war, craved power, craved the throne.

She did not look at her face, at the clear command of her husband not allowing herself any closer proximity to her, which she accepted with understanding.

After she had fastened the buckles of her leather coat, however, she allowed herself to take her soft hand in her own, stroking it with her thumb.

She hesitated and furrowed her brow, but before she could move away, she began to speak, forcing herself to whisper, fearing that her brother's servants might have heard her.

"Do not return here. Fly from the Eyrie straight to King's Landing. I saw in my dream a river of blood taking the shape of a dragon's head wearing a crown. I saw red flooding everything around me." She said quickly, feeling a squeeze in her throat.

She thought in disbelief that she pitied this girl.

"This warning, these words, are my gift to you. Look after yourself. Trust no one."

[wing-ed-thing]

… And the Beast (Yonji Vinsmoke x Reader) Chapter V

Synopsis: You thought your little crush on Prince Yonji was a well-kept secret. Yonji is mean enough to exploit your eagerness to please in the face of his unrelenting cruelty; the thought of actually developing a soft spot for you never even crossed his mind.

Word Count: 5.6k

Tags/Warnings: No Reader Pronouns, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Naive!Servant!Reader, Name-Calling, Language, Reader Falls First, Yonji Falls Harder

Notes: A little treat before the emotional tornado that chapter 6 will be. Sorry it's late!!!

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

It hardly took a week for the notice to come; the library snail was officially under the jurisdiction of the fourth prince of Germa, Prince Yonji. You were sure the main sailing crew was mixed about the news. Granted that the library snail had traditionally been under the wing of Mistress Reiju, the crew often got an earful for straying or dawdling due to Yonji’s whims. 

You had also heard rumors that Reiju was hardly enthusiastic about joint sailing with Yonji’s fleet when he paid his visits. Even when she was explicit in her request to sail separately, fleet Reiju often found themselves more interrupted than usual. 

“A general nuisance!” Reiju had allegedly said to describe her youngest brother, which had been heard by a handmaid who told a valet. 

And so when all fleets received word that the library snail would be officially taken over by fleet Yonji, a collective sigh was ultimately breathed out amongst the kingdom. You sat with the page for a long while, curling up under the sunlight in your usual seat by the window. The ship was already headed toward a local port where fleet Yonji and fleet Reiju would make the exchange.

You couldn’t help but recall Yonji’s words from the week prior. 

“As far as I’m concerned, this place is mine.” 

“I told ya, didn’t I?” 

You startled, flinching as you quickly sat up in your chair, much to Yonji’s amusement. His boisterous cackle rang out over the cool, tropical air. 

It certainly felt like an afternoon and a summer one at that. You had opened the library windows just a crack to let in the sea breeze as you enjoyed the golden sunbeams cast from the clear sky above. The air was warm enough to wear draping apparel and the wind gentle enough to make curtains sway gently in the halls across the ship. The weather was perfect. 

You breathed the shock that had just coursed through you before standing straight with a gentle smile. Yonji leaned against the doorway of the chamber. Even he was dressed for the weather, trading in his usual slacks and shirt for a pair of linen shorts and a neutral-colored button-down. You still held the notice in your hand. 

“I thought we were meeting at the port.” You spared a glance outside the window at a flock of seagulls that dipped in and out of view. Yonji scoffed. 

“What? Not excited to see me?” You couldn’t help but let out a light laugh at the growing scowl on Yonji’s lips. 

“I am always excited to see you, Prince Yonji.” You dipped your head, offering him a slight bow that seemed to improve his attitude. Yonji hummed with approval, his attitude appearing to melt on the spot. You laughed again.

“Damn straight,” he grumbled before picking himself off the doorway. His shoes glided across the plush, intricately woven carpet below as he meandered into the center of the room. “Besides, I wanted to make sure you were ready before we arrived at port.” 

You couldn’t help the way your forehead scrunched.

“Ready for what?” you asked, and Yonji looked as if he had been waiting for that very question. He puffed up, squaring his shoulders back as he regarded you casually. Well, as casually as he could for the wide smirk that occupied his face.

Yonji stood with his feet about shoulder length apart and arms crossed over his broad chest. His short-sleeved, open-collared shirt allowed for the movement despite the appearance of the light but stiff-looking fabric. 

“Now that I’m in charge of the library, I couldn’t help but notice that the library was down a book!” he barked with a hearty laugh. He indulged in the pat on the back he gave himself, and you spurred him on with enthusiastic nods and gentle smiles. It appeared nothing truly changed after all. “What kinda commander would I be if I allowed that?”

Yonji grinned from ear to ear, a haughty air to him as he openly invited your praise. 

“Thank you, Prince Yonji. I actually—”

“Get whatever you need to go into town!”

***

 You couldn’t recall the last time you stepped foot on an actual island. Being a sea-dwelling kingdom rather than traditional ships, Germa hardly had to stop and restock like most fleets. Food, fresh water, and other necessities were produced by Germa just like any other kingdom, and stopping at an island for goods typically only happened for niche trading opportunities. 

And so, when you stepped off the ship and onto the bustling dock, you couldn’t help but feel a bit overwhelmed. The port was significant in size, expanding well into the sea to house Reiju’s fleet, but had plenty of room to spare for when Yonji’s ships arrived. Other boats tethered themselves to the docks, spanning from fishing boats to Marine vessels to what you suspected were pirate ships. 

Yonji pushed you along, trailing behind you as he guided you through the bustle. He had flown from his own ship to meet you ahead of schedule, and not wanting to engage with his sister quite yet, Yonji intended for the two of you to disappear into the market first. 

“Reiju doesn’t have to know I’m here yet,” Yonji had muttered to you, “All she’ll do is talk my ear off, so we might as well get the shopping over with first.”

He held a hand on the back of your shoulder, almost pushing you through the crowded dock. Yonji kept close to you and would have made a convincing bodyguard if it wasn’t for the fact that he handled you almost like a human shield with little regard for who you bumped into until you finally stepped onto solid land. 

The stalls of vendors seemed to start the moment you stepped off the dock, wrapping around a good quarter of the island and branching into streetways leading to the center of town. The two of you walked down the cobblestone road, and while the touch on the back of your shoulder had left, Yonji remained hardly more than a step behind you. 

You approached the main street, finally seeing the vast, branching roads. The markets were flush with colorful vegetables, handmade goods, and fresh pastries, but what really caught your eye was the cart full of books just down the main cobblestone street. 

You knew every inch of Germa’s archival ship like the back of your hand, and despite the thousands of books and files in your care, if you didn’t know them by heart, you certainly knew them by looking at them. And yet, for all the time you spent surrounded by paper and covers, the way your face seemed to light up at the tiny cart of books wasn’t something Yonji quite understood.

In the next moment, you were talking. Your lips were moving, spewing words that were most likely tentative questions while Yonji studied the sparking glow in your eyes. Yes, you usually looked at him like this, and it was an expression he cruelly relished in. 

It was something in the way that you seemed to try so desperately to hide the clear, stupefied wonder on your face, only to be given away by your eyes that had him wrapped around your finger more than either of you knew. Suddenly, it didn’t matter much to Yonji that your shy glances away and failed attempts at straightening out your lips weren’t a product of you being in awe of him. And as you walked down the road, he didn’t seem to mind that you walked at his side either. 

The cart of books piqued your interest, and out from a branching road, sitting at the corner under a brightly colored flag. A window box filled with flowers just partially obscured the spines. The cart held two shelves and couldn’t have been taller than your hip. But the neatly organized cart was soon dwarfed compared to the view just around the corner.  

The whole street was lined with crates upon crates of books, and any area devoid of a wooden box was lined with mismatched shelves. Canopies connected the narrow buildings on either side of the road, generating shade over the market that was only interrupted by golden sunlight. Small flags bearing the province's crest swooped overhead. Symbols representing a matron deity of knowledge were painted across the market.

You stood at the entrance, staring at the sight before tentatively glancing at Yonji for approval. His gaze was already on you. Yonji rolled his eyes and heaved a dramatic sigh before making a forward-sweeping motion with his hand. And when you didn’t obey him quickly enough, Yonji shoved you forward harshly, shaking his head as the spark in your eye glinted at him. 

You immediately made for the closest stall, which had tall wooden bookcases arranged according to genre and language. You greeted the store owner with a brief salutation of politeness, almost steamrolling through the interaction with barely suppressed giddiness. The owner gave you a gracious nod, engrossed in his own book and likely used to such customers.

You made straight for the thick of it, wedging yourself between narrowly placed shelves to scour the selection before you. You didn’t even know where to begin. Yonji watched as you made the rounds, circling the section at least twice as he slowly made his way over to where you were. 

For the rate at which Yonji himself could devour books, he appeared nowhere near as excited as you were about the treasure trove of knowledge that surrounded you. Instead, he trailed behind you, meandering closer as you engrossed yourself in your search.

You already had three books clutched in your hand, and when you spotted him from over your shoulder, you did a double take before turning to him with raised eyebrows and a soft smile. You handed a book to him: “Jorul and Jarul: Commanders of the Sea.” You knew him well.

 “Are you gonna get those?” he asked, glancing at the two in your hand.

“Maybe.” You shrugged. Yonji frowned as you placed them back on the shelf. He eyed you incredulously. 

“The hell’d you do that for?” He motioned with a raised brow. You blinked at him with widened eyes. 

“I was just looking at—”

Yonji took the two off the shelf and held the spines to his face. He tilted his head to read them before straightening out and tucking them under his arm along with the one you had picked out for him. Yonji made another sweeping motion with his hand, shooing you back to your search. He spotted you making glances at the books under his arm.

“Don’t worry about it.” He scowled. 

Yonji stayed close as you began sifting through the selection again, and when he wasn’t paging through texts of his own, he was snatching the ones you were perusing right out of your hands. It was, of course, your mistake for appearing interested in it in the first place.

Yonji said nothing the first time you lingered on a book for a moment too long before putting it back. He just snapped it up and added it to the stack. Your eyes trailed from where you had placed it down and up Yonji’s arm to his face. He held your stare with a deep frown, almost as if challenging you to say something. His nose twitched in annoyance. 

“You’re too indecisive,” he said, and that was about all the warning he gave as he snatched the next book out of your hands.

In fact, any book you remotely cracked open was taken from you. Yonji had the reach to take your selections from over your shoulder. He added each one to the growing stack. And just when your eyes were beginning to wander to another stall, Yonji took the compilation to the owner and started fishing in the pockets of his knee-length shorts. 

Your heart nearly stopped as you abandoned your section of the stall, running over to Yonji to frantically stop him. But by the time you got close enough to intercept him, Yonji had already handed the shop owner berry in a denomination you had never seen. The clerk’s eyes bulged at the excessive dollar amount, the change of which he was told to keep.

“Prince Yonji! I—”

“Hey, shut up!” he quickly shushed you, sparing a glance around at the bustling market. “For a book rat, you sure don’t understand the meaning of incognito.” 

Yonji didn’t appear to have any issue balancing the sizable stack of books he carried with one hand.

“I’m sorry, P—” You stopped yourself, stamping your lips closed as your voice devolved into an elongated hum. Yonji looked at you expectantly, leaning forward as you searched for words. “I’m sorry!” you opted. “Please allow me to pay you back!”

You glanced at the clerk, who was admiring the bill in a beam of light that poked through the canopy.

That was a whole lot of berry.

“You callin’ me poor?” Yonji shifted the books to his hip, pinning them to his side with his wrist as he shifted his weight to his back leg. He regarded you with an upturned nose, unable to hide his self-satisfied smirk at the sight of your panicked head shaking. “You think I’m the only commander who can’t afford resources for one of my ships?”

“Most certainly not, P—” you sputtered. You nearly bowed but stopped yourself. “Most certainly not!”

Yonji studied you for a brief moment before he heaved out a heavy sigh with a roll of his eyes. He pivoted away from you, ready to move on to the next bookstall.

“You can call me Yonji,” he huffed as if bestowing you a great honor to his own detriment. “But only here.” Yonji’s eyes met yours sharply. “If you tell anyone I let you call me by my first name, I’ll gut you alive.”

“I won’t tell anyone!” You almost bowed again as he began to walk off. “Thank you… Yonji!”

“Uh-huh.”

***

You moved through the market much like how you moved through the library: skimming each section closely with Yonji trailing close behind. You couldn’t even recall how many books Yonji ended up buying you. Between the titles you picked out for him, the ones he picked out for you, and the titles you spared even a lingering glance at, the number must’ve equated to an obscene amount. Yonji had even sent some back to the ship with a few soldiers who meandered around a few posts. 

But even though Yonji didn’t even carry the full amount you had purchased, you couldn’t help the overwhelming sheepish feeling that overcame you as your waiter dragged two outdoor tables together to accommodate the sheer volume of books you brought to brunch. 

Thoughts like that never crossed Yonji’s mind as he quickly traded the burden of your shopping for the menus on the table. 

“Bring this one to me in the biggest container you got.” Yonji pointed toward one of the alcoholic drinks on the front of the special’s menu before slipping your waiter an obscene amount of berry. He glanced at you, seeming to remember your presence. “And… whatever you want.”

You floundered with the menu. You hadn’t read it yet. But Yonji didn’t have you sputtering for too long before he rattled off about four things from the selection that, to your surprise, sounded great to you. Your menus were collected before you could blink, leaving you in awe at the sheer speed at which Yonji processed the written word. 

You were left to sit for the first time that day: just the two of you. Yonji sat back deeply in his chair with one ankle slung over his opposite knee. You sat adjacent to him, with only the corner of the table separating you. Your army of new books sat before you on the second square table you had amassed. 

An aesthetically pleasing black iron fence contained the patio area you sat at the edge of. Plant boxes of the same material and color hung off the horizontal rungs. Bunches of pansies sat inside them. You couldn’t help but wonder how long flowers that looked so fragile lasted in such a busy area. A large umbrella stuck up from the center of your table and seemed to almost join with the other umbrellas at the other tables to provide just enough shade across the patio to spare your eyes from the sun. 

Despite sitting a few storefronts into the street, you still had a full view of the city square just a short distance away. A grand fountain sat in the middle of the forum, and half the perimeter was lined with large buildings that sat at the corners of the branching streets that stretched from the docks. A great, intricately architectured courthouse sat at the end of your street. A bronze statue of two scales sat on a pedestal outside the marble steps. 

There was a stark difference between the bustling market streets and the inland square, almost as if proximity to the sea breathed freedom and life into whatever the salt air touched. But even for the acute stuffiness and grandiosity of the more serious structures, the island felt warm and inviting, as a tropical island should be. 

You didn’t even realize that your food and drink had come out until Yonji’s tankard hit the table. He laughed as you jumped, finally noticing the spread laid out in front of you. It took no more than a look for the food to distract you. Each dish was plated to perfection, not only radiating a heavenly scent but presented in a way almost too pristine to ruin. 

“Um…” you hummed. Yonji had already found a book to busy himself with. You couldn’t see the title, but you were sure it was “The Analysis of Myth and Folktales Through a Classicist Lens,” one of the texts you offered him earlier in the day. You weren’t used to calling him by only his first name yet. It felt wrong. “Yonji?”

“I got everything I need,” he said, as if reading your mind. He raised his oversized cup. You could almost smell it from where you sat. 

You hummed, reaching for a plate near the center of the table. You’d start there. 

***

You managed to spot it in the back of the store by eagle-eyed happenstance and from a brief stroll past the storefront, no less. You had abruptly backtracked, racing off in the opposite direction to look into the window again. Yonji, who had his arms full of your purchases from the day carefully balanced against his chest, called angrily after you, 

“What the hell?” 

But by the time he turned himself around, you had already confirmed what you saw. You bounded back to Yonji, a familiar glimmer of excitement in your eyes as you adamantly exclaimed,

“I know we have to get back, but… please stay right here!” 

You walked backward, a giddy grin on your lips before you bounded in through the storefront. Yonji hardly had time to retort, let alone scowl, and give you a verbal lashing for daring to order him around. But the condescending bitterness never came. Instead, Yonji shook his head to himself before resigning himself to leaning against the glass of the display window, waiting for your return. 

The store itself was cluttered, lined from wall to wall with random trinkets and useless items. Even the floorspace wasn’t safe from the massive display cases piled high with vintage toys, greeting cards, and novelty statues. You immediately shot to the back, taking your prize off the wall quickly and carefully, as if it were a treasure you were worried someone would snatch from you. You looked at it in your hands, shoulders shaking with barely restrained laughter as you made for the register. 

An elderly woman was sitting behind the counter on a stool. She leaned against the countertop with her head in her palm, gazing out one of the front windows at the back of Yonji’s head. She hardly regarded you as you put your purchase down in front of her.

“Is that your husband?” she asked with a sigh. 

“No, uh… he’s not.” You glanced over to where she appeared to be looking before letting out a light laugh. The undertones were too nervous for you to sound truly amused by what she said.

The woman behind the counter turned to you, head still in her hand. The skin of her eyelids sagged thinly and folded over her eyes like draped curtains. She wore an olive green bow in her wool-like strands of white hair that matched the bow tie around her collar. You fished for your wallet.

“Are you gonna make him your husband?” she asked. The teasing question should have stopped your hands in the way it did. “Because if you don’t, I will! Hoo! I crack myself up!” 

Her eyes grew wide as she let out a boisterous cackle. The laugh threw her body back as she howled, her hand slamming down on the space next to the cash register. She punched a few numbers into her keypad. 

Your lips formed a light smile despite the hesitancy that weighed heavily in your chest. You had admired Yonji for a long while, yet there was something in you that could never legitimately envision a dynamic past your servitude to the Germa kingdom. You hadn’t dared to ask for more, and the thought of having something more felt forbidden even to consider. 

You weren’t sure you even wanted to consider it. 

“You never know,” you laughed nervously with a bob of your eyebrows. 

The woman behind the counter unraveled the product on the counter, her face lighting up again as she side-eyed you. Her lips pursed outward.  

“Oh. I’m sure going to miss this one.” She nodded. “That will be 4,300 berries.”

“Of course.” 

You were already sifting through bills and mentally calculating the amount. The clerk’s face returned to her palm, and she resumed gazing out the window.

“I wish I had a husband who would carry all my books like that. The first three would never,” she sighed. “You know what they say about lucky number four.” 

You handed her money to count. She glided through them quickly and tossed the bills in the register as you tucked your purchase away. You didn’t say much else other than hum and say thank you, quickly retreating through the shop door back to Yonji.

***

The books took up more space on the wooden table than you thought they would. And while they were placed down haphazardly, many still in their wrappings from the shops, their disorderly state didn’t do much for the space they occupied on the table.

“Those must’ve been heavy.”

Yonji cocked a brow as his nose wrinkled. 

“You think those look heavy?” he sneered. He stood next to you with his arms coiled over his chest. 

You removed the books from any wrappings, carefully splaying the books out across the table with the paper organized into a neat pile on one of the chairs. Yonji watched as you worked with his head tilted to the side, as even he didn’t quite remember what he bought you.

“They would be heavy for me, but you’re very strong, Prince Yonji. I’m just sorry to have burdened you,” you said, so used to paying him compliments that you hardly paid attention to what left your mouth. 

Yonji’s lips parted almost as if he wanted to correct you before he remembered where you stood.

“I’d hardly call this a burden,” he huffed, distracted by the compliment as tended to happen. You continued to sort through the books, arranging them by some system that Yonji didn’t have the bandwidth or care to pay attention to. He studied you out of his peripheral. His hands moved to his hips. “What did you get in that last store?”

“Oh!” you exclaimed at a volume that almost pulled a blink of surprise from Yonji. You took your purchase from where you tucked it and held it out to him. “I got this for you. I thought you’d find it funny.”

Yonji regarded it with confused skepticism, his face visibly contorting as he thought.

“Why?”

“I wanted to thank you for taking me on the restock.” 

Yonji snatched the rolled-up item from your hands with a huff.

“Obviously. Why the hell wouldn’t I take the library attendant when getting books for the library? Do you think I’m a moron?” he spat, rolling his eyes before incidentally meeting your wide gaze. You didn’t appear like you were affected by his words in the slightest. In fact, you seemed like you were just happy that he took your gift at all. Yonji tore his eyes away from your stare as his shoulders deflated. “Thanks,” he gritted.

You knew not to expect much more. The one word was a miracle in and of itself. 

Yonji sighed and unraveled your gift for him with both hands. The material was thick and of good quality. However, he only got to unfurl it halfway before he stopped. His lips parted in shock, most primarily. He glanced at you and then back to the poster. A wide grin was plastered across your mouth as you watched Yonji unravel the page.

His head instantly dropped, but not before he threw his head back with the loudest, most obnoxious laugh you had ever heard from him. He laughed with such force that it almost shook the room. Even just witnessing how enthralled he was with your gift tore a volley of snickers out of your throat. Yonji clutched the poster to his chest, both hands still on the top and bottom of the glossy material as the middle curved. His shoulders shook violently as he leaned against the wooden table to look at the image again. 

“AHAHAHAHAHA! What the fuck?” he cackled, bringing the poster close to his face before immediately lowering it to meet your gaze. “Is this a fucking Winch Green pin-up? How the hell did you find this? Holy shit!”

Yonji crossed one ankle of the other, holding the poster out at arm's length in front of him to study. Winch Green from the Sora, Warrior of the Sea comics didn’t bear a striking resemblance to Yonji in the hair or face, but the uniform and general build weren’t too much different. After all, the comic had a rough basis on Germa, whose moves were made much more discretely nowadays. 

But the Yonji and Winch Green shared a name and a number. The image appeared to be of Winch Green captured in the brig of a Marine vessel, where he was posed suggestively with seastone cuffs around his wrists. His usual green uniform was almost shredded, exposing his muscular bare chest. 

Yonji placed a hand over his face as he howled with laughter. He leaned farther back against the table, and as it let out a crack of shifting tension, you considered it might’ve toppled over if it weren’t screwed to the floor. Yonji clutched the poster and the side of the table in one hand and wiped his tearing eyes with the other. 

“Why the hell do they even make these?”

“The lady said she was going to miss that one.”

“Gross.” Yonji held the poster out again and let out another boisterous cackle. “I gotta show Niji.” That was about all the warning Yonji gave before he ran out of the library.

You turned back toward the table to continue sorting through your recent purchases. You could barely restrain the tight-lipped grin that overtook your face as you did, your heart beating rapidly in your chest from giddiness. It wasn’t often that you got confirmation that you did something right, especially when it came to the Vinsmoke princes, and just knowing that Yonji was pleased was enough to make your chest feel like it was about to burst.

“I wondered why my dumbass little brother was so interested in the library of all things.” A soft voice sounded behind you, and when you turned, Reiju was leaning against the doorframe. Her stare pierced your own. “I see why now.”

You bowed.

“Greetings, Mistress Reiju. How may I serve you?”

She wandered into the library, head swiveling as she glanced over the shelves and balcony. Reiju had been to the library many times before, although her usual involvement didn’t span much past overseeing the yearly archival. You spoke several times, and from what you could remember, each interaction was positive. But much like Yonji’s other siblings, Reiju kept herself rather aloof. You didn’t miss how her eyes lingered on your table of new books. 

“Where did he go?”

“I believe Prince Yonji went to speak with Master Niji.” You stood at attention, watching Reiju as she strode slowly around the library. She didn’t look at you.

“That idiot,” she simmered, throwing her head back with a sigh as her hands found her hips. “Niji isn’t even here, not to mention that we were supposed to meet hours ago.”

“I’m very sorry, Your Highness. I’m sure you’ll see Prince Yonji before I do, but if you don’t, I can certainly let him know you were looking for him,” you said.

“God, does he really make you talk like that?” she scoffed, shaking her head as she gazed out the large window. “Believe me, I’ve heard all about everything else he makes you do.” Reiju’s eyes shut as she heaved another deep sigh. “I’ll talk to him about him taking over this ship. I have no idea what he told our father, but I’m sure whatever it was, it can be reversed.”

“Reversed?” you repeated. Reiju turned her head toward you, quickly glancing you up and down.

“Reversed,” she affirmed, the word trailing a bit as she thought. She pivoted, one arm crossed over her chest as she touched her opposite elbow. Her other hand brushed lightly under her chin. She took a step forward. “My brother is too much of a meathead to appreciate such an important part of our kingdom, and bringing a ship onto an already packed fleet just to harass the staff is childish at best.” 

She rolled her eyes, and you couldn’t help but consider how familiar it looked. For Reiju’s apparent low tolerance for her brother, they rolled their eyes exactly the same. It made you crack a tight-lipped smile, pursing your mouth inward to hide your amusement. Your efforts were too feeble for Reiju’s sharp eyes. 

“What is something I said?” Her eyes narrowed, but not quite in the same disdain as Yonji did.

“Oh, no!” You quickly bowed again, keeping yourself bent this time. “It’s just that—” You glanced off to the side before turning your gaze back to the floor. “Your mannerisms are very similar, Mistress Reiju. Your Highness’s and Prince Yonji’s, I mean. I find it very charming!”

Reiju let a moment pass. Your eyes fell shut. She didn’t seem like the type to take perceived slights out on a servant, but your conditioning from her brothers held up the same. 

And suddenly, a sobering calmness washed over the room. The already large space from the floor to the ceiling never felt bigger, even as the large clock ticked on as a steady metronome for the pulse that beat in your ears.

“I remember you,” she said softly in realization, almost pitifully. You rose, picking your head up to meet her eyes. They almost looked sorrowful. “You’ve been here all this time, and I didn’t even recognize you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to recognize me, Mistress Reiju. I was never anyone of importance. I’m still not.” 

You watched her pour over your face, an unintelligible expression washing over her. Watching her face seemed to acutely morph in subtle shifts and tics. And yet, her expression was far from the looks that usually graced the faces of the Vinsmoke princes. You could feel her looking through you.

“You have no debt to Germa.” She frowned. “Even if you did, I’m sure the way my brother has treated you has more than made up for whatever good he did by accident.” 

“I can’t say I really take an issue with how Prince Yonji treats me.” 

A silence overtook the room again. Something unreadable eclipsed her eyes. It was the same sort of expression you could recall seeing in Cosette’s gaze.

“You know he’ll never love you back, right?” When Reiju spoke, her voice was devoid of judgment. It was an indisputable fact and one that she placed gently before you. “He doesn’t know how, and he couldn’t even if he wanted to. His inability to love you back is wired into his genes.” 

Her light irises bore into you, scouring your face. She was trying to understand, and you knew she never would.

“I know,” you said, perhaps too quickly. It hardly mattered. It wasn’t as if you had anything to gain by holding your cards close to your chest. “I’m alright with it. Being here is enough.”

Reiju hummed. You could hear the simmering sigh in her chest as she breathed slowly. The sun still shone brightly outside. You would hardly say it was midafternoon. Reiju nodded, more to herself than to you, before shaking her head.

“If you don’t want rescuing, I won’t force it upon you,” she said as she turned to leave. Reiju stopped in the doorway with one hand on the frame. “If there’s ever a day you want to be just a library attendant, call my snail.”

She quickly left down the hall, and not long after she left, Reiju’s fleet pulled out of the port. You sat in the library as usual, nothing truly changing about being a formal part of Yonji’s fleet. He never even asked about Reiju.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Thank you to everyone who has supported this work so hard. I'm really happy to have people dropping in to talk about Yonji and Germa and who enjoy the story. As usual, chapter 6 is written and contains the scene I wanted to write at the beginning of this story. I'll see you all in about 100 combined likes and reblogs.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

[bravo4iscool]

i’ll never forgive bjorn for treating siggy bad, so take this🤪 (kinda fix-it, kinda not)

(bjorn ironside x fem!servant!reader)

tag list - @bumblebeesfromvenus @yazt09

(masterlist | join my tag list!)

REQUESTS/ASKS OPEN!!!

“shhh little siggy,” you coo as you rock the small girl around in your arms. “do not cry, everything is okay.” she’s been fussy for hours now and nothing seemed to be able to calm her down.

you didn’t know what to do. you’d tried everything already. so, the only solution you knew was to search for your mistress aslaug. she made caring for siggy your main task but told you to search for her when you didn’t know what to do.

you keep the girl to your chest, a blanket draped over her as you make your way towards the great hall. surely aslaug would be there…

one of the men in front of the hall helps you open the heavy wooden door and you give him a thankful smile. once you’re inside you freeze. aslaug wasn’t there. or so it seemed.

two pairs of eyes stared at you. ragnar and…bjorn.

you slightly bow and press siggy to your chest. you knew bjorn wasn’t fond of his daughter. otherwise he would be the one caring for her, not some slave that his stepmother owned.

“i’m sorry my lord,” you hastily apologize, already retreating. “i—i was searching for queen aslaug.” you wince when siggy starts to cry again. you wanted her to stop, but you didn’t know how.

ragnar keeps his gaze on your before he stands up without a word. you swallow, your grip on the girl tightening. slowly the king walks towards you, extending his arms once he came to a halt in front of you.

“give my granddaughter to me, will you,” he mumbles and what where you supposed to say? no? you hesitatingly pull siggy away from your chest and give her to ragnar.

he smiles down at her once he cradles her in his arms, slightly rocking her around. “look at you,” he whispers. “are you making trouble, mhh?” he wants to know, tickling her cheek with his finger.

you carefully watch ragnar as he holds the little girl in his arms, your eyes drifting over to bjorn. the oldest prince still sat at the table, his gaze fixated on his father and daughter.

“come here bjorn,” ragnar waves his son over, his eyes never leaving siggy. “you have not seen your daughter in months.” you only stand in front of your king, head bowed.

bjorn doesn’t follow his fathers command. that makes ragnar scoffs and shake his head. “what did i expect?” he mutters beneath his breath before he looks up at you. “what’s your name?”

you lift your head, not daring to look into his eyes as you tell him your name. ragnar hums in acknowledgment and places siggy against his chest. “where do you sleep?” he asks the next question.

“queen aslaug gifted me a small hut,” you reply, fumbling with your hands. why would he want to know where you live and sleep? “my main task is to raise siggy.”

ragnar looks back at bjorn, than at you again. “you will move in with bjorn,” he then says and your eyes widen. bjorn jumps up from his stool.

you immediately shake your head, stumbling over your words. “my lord, i—i can’t do that!” you shake your head. but ragnar just scoffs and shrugs.

“you can and you will. i just ordered you to.” the older man ignored his furious son while he watches siggy giggle. “take two men and let them help you move,” he gestures, not bothering to look at you. “i want to spend some time with my precious granddaughter…”

you swallow and bow your head. you knew you couldn’t defy him. he owned you, he could make you do whatever he wanted… “of course my lord,” you whisper as you retreat to do as you were told.

-

the next weeks feel like pure torture to you. bjorn doesn’t look at you or his daughter, he doesn’t talk to you, he doesn’t acknowledge you. he just comes and goes, always a new woman in tow.

you try to get siggy out of the house as much as possible so you both don’t need to witness it. it disgusted you. thankfully queen aslaug allowed you to stay with her during the day, helping her keep an eye on her boys.

“does he treat you well?” aslaug asks you one day and you freeze. could you tell her the truth? because right now, bjorn was treating you like a piece of trash.

you hesitate with your answer before you look at her, “he…does not hit me. if that is what you mean,” you mumble, continuing to braid siggy’s short hair.

aslaug purses her lips. “that is not what i mean,” she says, placing her hand on your shoulder. “tell me the truth,” she softly urges. “please.”

you look up from siggy’s hair and look at your queen. “he doesn’t talk to me,” you—truthfully—answer, biting the inside of your cheek. “i try to be out with siggy as often as possible because…because he keeps brining women over…”

aslaug hums along in acknowledgment, gently squeezing your shoulder. “you can leave and go back to you old hut, you know,” she says and you shake your head.

“i can not… king ragnar has ordered me.” you say in a whisper, averting your gaze. “i can’t just leave…”

“you can, if i make you a free woman.”

your head shoot’s up and you look at aslaug. “what?” your voice is breathless, almost not audible as you stare at your queen.

she smiles and squeezes your shoulder again. “i can make you a free woman. then you can take siggy and move back to your old hut. it would be up to you wether you want to still work for me or not…”

“thank you, my queen,” you breathe out, tears gathering in your eyes. “i don’t know if i can ever repay you for that…”

aslaug chuckles, “you taking care of siggy is enough payment.”

-

you stuff your stuff into a small leather bag, siggy strapped to your chest. you wanted to leave without bjorn noticing; you doubted he would notice anyways.

just when you were about to leave the door flies open and his hulking frame fills the frame. “where are you going?” he asks in a deep grunt, crossing his arms in front of his shoulders.

“i’m leaving,” you swallow. “i’m moving back to my hut.”

he slowly walks towards you, “you can’t do that. you know what my father has ordered.” his eyes fall to siggy on your chest and narrow.

“queen aslaug has made me a free woman,” you reply, placing your hand on the back of siggy’s head. “she gave me the freedom to chose and i decided that i will move back to my hut.”

your voice is firm and determined—you didn’t know where you got the confidence to stand up to him like that.

bjorn frowns and takes another step into your direction. “a free woman, huh?” his eyes bore into yours, something dangerous and unpredictable in them. “then we shall marry.”

your jaw goes slack as you stare at bjorn. “what?” that’s all you can say. you’re at a loss of words. why in all that’s holy did he want to get married to you? he had all those women and now that you’re a free woman he says that’s he wants to marry you?

“you’re a free woman now and siggy needs a mother, someone who’ll care for her.” bjorn shrugs, keeping his eyes on you while he talks.

a sarcastic laugh leaves your lips and you shake your head with a scoff. “maybe her father should man the fuck up and start to care for his daughter!”

“you know nothing about me and siggy,” bjorn snarls, grabbing the braid at the back of your head. “you do not know what she reminds me of, what she makes impossible to forget.”

you hiss in pain, having no other choice than to look at bjorn. “i lost my child and my husband,” you say in a low voice. “do you see me fucking everything with two legs and a dick? so you see me leaving siggy in the dirt?” your gaze is hard and your words hit him like nothing he ever felt. “every time i look at her i see what i could’ve had, being in her presence is painful for me but still i don’t behave like a child!”

you rip your head away from his grip and somehow manage to slip past him. he doesn’t move. you look back at him, and press siggy’s head to your chest. “grow up and learn to live with the pains of life, bjorn.”

-

you slender over the market, siggy strapped to your chest and a basket in your hand. it’s been three weeks, maybe four since you let bjorn���s hut and it was hard for you to believe but he actually made amends to see and get to know his daughter.

he was visiting almost daily and by now you felt sure enough to leave them both alone for two to three hours while you went to work for aslaug.

but right now you were alone, trying to run a few errands. siggy was babbling along and you smiled down at her. she was such a sweetheart…

you came to a hold in front of a vegetable stand, eying the few vegetables with a slight frown on your face.

“they’re all fresh,” the young farmer smiles, offering you a tomato. “harvested just this morning.” you smile at him and take the vegetable.

you turn it in your hand, looking down at siggy. “should we take some of those?” you ask her and she giggles along. you chuckle and look at the farmer.

“how much for a few of those?” you want to know, tilting your head in question.

the farmer smirks and takes the tomato from your hand. “i’ll give them to you for free. it’s not often i see such a pretty young lady roaming the market all on her own.” he winks at you and you feel yourself blush.

“why, thank you,” you chuckle while you place a few tomatoes in your basket. “this is very kind of you.” there’s a small smile on your face and a certain twinkle in your eyes.

just when you were about to leave you felt someone behind you and a hand extended to place a few coins on the stand in front of you. “don’t flirt with my fiancée,” a familiar voice threatens and you can see the farmer slowly nod.

you bite the inside of your cheek and turn towards bjorn. you stare up at him, ready to say something but all he does is—gently—grab your shoulder and pull you away.

“we talked about this,” you grumble as bjorn takes your basket, completely ignoring your words. “i said i won’t marry you.” you stop walking, placing your hands on your hips.

bjorn groans and turns around. “do i look like i care? i want to be the father my daughter deserves and you are the one taking care of her,” he argues. “it is only natural we marry. after all, i do not want to separate the both of you.”

he takes a step in your direction. “i know i made mistakes and i am sorry but i am willing to make this work out.” his hand itches towards your face.

“you don’t love me, bjorn.” your voice is a sigh and you turn your head away.

“but i can try.”

(excuse this shitty ending HELP😭. i’m debating if i should write a pt.2 tho😭)

[paulyenvol6]

Byka Atroksia (Chapter 21)

Contains: mentions of smut, angst

Wordcount: ~4.33k

Masterlist of this story

You woke up the next morning by the sun and needed a moment to remember where you were.

You smiled when you saw Daemon's body next to you, he was laying on his stomach and his hair was a mess. You decided not to get up yet and rather enjoy the beautiful morning so you closed your eyes again and let your thoughts drift away. Soon you sensed that your uncle started to wake up as well and he yawned loudly while turning on his back.

"Good morrow.", you smiled and  his eyes fluttered.

"How can you always be in such a good mood that early?"

"It's not that early.", you said and Daemon abruptly reached out to grab the back of your neck and pulled you towards him.

He kissed you and then grabbed the side of your face. You smiled and played with the loose strands of hair hanging in his face while he caressed your cheek. But soon you thought that it would be wise to get up, find some servants and see how things were at Dragonstone so you told him.

"Shouldn't we find a servant and reveal our presence?"

Your uncle hummed but nodded and you rolled off of him. The two of you left the bed, put on some clothes and then walked out of the room. Once you were outside you looked around in the corridor but there wasn't anyone. But you could hear voices and as you followed them you were led to the throne room of Dragonstone. Three maidens and two men that looked like guards stood there but shut up when Daemon and you approached. They widened their eyes but got on their knees at once.

"Prince Daemon. Princess Vhaela.", one of the men spoke and Daemon smirked smugly. "Rise."

They obeyed him and watched him tensely.

"I've come to claim Dragonstone.", he said calmly.

"B-But my Prince. We didn't expect you to arrive until… We stand under the King's command and he…"

"What did he do? What did he tell you?", Daemon said quietly and took a step towards the man.

You watched the scene anxiously and just hoped things would not escalate.

"He said that you would come to claim your ancestral seat in two days. A-And he said that you'd be… alone."

Your uncle's smile deepened. "And now I'm here 2 days early. Is that a problem?"

The guard lowered his head and his next words were almost a whisper. "B-But we need the King's command."

"I give you the command.", Daemon said sharply. "I am the King's Brother and I command you to serve me and my niece faithfully. It shouldn't matter to you who has come with me."

The guard didn't say anything but you could see the other servants exchange an uncertain look.

"Do you wish to say something?", Daemon asked sarcastically and the men and women lowered their heads. "No, my Prince."

"Good.", he smiled and then looked around in the hall. "The Princess wishes to take a bath, have someone prepare it for her. And so do I in half an hour.", he spoke calmly while examining the ceiling. "And we wish to eat."

"Yes, my Prince.", the guard answered and one of the maidens with thick, red hair stepped forward.

"May I escort the Princess Vhaela to the chambers that are traditionally taken by the Princess of Dragonstone?"

Daemon turned around to look at you and his eyes looked dark.

"No.", he said plainly. "Bring her to the Lady's chambers."

~~~~~~~~~~

The maid guided you through the halls and you had a little smile on your lips. You knew that his last words had been very clear for the servants. You were not here as his niece but as his… mistress? Maybe his paramour? You were obviously not married and you thought that the servants probably knew that but Daemon had just stated your role pretty explicitly. Even though they would have probably known anyway when they would hear you make love at night.

"What's your name?", you asked the red haired maid that now opened the door to the Lady's chambers. She was about your age, perhaps a few years older and you thought that she probably was from the North.

"Anicia.", she answered and stood in front of you, her eyes looking down to the floor.

"Where are you from, Anicia?", you asked trying to sound as friendly as possible and she carefully glanced at you.

"I'm from the Barrowlands, my Princess."

"Ah, I've been there once."

The maid smiled softly. "Really?"

"Yes, it's lovely. But sometimes it was a bit too cold for my taste. I'm only used to the warm weather in the capital."

Anicia nodded and then gestured to her surroundings. "These are the chambers for the Lady of Dragonstone. Which I assume… you are now."

The room's interior was less affectionate than the interior in your room in the keep and there was less attention to detail and yet you felt comfortable. The bed looked big and warm and you liked the view from the window.

"I'll have the other maidens prepare a bath for you, my Princess.", she said swiftly and you nodded.

"Thank you. Anicia."

~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later you sat at the dining table on the opposite of Daemon with freshly washed hair and new clothes. You felt clean and comfortable while spooning up some vegetable soup.

"I've explored the castle a little.", Daemon spoke and crossed his legs. "I'd really like to go down into the caves soon. There are still three unclaimed dragons down there."

"But they are only legends, I thought.", you said and Daemon lifted his eyebrows.

"Possibly. But I'd like to get my own picture." You looked at your food again and couldn't surpress a little smile.

"What is it?", your uncle asked with small eyes.

"Nothing.", you quickly stated but he wouldn't let it go. "Tell me."

"No, really. It doesn't matter."

He still looked unconvinced but didn't demand you to tell him again because he changed the subject.

"How do you like your chambers? Do you feel comfortable?" You nodded and swallowed the food in your mouth.

"Yes. I like it."

"Good.", he snarled and poured himself another cup of wine. "You might not be staying there a lot at nights… But it's good that you like it.", he said quietly with a smirk playing around his lips.

You smiled as well and felt the blood rising in your cheeks. You glared at the guards and wondered if they had heard his words but deep down you knew that it didn't matter anyway. They were their servants and Daemon and you could do whatever with whomever you wanted at nights.

"Why did you never want to live on Dragonstone? You are the second born son.", you then asked because you genuinly wanted to know.

Daemon put his cup down again and looked at you. "I don't know. I always thought that perhaps if I had a wife some day I'd live there but as it hadn't happened…."

You quickly interrupted the eye contact and lowered your gaze. It was a bit of an uncomfortable topic to you because you remembered your past conversation all too well. When you had suggested a marriage, Daemon had denied you. With good reasons perhaps and yet you had felt rejected.

Your uncle sensed your discomfort. "Vhaela.", he spoke and you stared at your plate. "Jurnegon rȳ nyke." (Look at me.)

This time you obeyed and your eyes connected. "Nyke eptan aōha kepa. Naejot dīnagon ao naejot nyke." (I asked your father. To wed you to me.)

You widened your eyes. "Skoros? skori?" (What? When?)

"Tolī ziry gūrēntan nūmāzma ziry." (After he found out.)

He shrugged his shoulders. "Vestas kessa dōrī gaomagon ziry. Yn nyke gōntan sylugon. Nyke pendagon īles se sȳrje kȳvanon naejot pryjagon se quba." (He said he would never do it. But I did try. I thought it was the best plan to reduce the consequences.)

You nodded slowly. "Yn ziry gōntan daor jaelagon naejot…." (But he didn't want to…), you said quietly.

"No. He didn't."

Your heart was beating fast as you thought about your next words. You had to ask him, you just had to know.

"W-Would you… Would you have done it solely because you felt the need to or also because… you wanted t-to?"

You couldn't look in his eyes and didn't see the slight smirk on his lips.

"Mhmm.", he made, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Would I also have done it because I wanted to? You know what I told you about marriage?"

You glared at him and a dissatisfied look appeared on your face.

"It's a political arrangement."

Your uncle's smirk intensed. "Yes. Exactly."

"Daemon.", you said with pleading eyes and he chuckled.

"There is also marriage for other reasons.", you continued. "I want to know if our marriage would've been plainly for political reasons."

He shook his head and lifted his eyebrows. "Definitely not. If my brother had decided to wed you to me, I still would have had this little cunt of yours as often as possible."

You exhaled annoyed and looked down to your food again.

"Don't pout, little one.", Daemon whispered and you refused to answer him.

Daemon didn't know why he had lied. Or why he couldn't bring himself to let the words that had formed inside of his mind leave his mouth. Because he wanted to say 'yes' and tell you that he would have taken your hand without a second thought. He would've taken you as his wife and honour and respect you in marriage. He wanted to tell you that he cared about you and to damn political arrangement. But he couldn't. Suddenly he stood up.

"Come.", he said and you looked up, still feeling sour. "Let's go outside and watch the sunset."

You thought about it for a moment but then decided not to sulk any longer. Things were too beautiful and perfect right now to waste your time being annoyed with Daemon so you stood up as well.

"Fine.", you whispered and he smirked satisfied.

~~~~~~~~~~

The two of you left the castle and you had your arms entangled. Slowly you strolled down until you found yourselves on the beach where you could see the sun moving closer to the horizon with every minute. No cloud was hiding the sky from your eyes and the soft breeze felt perfect on your skin. Daemon and you stood in the sand and looked at the magnificant sun.

"When I was young I always thought that the lands swallow up the sun when she hits the horizon.", you said while having your eyes on the fiery star.

"And what happens in the morrow?", he asked.

"The earth spills her out again. She is too hot and the earth burns himself on her so he spills her out again in hopes the sun will cool down the next day before the earth swallows her again. But the sun never does. She is always too hot."

Daemon watched the sunset with small eyes. "A queer picture.", he whispered.

"I think it's a little sad. Two gods, the sun and the earth who don't match each other. And it will go on like this forever. He hopes that she will change for the better but she doesn't. For the rest of their eternal lifetimes. But he doesn't accept her for what she is either."

Your eyes looked a little melancholical. "But at least he is determined. He doesn't give up on his dreams."

"Dreams are merely a reflection of our fears and worries.", Daemon spoke and you rolled your eyes.

"Dreams give you a purpose in life. What else does?"

"People you love.", he said quietly. "Protecting them."

You didn't answer him. You wanted to enjoy this moment because just at this moment the sun finally touched the land and you didn't even realise that you had held your breath. You watched the sun descend until there was only a little part of it visible and then it was gone and the night had started.

Suddenly you felt a hand on your cheek turning your head gently and then Daemon pressed his lips on yours. You kissed him back and this time he was soft and gentle. Almost careful as if he was scared to hurt you. Your eyes fluttered as it just felt so good being close to him. But then Daemon ended the kiss and stepped away from you. His eyes sparkled and he had a smug look on his face.

"Pretty.", he merely spoke.

You stood by the water for a few more minutes but then it got cold and Daemon sensed it when he saw the goosbumps on your arms.

"Let's go back in.", he said and you nodded.

You were walking back up to the castle and halfway there you swiftly took his hand which he commented with a chuckle.

Daemon felt light, happy and your presence gave him joy. He didn't really know how to describe his feelings for you and what exactly it was but he just knew that something had changed. Something had… shifted since he had bedded you after his return from the Stepstones. All he knew was that he needed you close to him, not far away in the north. He had to protect you, be with you and he most certainly couldn't live with seeing you wed to another man.

Daemon's hand felt warm and soft and you tightly held on to him. Your uncle by your side just gave you comfort and you knew you preferably would like to never let go of his hand. You did let go though when Daemon and you arrived in his chambers. When the two of you had stood in front of the door to your room he had looked at you and raised his eyebrow. You had smirked and shook your head and he had taken you to his chambers instead.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning you woke up in Daemon's bed, once again naked but this time your uncle was already gone. You spent a few more minutes snoozing and turning from one side to the other but then decided to get up. So you put on some clothes and felt the tension in your core after last night's wild activities. You were about to put your hair up when there was a knock on the door.

"My Princess?", a high voice said and you allowed the maid to enter.

"Yes. Come." Anicia walked in and in the reflection of the mirror you saw her balance a tea pot and a mug.

"On the Prince's order.", she said quietly and put both pots on the table. You had a strong idea what kind of tea this was and walked to the maid.

"Thank you, Anicia. Could you help me with my hair, please?", you asked and Anicia quickly stepped behind you.

"Yes of course, Princess."

~~~~~~~~~~

When you entered the dining room of Dragonstone you saw Daemon sitting on one of the chairs, a piece of parchment in his hand.

"Good morrow.", you said and sat down on his opposite.

"Vhaela.", he spoke, threw the parchment on the table in front of him and crossed his legs.

"What is this?", you asked and he scoffed.

"Word from your father."

You widened your eyes. "What did he write?"

A smirk played around your uncle's lips and he definitely didn't look like he took this seriously.

"He commands me to bring you back at once."

"Which you won't do.", you smiled but there was an odd feeling in your stomach.

In any case you didn't want to go back but it still hurt you a bit to know that you not only disobeyed your father right now but the King as well. But no, you wouldn't be scared. You would do what you wanted now and follow your heart.

"No.", Daemon exhaled loudly. "Which I won't do."

"Did he write something else?", you asked.

"He called me all kinds of ugly things and… I have to admit he's gotten really creative with it since the last time I saw him. But no, nothing else really."

You nodded and grabbed an apple from the basket. "Do you think he will send men or even go himself?"

"I don't know, little owl. If it happens we'll have to come up with a plan though."

You chuckled and unconsciously scratched at your nail beds. "Don't do that, Vhaela.", Daemon said and got off his chair to walk to you. He took your hands which made you look up to him and he kissed your head.

"Don't be scared.", he whispered. "You know that I'll protect you, mhm?"

You nodded and gripped his hands tightly.

"There's no reason to worry. I'll take care of you." Daemon's eyes looked serious because he wanted you to believe him. He cared about you, more than he was able to communicate with words. By now his bond with you went way beyond animalistic lust or the anger he felt at your father. Daemon had always had a special place for you in his heart but now that the two of you had spent so much time together these past weeks, he wasn't entirely sure anymore what it was he felt for you. He only knew that it was intense and that he wanted you to be safe and protected.

Daemon's words gave you great comfort even though you knew that he also couldn't perform magic. Sometimes to you Daemon indeed seemed almost like a godly person but he wasn't a witch and couldn't make your father change his mind all of a sudden or make an army of knights disappear. He held you to his chest for a moment and then pulled away to walk back to his chair.

"Lighten up, little one. I'll take you to the caves today."

That really improved your mood and you looked at him with big eyes. "Really?"

Your uncle smirked. "Yes. If we're lucky we're gonna have an encounter with a nice dragon."

In the Red Keep

Viserys walked up and down in his room, his finger connected with his lower lip, which he massaged relentlessly. Meanwhile Rhaenyra sat in a chair, her arms crossed in front of her chest and watched her father annoyed.

"Once again, I can't believe you let this happen."

He exhaled loudly and threw his hands in the air. "How could I have stopped this, daughter? Should I have locked Vhaela in a cell?! Is this what you're suggesting?"

Stubbornly Rhaenyra raised her chin. "Perhaps you shouldn't have been so merciful and let Daemon go to Dragonstone."

Viserys laughed out. "Daemon might have taken her with him to Essos if I exiled him and that would've been even worse."

His daughter rolled her eyes. "He wouldn't have done that."

The King was upset and shook his head. "You don't know that. Daemon is… dangerous. Unpredictable. He just proved it again."

"What are you gonna do now?", Rhaenyra asked and her father sighed deeply.

"I don't know. Send an army perhaps." He laughed in disbelief. "Send an army to free my daughter from my own brother's claws."

"I don't think Daemon kidnapped her.", she hissed and Viserys scoffed.

"I know. I don't think so either."

They remained silent for a while and Rhaenyra looked down to her fingers. Then her father pushed himself away from the table he had been leaning against and walked up and down.

"I have to talk to Ellion. I need his advice."

Rhaenyra watched him with flashing eyes. "You can also ask me, you know? I know both of them pretty well."

"I know, daughter. But this is a very sensitive diplomatic dilemma. The consequences of our actions will have an impact on the realm and how the crown's image will prevail." He looked as if he was thinking and then raised his head. "Ser Lawson. Send for the hand. At once."

"Of course your grace." With these words silence fell upon the room and Rhaenyra sighed and watched the rings on her fingers.

"Do you want me to leave? Should your heir leave while you discuss this sensitive diplomatic dilemma?"

Viserys exhaled loudly and pressed his hands on his forehead. "Rhaenyra I have enough problems already, I don't need you to cause any more."

His daughter smiled wrongly and stood up. "Of course, your grace."

The King suddenly sounded sad. "Rhaenyra."

His daughter looked at him with tired eyes and then sighed after a while, clearly deciding to give up her anger.

"Forgive me. It's been a lot." Her father nodded and then walked back and forth while she made her way out of the king's chambers.

The princess passed Ellion on her way back to her room and she could see how stressed the hand was. While heavily breathing he hasted through the corridor until he found himself in Viserys' room.

"Your Grace.", he spoke when he stood in front of him with his back facing him and the king turned around.

"Ellion. Good." The two of them sat down and Viserys folded his hands on the table.

"The whereabouts of my daughter need to be discussed. I simply do not know how to act now. I can not let my brother take my daughter away and seize Dragonstone without the King's agreement."

Ellion shook his head. "No you can't, your grace."

"It makes me appear weak in front of my enemies. I have to act. Now."

"I agree, your grace."

Viserys tapped his fingers on the table. "I should send the city watch. Or even go myself. Daemon has Caraxes, so we don't want this to escalate. They have to take the castle and bring Vhaela back to the capital."

Ellion leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "I do not think this to be a wise idea, your grace, if I may speak freely."

Viserys watched him with small eyes. "Why?"

"This very action would make you appear weak."

Viserys shook his head and a confused smile played around his lips. "What are you speaking of, Ellion?"

"Sending the City Watch would exactly support this image of you being weak. The King, not being able to control his own baby brother to an extent where he has to send an army of trained knights to seize him. And he was also not able to guard his youngest daughter. It wouldn't look good on you, your grace."

"What are you suggesting then?"

Ellion placed his hands on the table. "Change the narrative. You are the King and you have the power to change the story. Wed your daughter to Daemon."

Viserys laughed out loudly. "What? Are you joking, Ellion?"

"I'm being serious, your grace. If you wed them you could make it appear as if all of this wasn't against the will of the crown. As if Daemon hasn't dishonoured his grace and hasn't acted without your consent. Just act like nothing has happened and there's nothing bothering you about Daemon's behaviour. Then no one can say that the King isn't tough enough on his brother. Why should he be tough on him if he isn't even mad at him?"

Viserys sank back in his chair. He exhaled loudly while rubbing his tired eyes but then put his eyes on Ellion again.

"I can not do this. Simply for Vhaela's sake."

Ellion lifted an eyebrow. "If I recall correctly this is exactly what your daughter wants. To my knowledge the Princess wasn't kidnapped from the capital but left because it was her will."

Viserys shook his head. "We don't know this for sure, Ellion. And even if we did, Vhaela is 16, she doesn't know what's good for her. Daemon most certainly is not good for her. Giving her to my brother… Gods be good, I can not do that. He is violant, evil and cruel. Vhaela is of good and kind nature. I can not do this, Ellion."

The hand nodded. "It is the King's choice. But let me plead for it one more time, your grace. Marrying them would solve a majority of our problems. The Princess' virtue would be restored, you wouldn't have to find a match for her anymore, the problem of Daemon's future whereabouts could be solved and we could let this big mess behind us without the realm's attention. Sending an army to Dragonstone… That would get the realm's eyes on this matter and perhaps even the matter of Daemon and Vhaela's sinful encounters and I do think that it would weaken your authority."

Viserys rested his forehead on his hand. "But what of my daughter? What of her future?"

"Your Grace, Daemon might be unpredictable but he is still your brother. And Vhaela's uncle. I do not believe he would deliberately try to harm her."

Viserys scoffed and then his voice got sad, almost desperate. "You have a young daughter of 17 yourself, Ellion. Elyse, is it not?" He nodded in response.

"Would you wish to see her wed to my brother?"

Ellion sighed. "Do you really demand an answer of me, your grace?"

Viserys turned away and observed the floor as if the answer to his problems was carved inside of it.

"You put me in a difficult position, Ellion.", he spoke after a while. "You sound reasonable but at the same time… ugh what you advice me is impossible."

The hand sighed. "I know this is not joyful to hear but… Perhaps his grace has to put the needs and image of the crown above his daughter for once. This is asking a lot of you, my king, but… you do understand why I have suggested it, don't you?"

Viserys chewed on his lip and then reached out to fill a cup with wine. He didn't say anything else but Ellion was wise enough to read the signs and leave Viserys with his thoughts. After a while he stood up and bowed his head.

"Your Grace"

He walked out of the room and left a desperate king and father behind.

[sunnycanvas]

Could you do a what if in unfaithful baldwin what if before she jumped into the river he managed to capture her..... this story is very good you are a great writer

Warning: depression, talk of suicidal thoughts and character death

Author strictly warns readers to proceed with caution. If you are sensitive about these topics under any circumstance please don't read further

Alternate ending

Just when I jumped into river and I was swimming towards my freedom. The knights caught me. I tried fighting hard. Hitting, punching them but they didn't even bulge and pulled me off shore. I started screaming and crying like a mad woman. I could see pity in some of them but most most had neutral expression. "(Y/N)" my husband said relieved and began approaching me. With intention to hug me but I looked back at him with such resentment that he stopped. He literally froze in his place. "Your majesty". I said coldy and I knew even though my husband was expert when it came to his composure I was able detect his tense body movement. "I know that I have committed a crime against my lord" "I know that our relationship won't go back like before therefore I ask you as a punishment I have done against crown that I be beheaded for my crime". Baldwin IV looked heartbroken at my statement and said "Chérie, do you think I would be so cruel to execute my own wife, the woman who saved my life". I laughed in pain and said "In return you killed my life, I shouldn't have saved you" "I payed a huge price I admit I regret it". I could hear gasps around me but I didn't care. It's not like I had anything to loose anyway. Baldwin IV was shocked I could see he was getting angrier but I could also see another emotion his eyes which I couldn't tell pity,sadness or fear which one is it? Baldwin IV let out a sigh and said "Queen (Y/N) you have not only insulted the crown but also wished for king's death which in eyes of law is treason and the punishment for this should execution" "However I can't forget the love and devotion you have shown to same crown and saved your king before therefore I have decided to spare you". Tears fell from my eyes when I heard the statement. "Chevalier, get the queen on top of my horse". I was seated on top of my horse and Baldwin IV with the help of his knights climbed up on the horse. I kept quiet as Baldwin held me tightly in his grip and we rode off. When we went back I saw mistress in the palace eagerly waiting for him. She smirked seeing my state and could tell by my husband's cold face that he was in sour mood. Once Baldwin IV was able to get down from the horse with help of his knights he pulled me down along with him.

"Your Grace" the mistress gave a graceful courtesy. I knew she was expecting my husband to call her in his chamber. My husband didn't even bother acknowledging her and went straight into the palace carrying me in his arms. Once we reached his room he slowly laid me down in his bed. He laid on top of me and put his face near my neck and smelled me breathing my scent "I missed you" he said.

"........."

"You know when you left like that I must admit I did feel insulted but deep down I was also hurt and worried about you"

".........."

"What if my enemies captured you, do you realise how reckless this was" "No matter how many women I sleep with I will always come back to you because at the end of the day you are my queen". "The woman who saved my life and nobody can and will take your place" "Do you understand that, I will always be your husband at the end of the day"

"........."

"Are you going to ignore me, my dear queen" Baldwin IV smiled mischievously "My queen has been rather cheeky going against me" "I knew you were rebellious but not to that extent"

"........."

Baldwin IV sighed realising there is no point now. Before he left he asked servants to bring fruits for queen. He quickly left for his work chamber. He sat down rubbing his forehead. "Chevalier" he commanded. "My lord" the knights were instantly summoned. "Tell my mistress that that she is not longer welcome in Kingdom" "She shall be exiled". The knights bowed at the command and instantly left.

Baldwin IV POV:

"If I pamper her with love and pay attention to only her then perhaps within time she shall forgive me" "I should get a jeweller and dress maker with finest material for her and spend every time free I get to be with her" "It will take time but hopefully (Y/N) and I have relationship like before ". Baldwin IV thought as he began to work. It was evening and Baldwin IV heard sounds of rain and thunder. Baldwin IV smiled remembering how much (Y/N) loves rain. "Hopefully her mood is better now". "I hope everything is alright, in case she is still hurt about our situation then I will let her go" "If keeping her with me will bring her pain then it's best we part ways" . "I should see her hopefully she is feeling better now". I thought as I went to my chamber

"(Y/N)" I called as I knocked on the door. She didn't respond. "Perhaps she fell asleep I thought" however judging by what happened today I doubt she would fall asleep. "I guess she doesn't want to see me now". I thought but for some reason I had a bad feeling about it that something is seriously wrong. "Chevalier, break the door" I commanded and my men instantly broke the door and what awaited me was far worse I could ever imagine. Inside laid my beloved wife with knife in her chest. I scanned the surrounding wondering where the queen got the knife from and saw the table with fruits inside the basket. "The servant must have left the knife with it so that the queen can cut and eat the fruits" I thought "Quick call a doctor" I commanded before I knew it. My men quickly left and I ran towards my beloved

"No!" "No!" "Why!?" "Why (Y/N)!? "Why!?". I hugged my wife and started crying uncontrollably. The doctor came and asked me to step aside I reluctantly let her go . I waited patiently with hope for (Y/N) to be alive but based on doctor's expression I could tell I was too late.

"(Y/N)"!!! I screamed as the it rained heavily with thunder defening my scream

"(Y/N)" I woke up drenched in sweat. I turned to look myself in mirror and saw my old appearance. "It was a nightmare" "It's been quite a long time since then" I thought. I slowly turned to look at the glass painting in my window to image of my beloved late (Y/N).

"(Y/N)" I said her name as tears fell down my eyes. I looked outside and saw heavy rainfall and heard loud thunder. "Just like back then" I thought. I got up and dragging my old body I went near my beloved I leaned forward and kissed my beloved's face. "The picture doesn't do any justice" "You are lot more beautiful in real life you know".

"........"

"Of course just like back then you aren't responding" "I should have known I had killed you back then moment I decided to give in my temptation" "A good follower of lord doesn't give into temptation but resists it" "Perhaps it would have been good for you if you never met me" "After you left I decided to be a good follower of our lord" "I took vow of chastity and attend church every day praying that our lord spares you from damnation of hell". Baldwin IV let heavy tears fall down his eyes as he said that, he chocked in his tears and said"For loving a leper, I was already disfavoured by lord, therefore he punished me with leprosy" "Hopefully he shows mercy to you for showing kindness to leper". I cried bitterly. I wept in front of her but it was too late. She was already gone

[vsnyarbll]

A Targaryen prince is a heavy burden

atpiahb masterlist, part1, part2, part3, part4, part5

main masterlist

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader, platonic!Aegon II Targaryen x reader

words: 1.287

summary: Aemond is cheating on his wife with Alys Rivers. y/n finds out.

warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, mentions of death, mentions of non-consensual sex

a/n: English is not my native language

y/n was sitting on the window bench. Her eyes were puffy and red from days of crying.

She lifted her wine glass to her lips, but it was empty. She reached for the decanter beside her to fill it and knocked it over. The wine spilled on the cushions of the bench and the hem of her dress.

Her hand holding the glass trembled, and she put it on the marble in front of the window.

y/n clenched her trembling hands and tried to calm herself, but her eyes filled, and her vision blurred. She put her hand over her mouth and tried to stifle her sobs.

Aegon got up from his chair. He came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder.

"It will be all right."

"No, Aegon, it won't. He doesn't want me," she said between sobs.

Aegon sat next to her, ignoring the wine on the cushions.

"He had been going to her since the first day of our marriage. He always told me he had a mission that could take weeks.”

Aegon did not comment and averted his eyes.

"How could I have been so stupid," she said.

Two weeks ago, she found out that Aemond had cheated on her. They had been married for two years, and almost every month, he would get on his dragon and be gone for a week or two.

y/n kept reminding herself that he was a prince and had duties. But Aemond was cheating on her with a woman named Alys Rivers, and his affair with her even predated their marriage.

"He married me so he could inherit my father's lands."

Aegon reached out and patted her arm.

Like many in the castle, he had known this for a long time.

The Queen, the King, the lords, and their wives, everyone knew. That was why they had looked at her with pitying eyes at her wedding and when she first moved into the palace.

Even the servants in the castle felt sorry for her.

It was common for high-ranking married men to have affairs with other women. But it was not considered appropriate for them to have a lover.

"I thought he loved me," she said, turning to Aegon.

xxx

In the evening of that day, the wet nurse came to her room, holding Aemond's and y/n's son, born a week earlier.

Aemond was not with her at the birth of their son. He wasn't even in the castle.

Aegon had waited outside the room during the birth.

The queen had come to her room after the birth to hold her grandson.

y/n’s parents lived three weeks away and were unable to come when she went into labor.

She had to deal alone with the thing she feared most in life.

She was all alone.

After giving birth, one of her trusted ladies-in-waiting told her about Aemond's mistress.

y/n took her son in her arms from the wet nurse. And she buried her nose in his head.

He was the son of the man she loved.

Her eyes were full as she rocked him back and forth in her arms.

She could not go back to her family. Her parents, as much as they loved her, could not accept such a thing. She was married and her new home was The Red Keep, next to her husband.

The door to their room opened, and her husband came in.

His hair was disheveled because he had come to the castle with his dragon. Aemond looked at his wife as he closed the door.

When he saw the baby in her arms, his throat tightened. "I didn't know. I found out the moment I arrived at the castle."

He walked toward his wife and reached for the baby in her arms, but y/n pressed him against her chest.

Aemond paused and dropped his hands to his sides. "My mother said you gave birth to a boy."

"Yes, I did."

He nodded.

"All alone," she said.

"I would have come earlier if my mission-

"Your mission?" she laughed nervously. "What was that mission, Aemond, to fuck that witch?"

He didn't answer, but the muscles in his jaw tightened.

"I could have died in childbirth." Then, she paused briefly. "Of course, you'd be happy if I died. Since I gave you a son, it doesn't matter if I live.”

"You've learned."

"Yes, Aemond! I've learned!"

Aemond continued to maintain silence. His silence infuriated her even more.

"You won't say anything? Won't you defend yourself? Don't I deserve even a simple apology?"

"There is nothing to defend," he said and approached her. "She's been in my life since I was 19."

y/n couldn't hold back her tears this time. She couldn't remember how many times she had cried that day.

"Can I hold my son?"

She looked at him incredulously. "If you want to hold him, and if you want to be in his life in the future, you will leave that woman."

Aemond took a deep breath. "I can't, y/n."

"Why? Why can't you?!"

"Because she's pregnant."

y/n didn't know how much more upset and angry she could feel. "So after years of bullying your nephews, you made your Strong bastard?"

At that moment, the baby stirred restlessly in her arms and slowly opened his eyes. y/n started rocking him back to sleep.

"Don't make me choose between you."

"Do you hear yourself?! I'm your wife. You already made that choice by marrying me.”

Her son wouldn't fall asleep and started to cry. The tension in the room had affected him too. Aemond reached for him once more. This time she let Aemond take him. She couldn't bear to hear her baby cry, even though she felt guilty for feeling that way.

He looked down at his son in his arms, smiling. He placed a kiss on his head. With his eyes still on him, he spoke. "Was Aegon not enough to fill my absence?"

y/n's eyes widened. "Do you realize what you are accusing me of? I am not you, Aemond."

"The courtiers are not blind, y/n. As I set foot in the castle, they told me how much Aegon enjoyed spending time in our chambers."

She backed away and sat on the bed.

y/n folded her hands in her lap and began to play with her fingers.

Aegon was another matter.

Nothing inappropriate had happened between them, but she felt safe and at peace around him.

She always felt his gaze on her in crowded places.

His facial expression when he looked at her would sometimes cause her face to warm up.

Aemond came to her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "If he comes near you again, I will cut off his hands."

She looked up to lock eyes with Aemond. "You impregnate another woman and then turn around and question my honor." She laughed to herself. "That's so like you."

y/n wanted him to be angry too. She wanted him to hurt even a little, but there was not a trace of emotion on the one-eyed prince's face.

"I'm going to take our son to his wet nurse. It wouldn't be right for him to sleep here tonight. I miss my wife."

"Do you think I'd bed with you after all you've done?"

Aemond spoke as he walked towards the door. "You have to. It's your duty as my wife."

As he opened the door, he turned and spoke for the last time before leaving the room. "Besides, everyone will expect me to have another heir."

As y/n looked at where Aemond had just stood, she remembered what her mother had said on their wedding day.

‘A Targaryen prince is a heavy burden.’

next chapter

[amuromi]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 9.1k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ SFW! heian era!au, concubine!reader, true form!Sukuna, established relationship (married), major character death, canon typical violence, era typical misogyny/gender roles, unhealthy obsession, mentions of death, mentions of cannibalism and blood, (Sukuna is a lunatic), Sukuna is referred to exclusively as “Lord Sukuna”

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ The canon will begin to matter less and less as this story goes on it seems, but it will all make sense I swear!

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

There are two bodies to burn. The sparse tinder is laid by careful hands. In the deep cold of winter the earth has so few things to spare, only the thin branches of a fledgling tree bowed over by the blistering wind. The wood is dead and brittle, splintering like breaking bones where it’s been bent into curving shapes. Tied with twine in a braided wreath of ashen wood to surround First Mistress’ body. She’s laid over a fine fur in her most sumptuous clothes and most lustrous jewels, the broken parts of her carefully placed where they’re meant to be attached to her body. Beneath her clothes, parts of Jurina are missing. A bit of flesh flayed from her ribs, a gouge taken out of her thigh. There’s a thin square of white silk laid over her face, hiding the claw masks and the fissure where her head was nearly torn from her body. The wound flutters in and out of sight as the wind stirs the edge of the white sheet, flashing the curving groove where Lord Sukuna fit his teeth into her flesh and tore. 

The fire catches quickly after the priests say their rites, burrowing like red mice through the wood. Burning tongues leapt from wood to fabric, outfitting Jurina’s body in a brilliant, golden shroud for only a moment before her clothes are burning away and the fire takes to skin. The perfumed wood dampens the scent of burning flesh but it will soon become overpowering as the small crowd gathers to pay their respects before the pyre. There’s weeping for mistress and servant alike as Jurina’s personal maid chose to continue serving her in the afterlife. There was little attention given to her body. She’s simply laid beside Jurina with her collar of bruises from the white silk that had choked the life from her throat. Her name escapes you and you wonder if she has a family that needs to be informed of their loss. A raven was already sent out by Uraume to inform Jurina’s clan of her demise at the hands of the King of Curses. 

It’s your hope that Uraume elected to omit the extent of the damage done to Jurina’s body so that her family might have some peace in their ignorance. The winter winds snuff out lives like blowing out candles, ravaging weaker bodies with boiling fevers and gasping coughs that never seem to pass. It’s just the right season for pneumonia and illnesses of that ilk. Let them think that she went with some semblance of peace. It’s a selfish sort of wish as you watch the snow hiss and turn to steam over Jurina’s funeral pyre. It would absolve you of blame, remove the hand you had in her death with your careless words. Poisonous tongue spelling out her death. She’d been staring at you when she died, or perhaps she was dead before her glassy eyes rolled towards you standing at the edge of the engawa, snow dotting your lashes and melting into moisture when the tears wouldn’t come. You hadn’t wanted her death but you can’t find it in yourself to be saddened by the loss. 

Even so, you clasp your hands in prayer along with the remaining Mistresses. Still three despite Fourth Mistress’ arrival. Now Second Mistress is the wife with the most seniority and yet she stands to your right, a subtle show of deference that hadn’t been there only so many hours before. The night has stretched on for a small eternity, bleeding into daylight without reprieve as the household scrambled to deal with Jurina’s death. Messengers were sent out in the waning storm to fetch priests from the village, servants were dispatched to clean Jurina’s chamber and erect a platform for her to be burned upon. Tatami mats were changed and floors were scrubbed. The blood soaked courtyard has been renewed with another layer of downy snow to cover the splatters of blood where Lord Sukuna dragged Jurina outside to make a spectacle of her death. He tore at her with a deranged sort of satisfaction, grinning when he saw you watching, as if he’d only been waiting for a moment to tear her apart. She burst open between his teeth and claws like a ripe fruit, spilling across the snow in a brilliant spray of crimson. And all you did was watch, trying to remind yourself that Jurina wasn’t like you. She was still human in a way that you weren’t. 

Her dedication was to herself above all else, perhaps her clan came second. Lord Sukuna wasn’t a priority in her mind. Her world was vast, reaching far beyond the bounds of the Ryomen estate. During meals she would tut over letters she received from her clan, bemoaning the poor marriage of a cousin or cooing over the news of a new baby. She needled the servants for gossip whenever they returned from an errand outside the estate. Jurina was just a woman and she died as a woman would at the hands of a being like Lord Sukuna; screaming. She’ll be happy to know that he isn’t in attendance to watch her flesh and bones be rendered to ash, her favorite maid beside her. When the smoke clears they’ll be swept into urns or perhaps tossed out with the dirt swept off the engawa. It’s your hope that she’ll be sent home. It’s clear she never belonged here and it would be cruel for this forbidden corner of the world to be her final resting place. 

There’s also a piece of you that thinks she doesn’t deserve the honor of being laid to rest here. Though you suppose decisions like this will be left up to you now that there is no First Mistress to lead the household. Lord Sukuna has made it plainly clear that those responsibilities and honors are now yours. So when a servant comes to ask what should be done when the fire is quelled you send them to find some proper urns of expensive material for Jurina and her maid to be gathered in before being sent off. It doesn’t escape your notice that the servant stopped quite a ways away from you. In fact everyone seems to be giving you a breadth that borders on excessive. As if so much as breathing a breath of air that passed through your lungs will have their body burning next. Everyone that already treated you like a piece of glass is suddenly too fearful to even raise their head in your presence. It’s only Uraume that speaks to you as they had hours ago, entering your chamber with only the lightest knock on the shoji. They find you plucking tunelessly at the strings of your koto with only candlelight as your company. 

The midday sky is gray and dim, still choked with the clouds of the breaking storm. Dull light bleeds through the thick paper of the shoji leading outside. The faintest firelight as Jurina continues to burn. 

“Have you slept?” Uraume asks, coming to sit beside you. You haven’t. There’d been no time to sleep. Hours have passed since Lord Sukuna returned home, since he took you in the bathhouse, since he tore Jurina apart. Hours spent making arrangements and delegating tasks so that this funeral could be held in a timely manner. It’s doubtless that if Lord Sukuna had presided over the proceedings he would’ve simply sent Jurina to the kitchen and used her bones to pick his teeth when he was through with the meal. It would’ve been an honor to be so wholly consumed by her husband but Jurina likely wouldn’t have seen it as the blessing it was. To be so desired that Lord Sukuna wanted to devour every bit of her. To use her body as a means to bolster his own. A shiver trickles down your back as Uraume gathers your hair to comb, the chill of their skin cutting deep. 

“The raven you sent to her family… Did you say how she died?” You ask carefully. 

“She died serving her king.” They say evenly. Of all the people bowing to your lord husband, it is only Uraume that understands you completely. The servants were wailing and whispering about the cruelty of their lord but what cruelty was there? A doll doesn’t despair when the owner breaks it. Jurina’s porcelain face was cracked and her straw body torn open, but what higher purpose is there than to serve the whims of something greater than yourself? Jurina was ill fit to be Lord Sukuna’s wife. She didn’t understand duty or sacrifice. She didn’t understand her place beneath him. Not in the way that you did. A flower doesn’t question the might of a tree nor the warmth of the sun. 

“How do you feel?” Uraume asks, leaning closer than any servant would dare. If they were anyone else, you might stifle at the audacity, but it feels as though the two of you are cut from the same cloth. As Lord Sukuna’s wife, you are an extension of his being. And no one would dare to touch him so intimately without permission. No one except Uraume. They chuckle and ask, “Are you happy?”

“I’m happy. Always.” The feeling is innate. Whether Jurina lived or died, your happiness would remain the same. There’s no great pleasure taken in her demise, nor is there the pang of loss. It feels like something akin to relief. A thorn finally removed from your skin. The itching, burning sting of her presence has been removed at last and you’ll only be strengthened by it. It’s already begun. The servants had come to you for guidance once the house physician had declared Jurina dead. There was no need for the commotion of an official declaration. She looked like a butchered animal by the end. And when the fire dies, nothing will be left of her but ash and memories. She’ll be swept up and sent away, forgotten with the melting snow. 

“Did Jurina serve her purpose? Truly?” 

“No,” Uraume answers without hesitation. “I don’t think any of Lord Sukuna’s wives have served their purpose. Certainly none more so than you, sweet girl.” There were never any honorifics between you and Uraume, at least not in private. They saw you as an equal, perfectly matched in your standing with Lord Sukuna. 

It feels like an honor you’ve yet to earn. Uraume would wage war for your lord husband. You could do no such thing. Even with your cursed technique, you’d be useless in battle. Uraume was lethal, a blade in Lord Sukuna’s hand where you were simply a plucked flower. A blade can be sharpened and polished, but sooner or later a flower would wilt and wither, and your time as a person of importance would pass. Whether it be by death or age, you’d soon be without purpose and Lord Sukuna would likely do away with you as he had Jurina. You can only hope he’ll honor you with consumption. To know that, even in death, you’d been of some minuscule use would soothe your soul. 

Sometimes you find yourself wondering if you’d become a curse, though the only thing worth cursing in this life would be Lord Sukuna. It wouldn’t be so unimaginable that you’d cling to your lord husband even after death. You pledged yourself to him in this life and the next. To go to a place where he cannot follow would be to abandon your vows. And you’d loath to be an unfaithful wife. 

“You’re tired,” Uraume said, though you hadn’t acknowledged the lethargy yourself. They finish the careful task of combing through the last section of your hair before urging you to lay down. 

“Shall I prepare your tea?” You shake your head. It’s become a nightly ritual to have tea before you sleep, but there is no strength left in your body to wait for Uraume to prepare it. Usually the task was left to your personal maid but she is nowhere to be found. Uraume has made the offer but you imagine it to be a simple courtesy rather than a genuine offer. They aren’t your servant to be ordering about. That honor is reserved solely for your lord husband no matter if they offered the service themselves. 

“Sleep for now,” they hum, “I’ll wake you if there is a need for your presence.” Which is to say, if Lord Sukuna calls for you. No other task would be worthy of rousing you from your rest. They tuck you into your futon and blow out each candle before leaving you alone in the darkness. There’s still the faint flickering of the pyre crackling in the courtyard, but it’s easily ignored as fatigue settles over you. 

It seems as though no time has passed at all when you rouse to wakefulness, yet you feel perfectly rested. The light slipping in from outside is that same pale orange glow that sent you to sleep; reminiscent of firelight, yet there is no crackling of burning wood and smoldering flesh. Instead there’s the faint whistling call of the wind and the strangest sound of scratching. At first you imagine it to be a wayward branch scraping against the eaves or the sound of geta scuffing against the wooden walkway. But the sound is too close, too concise to be an untrimmed tree or heavy-footed servant. It was closer to the sound of woodwork. The same noise that preceded Jurina’s pyre as branches were cut and stripped of the snow-sodden bark so the fire would not pittle and hiss over damp wood. The faint whittling noise comes from outside. The sound of scratching sounds nearer still. 

In the gray-gold light, you see the edge of something shift like a shadow dancing between flickering candlelight. But there are no candles burning. No shadows dancing. The shape in the corner of your room seems far more tangible than any trick of the light. It twitches and writhes like an overturned beetle, wriggling between the seam of the adjacent walls like water leaking through a crack. 

Waves of cursed energy surge from the corner like miasma, permeating the room. The scent of it stings your nose and clings to your tongue with the acidity of poison. The curse moans deep and haunting. An almost lyrical sound, as if a dozen voices are folding over each other, like plucking every string of a koto at once. A discordant whimpering undercut by the sound of digging and clawing as it peels away the planks of wood to make space for itself. The walls begin to squeal and splinter, tearing away to allow the winter morning and the curse inside.��

Its bulging eyes wriggle, protruding like those of a frog, and twitching as though it’s a hardship to focus them both so singularly on something. One arm falls away from its scratching and three more follow. The weight of each limb hitting the floor sounds much like a bag of peaches tumbling in a cart. It twitches, body contacting inward until it’s a thick bulging ball of pale flesh before it flattens and drags itself forward on its four arms. It moans again, bearing its long, blunt teeth. Again, it moans, and you think you hear the number three. Then again with more clarity,

“Three, three, three.” It whimpers ceaselessly as it drags its bulging body towards you. Its skin is shapeless and loose like a boiled dumpling, contracting into a thick mass before stretching thin as it drags itself towards you with the agility of a caterpillar. Its face is snow white with red horns peeking out from beneath a hood of pale flesh. For a moment, you consider a monster trying to hide its true face, laughing at the absurdity of it. The sound of hysteria bubbles from your lips louder than any other had, and it only seemed to incense the creature. It dragged itself closer with more ferocity. The moaning chant of “three, three, three,” only gets louder. 

When it’s close enough, it slashes at you, slow and clumsy like a child playing swords with a stick. The morning chill overtakes you as you leap from the futon in a cloud of silk and fur. The curse hisses, then tries again, and when it misses once more the noise it makes is something like a wail. It sounds far too anguished, far too human. The sound sinks beneath your skin, deep enough to rattle your heart and you shiver in your hakama. Your own voice is lost somewhere in your throat, tangled between your quickened breaths and thundering heartbeat. 

Curses aren’t meant to speak, they’re incapable of it. And yet this one reaches towards you with taloned fingers, groaning “three, three, three.” 

It lumbers through the room, weight knocking over side tables. It swings its thick arms, claws grasping to rend your flesh from your bone as it chases you. Needles prick at the soles of your feet as you stumble through the hole torn through the wall, splinters of wood stippling through your socks as the curse herds you onto the engawa. The prickling of wood shards gives way to something wet, though far too warm to be ice melting off the eaves. Your eyes are far too intent on the creature dragging itself out of the hole it burrowed into your room to spare a glance at the ground, and you go from staring at the pale creature to looking up at the light sky. 

The cold is immediately, stabbing into you like a dozen blades as snow clouds your lashes. A cloud of it drifts down around you, stirred through the air as you land. Gray clouds roll by overhead as you make a wheezing noise. The air rattle inside your lungs as you try to regain the breath that had been knocked from your chest in the fall from the engawa. It hadn’t been a far drop but you hardly had breath in your lungs to start, too startled to take more than shallow gasps of air. The curse comes poking over the edge of the walkway, tossing itself into the snow beside you. 

“Get back.” Your voice is as thin as the wind whistling through the courtyard. “Stay away from me.” The curse wails again. Deeper as if it meant to give the toneless sound meaning. “Three, three, THREE!” It says it as if it’s your name, reaching towards you through the snow. Belatedly, you realize that it is your name. You are Third Mistress. Third, Three. The curse bellows the word again, moving like a slug through mud as it drags its malformed body through the bank of snow. Still on your back, steeped in the chill seeping through your thin robe, you watch as the curse reaches towards you with grasping claws. There’s a pondering to your gaze as your eyes watch the dull glint of the morning light wink off the edge of its claws. Jurina had always been so preoccupied with her perfect nails. A talon finds your cheek, scratching a burning line across your face before the connected limb bursts like a crushed melon. 

Hot viscera replaces the frigid kiss of the wind as bright purple blood and bits of white flesh rain down over your face. It’s nearly warm enough to scald, made worse by the shrieks of pain ringing in your ears as the curse writhes in the snow. Clouds of frost dance around its wriggling body though it doesn’t seem to move far. With muscles tensed and shivering, you shove yourself onto your elbows to see over the veil of churning snow. The curse is pinned to the ground with spears of ice. Wailing and thrashing to be free. The stump of its arm still reaches for you, joined by the three that remain. You find your knees, then slowly your feet, only to be knocked into the snow once more as a pillar of ice shatters and a flailing hand reaches towards you in another spray of violet blood. The feeling burns hot as fire, spreading through your body like sparks through a dry brush. Warmth blooms through your side, seeping over your hip and down the length of your thigh as blood weeps from the wound torn through your side. 

The feeling of warmth blooms between your fingers as you press your hands against the gouge taken from your torso. It’s a strange, hollow feeling. As if your body has yet to accept the prospect of pain just yet. It comes in waves, lapping over you in an ebb and flow as your vision begins to swim. Everything is hot as fire and cold as ice. The world looks as though you’re seeing it through a cloud of steam, rippling and fading as you blink through the blood loss. This feeling isn’t new and yet the feeling hasn’t lessened in its intensity. There’s a sound that you find familiar. Frantic and sharp as a bird chirping at the rising sun. It grows colder still, though there’s comfort in the chill as you recognize the shape of arms wrapping around you. It hurts as they squeeze at the hole gaping in your side, still weeping red tears of blood through the silk of your hakama. The chirping turns to feral growls, a wolf bearing its teeth, and the curse wails anew. It sounds like Jurina if only vaguely. Shrill and bitter. The ground had only just been dusted with a cover of snow, hiding the place her blood had been spilled. Now it was your turn. 

Dazedly, you blink up towards the sky, lashes shining with tears or melting snowflakes as a face swims through your periphery. The soft chirping returns and you try to piece together the sounds over the weeping curse. A voice that you recognize. It soothes your fluttering heart, lessens the flames still burning where part of your body is missing, and more is still spilling onto the snow. A red puddle blooming over a sea of white. It reminds you of Uraume’s hair, and reminds you that their voice has always been melodic like birdsong. It must be them holding you so gently, speaking soft words to you though your hearing has faded to the sound of your blood and breath, like hiding your head beneath a pillow. Something cold and soft brushes over your face and you imagine it might be the gentle fingers of your protector, but your eyes can’t find anything other than the vaguest shapes. 

Everything has melded into a light wash. Gray sky, white snow, ivory-skinned curse. Everything is white until it isn’t. A sudden burst of color as a shade of sunset pink appears overhead. So far above that, for a moment, you truly think it to be the sun. But the sun has no teeth to bare, no eyes to watch those beneath its shining face. But, perhaps, he can be considered your sun as Lord Sukuna sneers at the curse still sniveling a few paces ahead. It’s pinned and bleeding. Pierced with long shards of Uraume’s ice formation. Lord Sukuna’s towering form stoops to look at the creature before his sights are set on you. He reaches out and for a moment you expect the gentility of a caress against your frigid cheek. Instead his hand closes around your neck, choking the last dregs of air from your lungs as he lifts you from Uraume’s arms. His height leaves you dangling far above the ground, legs too numb to kick though you have no reason to protest such rough treatment. Punishment is in order. 

How shameful you are. The daughter of an unimpeachable sorcerer clan unable to defend herself. The wife of the King of Curses being maimed by the hands of another. Your life was not for anyone but your lord husband’s to take and yet you feel the familiar feeling of your body giving out. Made worse by the way Lord Sukuna’s fist is closed tight around your throat. Your head feels swollen, vision darkened as the pressure bursts the capillaries in your eyes. Lord Sukuna regards you with vague interests. His four eyes dance over your face, likely taking in the way your lips must be deepening to an asphyxiated blue as the veins in your face lift to the surface of your skin. You can’t bring yourself to fight against him, hands doing little more than holding his wrist as he keeps you aloft with one hand. Another comes to stroke against the wound in your side, claws raking over the ragged flesh. It feels more like pressure than pain as the feeling fades from your body. Lord Sukuna says something but it’s only a dull rumble in your uncomprehending ears. All that’s left is a ringing, then a sound like a branch being torn from a tree. Then nothing. 

A lingering hollowness haunts the light floating before your eyes in clouds of flickering red. It burns through your eyelids as your lashes flutter, eyes disobeying your intentions to open them. It feels like pulling a string with no tension and expecting the puppet to move even still. No part of your body wishes to do more than twitch as you claw towards consciousness like climbing a mountain. First your toes begin to move as intended, then your fingers. It feels like filling an empty cup, bit by bit the water rises until it’s spilling over the brim and your eyes flutter open at last. 

The warmth of wakefulness is nearly overwhelming. Hot as the stifling heat at the height of summer as your eyes watch the glow of the braziers flickering across the walls. Sweat trickles over your skin beneath the layers of bedding pulled up to your chin, gathering between your breasts and at the nape of your neck. It’s made worse by the tackiness in your throat. It’s hard to swallow as you shift in your nest of blankets, moving with the grace of a newborn fawn. This isn’t the rising from a fitful sleep but the emergence of a newly formed butterfly escaping its cocoon. You move with a practiced delicacy, wings still soft against your back as you strip the layers away from your sweltering skin. How long have you been asleep? 

The light blooming outside the shoji gives nothing away. It could be early morning or midday and the faint glow of the winter sun remains the same. You turn away from the doors leading outside and regard the inner shoji with vague interest. There’s faint hints of knowledge in your mind. It drifts just beyond comprehension like fish dancing just below the surface of a pond, bright and fleeting as you try to grasp at the thought that won’t form. The walls around you are unfamiliar yet you can’t be certain of why. The scent in the air is foreign in a way you can’t place. Everything is wrong. A frightening sort of foreignness as you try to rattle any modicum of knowledge loose from the haze of unconsciousness. The tatami is cold underfoot, your bare toes pressing into the woven mats as you wobble towards the door on the tips of your toes. This much you know. 

There’s the broadest strokes of understanding. The door slides open when you pull, red light giving way to darkness as the halls stretch out in either direction almost endlessly. The embers burning in the braziers only reach so far into the yawning blackness so you set forward blindly. One hand trails along the left wall, fingertips grazing along the screens painted with falling leaves. The halls twist and turn, darkness fading to gray as your eyes adjust to the sinuous corridors. At each corner you turn left with the vague knowledge that it will eventually lead you somewhere. The last hallway doesn’t end so much as an obstacle appears in your path. A slim figure cuts across your vision, a burning stroke of white standing out in the dimness. Their face is familiar as is the word they whisper into the darkness. The dulcet sound knocks something loose in your head. Your name. As if you’d been underwater since your eyes opened, the broad strokes of knowledge rattling about in your head are slowly refined. Returning to life is always jarring. Without guidance it takes some time for you to realize yourself, to reclaim your memories and mannerisms. Your mother had said you were like a puppet brought to life before your mind returned, always the last thing to heal from the ordeal of death. 

“Lord Sukuna will be glad to hear you’ve awakened.”

“How long was I asleep?” A gentle way to ask for how long your body had been dead. Faintly, you remember the wound in your side, Lord Sukuna’s hand about your delicate throat. From the inside of your body, breaking your neck always sounds like a tree being cleaved in two. A thick tearing noise that echoes dully in your ears before the unknown sound of death swallows you. That you never remember. A small miracle considering how often you’ve found yourself being relieved of your life. Drowning, choking, burning. And yet your body mends itself without fail, becoming stronger for the pain you endured. You touch your side and wonder what it will take to pierce the skin there in this lifetime; because there have already been so many. 

“A fortnight.” Uraume tells you. Usually a broken neck would not take so long to heal. But the damage is rarely paired with the viscera of a curse attack. It had been a lucky thing that Lord Sukuna had honored you with death at his hands. The first since you’ve entered his household as his third wife. If the curse had taken your life, you imagine there might not have been another life to live. No death had ever come at the hands of a curse or anything imbued with cursed energy. If it can keep a sorcerer from becoming a curse, it can likely keep you from reviving with more strength than before. It would’ve been a great shame to have been killed by a curse when your lord husband was so near. An insult to allow anyone other than him to determine what happens to his wife. His third wife. His favorite wife. 

Uraume leads without much grandeur, simply walking a few steps ahead of you. The path becomes clearer now. Still dark and unlit but there’s a familiarity to it that hadn’t been there only moments ago. The air is chilling as Uraume leads the way outside, meandering along the engawa until they jump from the edge, their landing softened by the clouds of snow still blanketing the ground. It seems less than it had been when your eyes had last opened, as if it hadn’t snowed heavily since the night of Jurina’s death. Yet it was still winter and you clutch the folds of your hakama closer around your shoulders as Uraume trails ahead. Clouds like wisps of smoke puff from between your lips as shivers tremble through your renewed body. If they feel the cold, Uraume doesn’t acknowledge it. The cold is something intrinsic to your lord husband’s most favored servant. Even in the height of summer there’s a slight chill to their presence. Likely a consequence of their cursed technique. 

Uraume leads the way past the unattached buildings that are only frequented by servants, towards the far bounds of the estate. There’s never been any reason for you to be this far from the main house. You imagine these are places where things you never think of are stored, preserved foods and wagons for trips into town. The armory is the only building you recognize. A haze of cursed energy looms over the building like a shroud. It’s the same for the building that Uraume seems to be leading you towards. The air around it is thick with the presence of great power. Both auras are familiar in different ways. Just as each person seems to carry their own distinct scent, cursed energy has an element of individuality. Even with your eyes closed and ears plugged, you’d know the approach of your lord husband by his cursed energy alone. He is inside. As is another being that you imagine must be the curse that had attacked you. Their energy is recognizable in a fractured way. Like a dream slipping away as soon as you wake. 

Uraume announces your arrival as they open the door. The room is bathed in gold, lit by dozens of lanterns all flickering in tandem. The room is modest in size and made smaller by what must be hundreds–if not thousands–of talismans hanging from the walls and ceiling. All in various sizes and written in different hands. Some of the ink has the neatness of a learned scholar while others have the shakiness of illiteracy, though the quality of the script hardly matters to what is written. Each tag holds the power to bind. As do the thickly woven ropes wrapped right around the pale curse that attacked you all those days ago. It gurgles and strains within the ropes hung with more binding talismans, bulging eyes bobbing in its head as it tries to fix its gaze towards the sound of your approach. You hardly notice, eyes fixed on the vision of your lord husband standing over the creature with his spear in hand. 

Lord Sukuna takes over your vision, eclipsing everything with his daunting figure. He takes his eyes away from the curse bound at his feet with an unhurried sort of interest, and the weight of his gaze makes you bloom like a flower beneath the kiss of the sun. Red eyes piercing as burning iron stab through you, pinning you in place so absolutely that your knees buckle. He sees the weakness before you can fall and catches you by the waist, pulling you against him. Your eyes fall away from his face, head bowing as you try to find the words to apologize for your mistake; your death. He silences you before you can find enough words to express the deep rooted feeling of inadequacy. 

“The misstep has already been punished.” When you dare to look up, Lord Sukuna is looking towards Uraume. With a sharp nod of his head he dismisses his right hand attendant to leave the two of you alone with the curse that tried to take your life, tried to claim something that belongs to your lord husband alone. Not even you have such control of your life. You’ve heard tales of unhappy concubines seeking death in the face of neglect and mistreatment. Though you’ve always found yourself spoiled in your marriage, you can’t imagine that you could ever take your own life even if you were set aside and forgotten. Lord Sukuna will always be your world. The sun doesn’t cease to exist simply because it has set. The darkness of night must be endured to enjoy the light of day. You’ll suffer anything at the hands of your lord husband if it pleases him. Your life is his to manage as he sees fit. 

“My Lord,” you try to speak, but you’re silenced once more. 

“Don’t start. I’ve already told you you’re forgiven. Besides, words are useless without action. If you truly seek forgiveness then prove it.” He takes his hand away from you and nods towards the curse still squirming in its bonds. Its eyes wheel this way and that until one finally finds its way into a position to see you. The aborted struggles seem to renew with the vigor you’d seen upon its arrival into your chamber. The ropes burn red welts into its pale skin where it writhes and strains, spittle dribbling from its mouth as its empty whining turns to hissing yowls. 

“Three, three, three.” The creature spits, straining towards you with the singularity of an arrow launched from a bow. Lord Sukuna stands behind you, a pillar of strength and a post keeping you from turning away. One of his hands finds yours, pressing his spear against your palm. It’s heavy and your arm trembles with the strength it takes to hold it. His intentions are clear. Kill the curse. It takes great strength and both arms to lift Lord Sukuna’s spear. All of your weight pitches forward as you drive the three-pronged blade through the curse’s head. Blood sprouts like a fountain as the creature screams. The sound pierces through your ears, ringing in your head as you drive the weapon further through its head in a rush to silence the noise. It chuffs and squeals, thrashing against the ropes with slowly waning strength until, at last, it goes still and silent. 

For a moment the pale lump of bleeding, bulging flesh takes on a shimmery red glow like flames burning within ash and ember. It grows then fades as the creature sags in a haze of dissipating cursed energy. The only movement left is the blood dripping from the spear still lodged in its head, forming a puddle on the dirt floor. Perhaps a flower will sprout from the soil wetted with purple blood though you doubt something so delicate could spring from the death of such a violent creature. Kneeling next to the puddle you touch the spot of dampness and ask the question that’s been on the tip of your tongue since the curse first spoke. 

“Was this First Mistress Jurina?” It had to be. It would explain the vague familiarity about the curse’s energy. Like the scent of someone lingering in their clothes after they’ve worn them, Jurina’s cursed energy tainted the new signature of the cursed spirit. Lord Sukuna barks out a laugh. 

“There’s no need to be so respectful of the dead. Jurina is no longer my wife, nor was she ever worth your deference.”

“She was your first wife,” you mumble, lowering your head against the admonishment you expect to meet your stubbornness. It doesn’t come. 

“They are wives in name only. Perhaps I laid with them, but there has been no woman above you since we wed.” 

The wedding had been something of a formality performed in the absence of your lord husband. The vows had been spoken before your family and the deed was done long before you completed the arduous journey from your home to Lord Sukuna’s estate. You were his wife for some time before you met and, truly, you will be his wife forever. Not even death could sever your allegiance. It makes you wonder if one day you’ll become a curse too. Some amalgamation of your grief and anguish. The dark, rotted feeling of failure as you abandon your lord husband in death. It’s unthinkable when your body has been blessed with such resilience and yet you know that there may come a day when death is no longer like sleep, your eyes will close forever, the butterfly dead at last. It brings a mournful feeling to your heart. 

“Would you let me curse you, my lord?” Jurina had become a vengeful spirit fueled by her hatred of you. She’d cursed you in her death and you can only hope to be so attached to your lord husband, even in death. It’s the dividing line between you, the gate guarding you from the rest. In her last moments, Jurina hadn’t been thinking of Lord Sukuna. Her husband, her murderer. Instead he eyes had looked to you and her soul had screamed to tear at you the way Lord Sukuna had shredded through her body. It was with no small amount of pain that Jurina had lost her life and even in the midst of death she had found it in herself to hate you with such passion that it burned even after she died. If she had hatred you wished to burn with love in your afterlife, to be so consumed by the flames of your desire that your essence will cling to Lord Sukuna even in death. 

“Would you curse me?” He asks sardonically. 

“I think I would.” There’s a bashfulness to your voice as your eyes stay towards the ground, watching Jurina’s purple blood seep into the soil. Lord Sukuna places a finger under your chin, sharpened nail digging into the soft skin beneath your jaw. When your eyes lift towards his face he’s smiling, a stark baring of fanged teeth. He smiles like a wolf and you’re the rabbit a hair’s breadth away from being bitten. 

“You’ll have to die first.” His tone is peculiar. There’s a hint of humor though it’s colored with something darker, as if Lord Sukuna is angered by the prospect of you abandoning him in such a way. 

“I will someday.” You remind him. Your Chrysalis technique may revive you from traumatic deaths, but a gentle departure, a final breath gasped in the night, is likely to go unrenewed. A winter frost through which no spring flowers will bloom. Nature cannot be denied and to live is to die. 

Lord Sukuna cups your face in his hand, clawed fingers digging into your cheeks. “How little you know, woman.” 

He says no more and you decide that he must know something that you don’t. He is leagues more worldly and likely does know things beyond your understanding. It isn’t your place to pry if he won’t tell you freely. He must see a thousand questions behind your eyes but he neglects to answer any of them. Instead he pulls his hand away from your face and the warmth of his skin against yours is replaced by the winter cold. There are no burning coals in this room. A shiver snakes through your body, and that Lord Sukuna acknowledges. He removes his outer robe and drapes it around your shoulder. Immediately you’re drowning in the warmth of his body still lingering in the silk. It’s far too long for you and you gather the massive swathe of fabric into your arms to keep it from dirtying on the ground. Lord Sukuna tuts and picks you up, easily keeping his clothes from dragging along the dirt. Cradling you in one arm he pulls his spear from Jurina’s second corpse with another. It comes loose with a sound that reminds you of chopping vegetables. 

Lord Sukuna calls for Uraume and they appear in an instant as if they had been by his side all along. There’s an unspoken order that passes between them and your lord husband’s servant accepts it with a resolute nod. Then he says, “come, woman,” as though you could go anywhere else while still held aloft in his arms. It’s so different from the last time he held you, his fist locked around your delicate throat. Now his arms cradle beneath your knees and across your back as you lean against the warmth of his chest. The light of the sun is a bright wash of hazy white after spending some time in the dimness of the talisman room. You expect that Lord Sukuna will take you back to the main house, but he continues off in the direction nearing the furthermost bounds of the estate. 

“What will happen to Jurina now?” You dare to ask. Her human form had already been burned, but you weren’t sure what would become of her cursed form. It would be cruel to send it back to her family and burning wasn’t meant for curses. A human body could be purified in flames in preparation for the next life, but a curse could not shed the truth of its nature even in death. 

“I’ll show you,” Lord Sukuna said cryptically, still walking towards the building that stood alone on the outer reaches of the estate. Like the talisman room and the armory, there was a heady cloud of cursed energy blanketing the structure, though it was far more potent than anything you’d ever encountered aside from Lord Sukuna. His cursed energy seemed as deep and unending as the ocean and this strange building was just as unfathomably thick with traces of cursed energy. It was nearly overwhelming despite your constant exposure to your lord husband. It was ominous. Terrifying in its foreignness. Were you not held by Lord Sukuna, you might’ve run from this place. But there is an inherent safety in his arm. Your lord husband wouldn’t take you to a place that he could not protect you. 

“What is this place?” You ask quietly, as if speaking too loudly would rouse something from the aura of darkness. 

“An onsen of sorts.” It had the warmth of a bathhouse though the sound of babbling water was traded for that of rain, like a rushing waterfall as Lord Sukuna opened the door. It seemed just like the onsen of the main house. Stone floors around a deep pool, yet there was no water here. Instead the pit where a hot spring might’ve been was filled with something black and vicious. The dripping sound came from the strange hammock hung far above the pool. That same dark liquid seeping through the large patchwork of fabric. And when you look closer, there are those same talisman symbols painted on the bulging material. 

“This is where Jurina will be taken,” Lord Sukuna told you, “so that she might finally be of use.” Just as Uraume said, none of his wives have served their purpose. It makes you wonder what purpose Lord Sukuna would have you serve. You dare to ask. 

“That’s why I’ve brought you here,” he says vaguely. “You’re my wife, and I expect that you’ll serve me as a wife should.” 

His words send a shock down your spine. What task have you been neglecting? You were raised in an affluent household as the daughter of a large and prosperous clan. The ways of womanhood have been stitched into your brain from the moment you were born. The proper way to act and speak, the things a wife must pay heed to if she wishes to keep a well run household. Though you’re only the third in line of authority–second, now–you’ve taken up most tasks to do with the household. Jurina hadn’t the patience and Second Mistress was always sequestered in her room. Such a sad girl like a flower wilting at the height of spring. She cried at Jurina’s funeral where few others could find the fondness for it. It was you that the head household maid reported to and the cooks asked about which meals should be prepared on which days. At first, you simply thought it was the convenience of receiving prompt answers, but now you know that it was simply expected. You were the favorite, the de facto lady of the house. So what could there be that you weren’t doing to your lord husband’s standards?

“My apologies, my lord. Whatever I’ve been lacking I will–” His hand covers your mouth, ear to ear. 

“Enough,” he groans. Then he says, “Children. A wife should give her husband children. You’ll serve this purpose for me.” There’s a fleeting hint of fondness in his voice that sends a twinge through your heart. Lord Sukuna is asking you to bear his children. You weren’t married into the household as his main wife and yet he’s given you the highest honor of being the mother of his heirs. A warmth blooms across your cheeks and down your neck, a flush of excitement igniting through your body. 

“As many as you’d like, my lord.” It’s what’s expected of you though you; an expectation rather than a choice, but you’re excited to fulfill the role even still. Though, part of you had considered it an impossibility. Lord Sukuna had been human once but something in him had changed, gone beyond that of an ordinary man. But he is a man even still. Desiring progeny, a legacy beyond his own being. To know that he wants to use your body for such an honorable purpose washes you in a great sense of pride. It will be your womb that births the King of Curses his heirs. Little pink haired babies with your nose and their father’s four eyes. But pride slowly turns to contemplative anguish. 

If you were meant to give Lord Sukuna his children, it is nothing short of a miracle that you haven’t conceived in the year that you’ve been married. Lord Sukuna did nothing sparingly. He indulged to his heart’s content. In blood and carnage, in food, and in bed. He laid with you often enough that a child should’ve come long ago and yet you’ve yet to feel the stirring of a baby quickening within you. 

The room dips and swoops around you as your eyes lose focus, lost in thought. What was wrong with you that you hadn’t yet fallen pregnant? Your hands clutch at your stomach, empty beneath the layers of your clothes. A hidden fragment of your heart wonders if it’s truly your fault at all. Lord Sukuna had three wives, and while you were most favored there were times when he took the others to bed, a time before you entered his household. And yet the estate remains empty of heirs. Though you don’t dare to entertain the thought longer than a moment, it flashes through your mind as quick as an arrow. Perhaps it was Lord Sukuna that was obstructing the blessing of a child. Still, your hands remain on your stomach, caressing the place meant to bear the fruits of life. Since birth you were told it would be your only honor in this life. To give a man a son to further his glory and continue his legacy. Lord Sukuna isn’t in need of such a successor, yet he’s asked for them even still.  

“You are truly too valuable to die,” Lord Sukuna says, lifting your eyes towards his. They’re piercing as red flames, burning into your face with such intensity that it makes you want to wither in his arms, like a flower left with no water. “Jurina was poisoning you. Every night. And yet your body was kind enough to preserve itself for me.” Because what other reason would you have to defy death so vehemently? If Lord Sukuna says the purpose of your cursed technique is to keep you by his side, then who are you to deny it?

“You like tea.” Lord Sukuna says, passing the pad of his thumb over your lips. “Dark tea. Dark enough to mask the color of anything added to it. Jurina was bribing your little maid to slip poison into your tea every night before bed. Nothing lethal. She meant to poison your womb and purge any seed I might’ve planted inside you.” He laughs scornfully, “I thought it was jealousy, at first, but she was drinking it, too, and feeding it to the second one. Likely the work of her family urging her to cripple my reign by blocking the chances of an heir.” 

Another hand brushes against your stomach, sweeping away your desperate grasping. 

“I chose you well, woman. Though the poison did as it was made to and purged your body of any child that might’ve grown, you healed. What made Jurina and the other barren hardly touched you. As soon as you closed your eyes your body repaired itself. Uraume thinks you might be close to building a tolerance for it since your technique heals as well as strengthens. I might start feeding you poisons to fortify you against future attacks.” It was so terribly wonderful that you knew as soon as he said it that you’d gladly eat anything your lord husband asked without question. The poison might even taste sweet on your tongue if it was prepared by him. 

“Things will be different now. You will give me children. Strong children.” He says it with an air of finality, as if you’d ever deny him anything, though you’re uncertain of how strong any child of yours will be. Of course, your maiden clan is a powerful one, but you’re hardly a descendant of the three elite sorcerer clans. Jurina had been a Zenin. Her blood would’ve given him strong children. Second Mistress is a Kamo and her children would carry that superiority in their blood. As a humble Hoga, you were the least desirable of his brides to have his children with. Unless Fourth Mistress was of a lower clan than even you. 

“If I may, my lord,” he grunts his annoyance but allows you to continue. “If you want children, why did you not have them with Jurina? Certainly a Zenin would be better suited to creating a powerful heir. My cursed technique is unheard of even within my own clan.” You remind him. It would break your heart to disappoint him with a child that couldn’t even do you the service of inheriting your technique. And there likely would be no second chance to amend the error. 

“I don’t want your technique, woman, though it would surely be of great use. That’s what this place is for.” He sweeps his arm towards the pool of darkness gathered in the center of the room. The longer you look the more it begins to turn from black to deep purple. Slowly, the immense level of cursed energy sufficing the air begins to make sense. The staccato waves that don’t seem to match any singular signature aside from Lord Sukuna’s. It is blood. The blood of curses. And Lord Sukuna had called it an onsen of sorts. Did he mean to bathe you in the blood of those he’d slain? To give your child over to these tainted waters to imbue them with its power? 

It made you fear for the child that had yet to be made. Of course, their purpose in life would be an extension of your own. To serve their lord father in any way that he asked, yet they’d still be a piece of you. A terrible selfish piece of your heart began to crack and splinter, breaking away in revolt of turning your baby into a monster. But what was Lord Sukuna if not a monster? Adoration did little to cleanse the crimes of the King of Curses. Any child you gave him would be heir to that title. With a few measured breaths, you resigned yourself to it. Your child would know no other way of life and you would love them as proudly as a mother could. They would always be a manifestation of the love you bear for your lord husband. His flesh and blood joined with yours to create a life. It felt like a privilege to even consider the thought. 

[kabutoden]

TORMENT DEMON TAIKAL

WHAM!! BAM!! WACK SMACK SLAM!!! TATATATATATA-TORMENT DEMON TAIKAL!! ★☆

Are you looking to be battered? Run ragged, thrashed and tattered? Pummeled, bashed and splattered? Brutalized, pulverized or pounded to dust? Calling your local beatiator is a must!

Club shining and held towards the stars, Taikal’s the one bringing pain form afar, Pummeling felons for detestable deeds, Punishing villains and their immoral creeds!

TORMENT DEMON TAIKAL!! ★☆ Mutilate and clobber for the good of us all! TORMENT DEMON TAIKAL!! ★☆ Mistress of agony, ready to maul!!

Mutilating manglizing cutie Taikal, Thrashtergating, maimerizing perfect Taikal, She’s adora-ble!

Bat shining and held towards her heart, Taikal’s batter time is so soon to start! Respect our judge to do her judge’n Or prepare for a beaten’ n’ bludgeon!!! ☆

TORMENT DEMON TAIKAL!! ★☆ Obliterate and throttle for the good of us all! TORMENT DEMON TAIKAL!! ★☆ Metter of Agony, eager to brawl!

Crushing, smashing, beauty Taikal, Agonizing disciplining, loyal Taikal, LETS GO TAI-KAL!!

You had your chance, and now it’s too late~ Your fate is mine to terminate~

BEATIATOR TAIKAL!!!! A happy troll who carries her ancestor’s dangerous Kanabo and desire to act as a Beatiator, a roll in troll courts that keeps the peace by dealing out physical punishments to disruptive trolls and backs up legislaytures while they’re investigating. She likes bonking people over the head with her foam club during mock trials and is absolutely thrilled by her genetic responsibility, because wacking people is so much fun. She’s high energy and friendly, but also tormentous.

AKA, imagine if terezi had equius's confidence in the system and love for violence and was given a foam club and a set of rules to punish people. And she had a magical girl identity thing going on. Taikal is the happiest servant of justice. it is her.