#like what do you mean by all of these words and kingdom histories I was planing on chilling😭

[tpato]

POV: you’re ready to start casually settling into a new fantasy series and then the first five chapters are straight world building and you actually have to lock in and comprehend a new way of thinking and understand the new world you’re about to get absorbed in

[gyuuberryy]

prince charming's mismatch

pairing: prince!heeseung x princess!reader

synopsis: you and prince heeseung have been rivals for as long as you can remember. what began as childhood clashes has grown into a deep-seated animosity over the years. but when your sister runs away on her wedding day, you're forced to take her place and marry heeseung—the last person you ever wanted to call your husband.

now bound in an unwanted marriage, you’re faced with navigating the tension between your unresolved hatred and an unexpected attraction. as palace intrigue and looming threats surround you both, you must confront the truth of your feelings. will the bitterness between you tear you apart, or will it ignite something far more powerful?

genre: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, arranged marriage au

warnings: highly suggestive content!!! kissing, hee and reader are mean at first, insecurities, jealous!hee

note: i've been meaning to write this plot for an year now, im happy with how it turned out! e2l with hee is always soo fun to write. enjoyy

word count: 11.5k

royally yours masterlist | next: jay

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

the first time you met prince heeseung, it was at a grand summer garden party hosted by your parents in the palace’s sprawling grounds. you were barely six years old, and he wasn’t much older, yet even then, the air between you crackled with something akin to competition. your governess had dressed you in your finest lace frock, with your hair tied in perfect ribbons, but none of that mattered. you were too busy building a grand sandcastle near the fountain, your little fingers carefully patting the turrets into shape.

that was when heeseung appeared, his shadow falling over your castle like a storm cloud. he crouched beside you without so much as a polite greeting, his royal title apparently excusing his lack of manners. his eyes, sharp for a child, surveyed your handiwork critically.

“that’s not right,” he declared, reaching out to touch one of your towers. “the walls need to be thicker, or it’ll fall.”

you frowned, already bristling at the unsolicited advice. “it’s my castle. i know what i’m doing.”

he smirked, a small, superior thing that made your blood simmer even at that tender age. without asking, he began "fixing" it, his hands too rough as he demolished what you had so carefully crafted.

“stop!” you cried, shoving him back with all the strength your little body could muster. heeseung stumbled, landing awkwardly on the grass, but instead of being chastened, he merely laughed.

“see?” he said, gesturing at the collapsed sandcastle. “i told you it would fall.”

tears of frustration welled in your eyes as you glared at him. “you ruined it! i didn’t ask for your help!”

heeseung stood, dusting off his fine clothes, a boyish smirk still plastered on his face. “you should thank me. i was doing you a favour.”

from that day forward, any time your families met, it was as if an unspoken rule had been established—whenever you were in the same room, you and heeseung would find something to argue about. it didn’t matter if it was who deserved the biggest slice of cake or who could recite their latin conjugations faster; the two of you were constantly at odds.

as the years passed, your mutual disdain only deepened. by the time you were ten, heeseung had already earned a reputation as the golden boy of his kingdom, a future king who excelled in everything he touched. your own accomplishments were always impressive—your parents had ensured you were well-versed in languages, history, and the fine arts—but whenever heeseung was around, it felt as though all your achievements paled in comparison.

“did you hear?” one of your tutors asked one morning as you sat in the drawing room, diligently practising your embroidery. “prince heeseung has been awarded top marks in his studies again. he’s to receive a commendation from the royal academy.”

you didn’t look up, but your needle paused for the briefest of moments. “how wonderful for him,” you muttered, the words heavy with sarcasm.

that evening, at another royal banquet, you couldn’t help but bring up your own accomplishments, eager for even a crumb of recognition.

“i’ve been practising my archery,” you said proudly to the gathered guests, though your eyes couldn’t help but flick toward heeseung, who lounged nearby, looking as regal and aloof as ever. “i managed to hit the bullseye several times this week.”

heeseung glanced up lazily, catching your eye with that familiar, insufferable smirk. “impressive,” he said in a bored tone, “though archery isn’t quite the same as, say, fencing. that requires real skill.”

your fists clenched under the table, your pride wounded by his casual dismissal. but this was the way it always went. no matter what you did, heeseung always found a way to make it seem insignificant, as though he were the sun and you were merely a star dimmed by his brilliance.

by the time you were both teenagers, the animosity between you had grown more complicated, though no less intense. you found yourselves at the same royal gatherings, balls, and court functions, and each time, it was as if the entire room held its breath, waiting to see what you and heeseung would clash over next.

at one particularly grand ball, you had been feeling proud of your debut. you wore a gown of the finest silk, and you’d received more than a few admiring glances from the eligible noblemen in attendance. you were certain this was your night to shine��until heeseung approached.

“you look well enough,” he said, his voice smooth but with an edge that set your teeth on edge. “though i hope you don’t trip during the quadrille like last time.”

your cheeks flushed, remembering all too well the minor misstep you’d taken at a previous ball. “i won’t,” you snapped, glaring at him. “and even if i did, it’s better than fencing yourself into a corner like you did at the tournament last month.”

his smile faltered for just a second, but that was enough to make you feel victorious.

yet, despite the constant barbs, there was something else simmering beneath the surface now—a tension you refused to name. you hated the way your heart raced whenever heeseung was near, the way his presence seemed to fill every corner of a room. and, though you’d never admit it, you hated even more that part of you missed the old days when your squabbles were simple, childish things.

it all changed the day your sister’s engagement to heeseung was announced. the prince who had been your lifelong nemesis was now to become your sister’s husband, the future king of your kingdom. it was a match made for political alliance, but it felt like a betrayal. you had expected more from him—well, not more kindness, but certainly more rebellion. yet, heeseung accepted the engagement with the same cool composure he did everything else.

for the first time in years, he stopped seeking you out, stopped picking those fights you had come to expect. he no longer bothered with sharp remarks or smug smiles. instead, he kept his distance, as though you were beneath his notice.

you told yourself it didn’t matter. after all, what did you care if heeseung ignored you now? he was going to be your brother-in-law, and that was enough reason to keep things civil. and yet, a strange, hollow feeling settled in your chest whenever you saw him and your sister together. he was colder now, more mature, but somehow more distant than ever.

little did you know, your rivalry with prince heeseung was far from over. if anything, it was only just beginning.

the night your world fell apart, it started with a simple knock on your chamber door. the palace had been abuzz with preparations—florists arranging garlands, tailors hemming gowns, and courtiers whispering about the grand union that would strengthen two kingdoms. you had spent the evening rehearsing your duties as maid of honour, biting back any remnants of bitterness that still clung to your feelings about the match. it didn’t matter that you had spent your entire life despising heeseung; your sister loved him, or at least, she was supposed to.

you were preparing to retire, brushing your hair by the dim glow of candlelight, when your sister slipped into the room, her face pale and eyes wide with fear. you’d never seen her look so frantic. your heart sank before she even said a word.

“i’m not going to marry him,” she whispered, wringing her hands in the folds of her silk nightgown. her voice trembled, but it was steady enough for you to know she wasn’t joking.

your heart lurched. “what are you talking about? the wedding is tomorrow!”

her wide eyes darted to the door as if she feared someone might overhear. she leaned in closer, gripping your wrist with trembling fingers. “i can’t marry heeseung,” she said urgently. “i don’t love him. i’m leaving tonight.”

the words hit you like a physical blow. “you’re what?”

“i’m eloping,” she said, her voice firmer now, as if saying it out loud gave her courage. “with lucien.”

lucien. you barely knew the man, a minor noble from another court, but he had charmed your sister quickly. he was handsome and witty, but far beneath her station. you stared at her, disbelief mixing with fury.

“lucien? are you mad? you can’t just abandon your duty for—”

“for love?” she interrupted, her voice rising in defiance. “yes, i can. i won’t be trapped in a loveless marriage with a man who cares nothing for me.”

you swallowed hard, your mind racing. heeseung, distant and cold as he had been with you, had shown no signs of affection for your sister either, but this was bigger than personal feelings. the marriage was political, a union meant to secure alliances, peace, and power. your sister fleeing would bring nothing but chaos.

“you’ll ruin everything,” you whispered, your voice thick with the weight of the consequences. “our families, the kingdoms—this is bigger than you.”

her eyes softened with a mix of guilt and determination. “i know. but i can’t live my life for duty, not like this.” she stood, gathering a small satchel you hadn’t noticed before, already packed and ready for her escape.

“you won’t stop me, will you?” she asked, her gaze pleading.

you wanted to scream, to shake her out of this madness, but your throat tightened. she was your sister. you loved her. and you knew, deep down, that nothing you said would change her mind.

“i should,” you said, your voice quiet, brittle. “but no. i won’t.”

your sister smiled, a fragile, relieved thing, before pulling you into a tight embrace. the hug felt final, like the end of something neither of you could come back from. when she finally let go, you stood frozen in the middle of her room as she slipped out the window and into the night, her footsteps fading into the shadows.

the palace remained blissfully unaware of the catastrophe until morning, when your mother’s scream shattered the early dawn peace.

the palace was in chaos the next morning. servants rushed through the halls, panic etched on their faces as whispers spread like wildfire—the bride had run away. you stayed in your chambers as long as possible, trying to gather your thoughts, your emotions, trying to prepare for the inevitable fallout.

when the summons came from your father, it felt like a death knell. the walk to the throne room felt endless, each step heavier than the last. the moment you stepped through the grand doors, you saw heeseung standing beside your parents. his face was a mask of icy calm, but his eyes…his eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them, cold and unforgiving.

he didn’t even glance at you as your father spoke.

“your sister has disgraced this family,” your father’s voice boomed, his tone laced with anger and disappointment. “but the marriage cannot be abandoned. the alliance with heeseung’s kingdom is too important.”

you stood still, your stomach churning as you braced for what was coming.

“therefore,” your father continued, his gaze hard as stone, “you will take her place.”

for a moment, the words didn’t register. you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. you? marry heeseung? no, it wasn’t possible. you had spent your entire life in a silent war with him. the idea of marrying the man who had been your nemesis since childhood was unthinkable.

your mother’s voice, soft but firm, broke the silence. “the arrangements have already been made. the wedding will proceed as planned. you will become heeseung’s bride.”

“no.” the word slipped from your lips before you could stop it, your heart racing. “i can’t.”

your father’s eyes narrowed, and your mother’s expression hardened with disappointment. “you will do your duty,” your father said coldly. “this is not up for discussion.”

duty. it always came down to that. your entire life, you had been prepared for moments like this, but not this moment. not like this.

finally, you turned to heeseung, desperate for any sign of protest, for him to say something—anything—that would stop this madness. but he was silent. his face remained expressionless, as though none of this affected him. he looked at you as if you were just a piece of the puzzle, another part of the kingdom’s grand design.

“is that all i am to you?” you asked, your voice shaking. “just a replacement? a stand-in for the bride who ran away?”

for the first time, heeseung’s gaze met yours, and for a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable, buried deep beneath the coldness. but his words cut through you like ice.

“you’re a princess,” he said, his voice quiet but sharp. “your role is to serve your kingdom. that’s all that matters.”

a bitter laugh escaped your throat. “you’ve hated me for years, heeseung. and now you expect me to just—what? pretend none of that matters?”

his jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. instead, he turned away, his indifference stinging more than any of the insults you had traded over the years.

your father spoke again, his tone final. “the marriage will happen. prepare yourself.”

the grand hall was suffused with the glow of flickering candles and soft sunlight filtering through stained glass windows. the scent of fresh roses—your sister’s favourite, not yours—hung heavily in the air, mocking the gravity of the moment. you stood at the entrance of the hall, your hands clenched so tightly around the bouquet that your knuckles were white. the murmurs of the courtiers echoed around you, a constant hum of speculation and judgement. no matter how well you carried yourself today, the whispers wouldn’t stop.

the switch of the bride was the scandal of the century, and you were at the centre of it.

ahead of you, heeseung stood tall, his face as unreadable as stone. the same detachment was in his eyes, his expression cool and composed as if this marriage was merely another political manoeuvre for him, another step toward the throne. he didn’t look at you with warmth, or even a hint of care. to him, you weren’t his wife—you were the replacement for the woman who had run away.

you walked down the aisle, every step heavier than the last, the reality of your situation crushing you. heeseung’s gaze was steady as you approached, but it wasn’t the gaze of a man looking at his bride. it was a look of cold calculation, a man who had resigned himself to duty.

when you finally reached him, your heart thudding loudly in your chest, you barely registered the priest's words. the vows—sacred, binding—felt hollow, like a cruel twist of fate. how could you stand here, repeating the words meant for your sister? they weren't meant for you. you were never supposed to be the bride.

heeseung took your hand, and the warmth of his skin was a sharp contrast to the chill that ran down your spine. his grip was firm, not gentle, but not cruel either—just dutiful. he spoke his vows with a steady voice, each word sounding rehearsed, as though they meant nothing to him beyond their formality.

and then it was your turn. you hesitated, the weight of the kingdom on your shoulders, your pulse quickening. your voice trembled slightly as you repeated the vows, feeling the eyes of everyone in the hall on you—expecting you to fulfil your role, to be the perfect princess. you could barely choke out the words, but somehow, you managed. and with every word, you felt the invisible chains of your new life tightening around you.

when the priest finally pronounced you husband and wife, heeseung’s lips brushed yours in the briefest of kisses—so cold and devoid of feeling that it felt more like a business transaction than the union of two people. the cheers of the court erupted around you, but in that moment, the applause sounded like the closing of a cage. you were trapped, bound to him, to this life.

as you turned to leave the altar, heeseung offered his arm, the tension between you palpable. his eyes flickered to yours for a brief moment, but there was no warmth there. just that cold, resigned look you had grown accustomed to. you were both playing your roles, just as you had been trained to do your whole lives.

but this wasn’t a game. this was your future, and it felt like a noose tightening around your neck.

the wedding feast had been a blur—a cacophony of forced smiles, hollow congratulations, and polite toasts that masked the underlying tension. you had barely spoken a word to heeseung throughout the entire affair. he hadn’t made any attempt to speak to you either, remaining as distant and composed as ever.

now, as you stood alone in the chambers that were to be yours and heeseung’s, the reality of your new life settled heavily on your chest. the palace chambers were far too quiet, the air thick with the tension that had been building between you and heeseung for years. as you stood in the centre of the room, staring at the enormous bed draped in rich fabrics, it felt like the walls were closing in. the room was elegantly decorated—ornate tapestries hung on the walls, and the grand four-poster bed was fit for a queen. but none of it mattered. the splendour felt like a mockery of the situation you found yourself in. tonight, this room was not a sanctuary but a gilded cage.

your breath caught in your throat as the door creaked open. heeseung entered, his presence commanding even in the subdued candlelight. the tension between you was palpable, stretching like a thin, fragile thread that could snap at any moment. his gaze flicked toward you briefly, but he didn’t speak, and the silence that followed was suffocating.

heeseung moved with practised grace, his movements calm and deliberate. he began undoing the buttons on his ceremonial jacket, the fine fabric sliding off his shoulders and landing in a careless heap on the chair by the vanity. you stood frozen, unsure of what to say, what to do. this wasn’t how you had imagined a wedding night would feel—though you had never dreamed this night would be with heeseung, of all people.

his back was to you now, his broad shoulders tense, though he did nothing to betray any emotion. you could feel the distance between you both, even though he was just across the room. heeseung had always been composed, guarded, but tonight, his coldness cut even deeper than usual.

he finally broke the silence, his voice low but steady. “it’s late. you should rest.” there was no affection in his tone, just the same sense of duty that had hung over the entire day. you weren’t his bride by choice, and he wasn’t your husband by desire.

you bit back a bitter laugh. rest? as if you could simply close your eyes and pretend this was normal. pretend that this marriage was something other than a trap. “is that it, then?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended. “we go to bed and pretend everything is fine?”

heeseung turned to face you, his expression as unreadable as ever. he didn’t answer right away, as if weighing his response carefully. “what do you want me to say?” his tone was measured, but there was an edge to it, a hint of frustration that matched your own.

“i don’t know,” you admitted, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “this wasn’t supposed to happen. i wasn’t supposed to marry you.”

something flickered in heeseung’s eyes, though it disappeared as quickly as it came. he regarded you for a moment, his gaze unreadable, before he spoke again. “do you think i wanted this?” his words were quiet but laced with a bitterness that surprised you. “i didn’t ask for this any more than you did.”

you swallowed, feeling a lump rise in your throat. you hadn’t expected this admission from him, hadn’t expected him to show any vulnerability. “then what are we supposed to do?” your voice was softer now, the anger ebbing away, replaced by uncertainty. “how are we supposed to live like this?”

heeseung sighed, running a hand through his hair, a rare moment of frustration breaking through his calm facade. “we do what’s expected of us,” he said, though there was a heaviness to his words, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “we fulfill our duties. that’s all we can do.”

“duties.” the word tasted bitter on your tongue. it had always come down to that, hadn’t it? duty to the crown, to the kingdom, to your family. and now, duty to heeseung.

the silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable. heeseung turned away, moving toward the window where the heavy drapes framed the view of the darkened palace gardens. his silhouette was stark against the faint glow of moonlight, his posture stiff, almost defensive.

after a long moment, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. “i’ll sleep over there.” he gestured to the chaise near the window, a fine piece of furniture that now seemed woefully out of place in this awkward, tension-filled room. “you can have the bed.”

you blinked, surprised by his offer. it was the last thing you expected from him, but it was a relief nonetheless. “you don’t have to—”

“i’m not doing this for you,” he interrupted, his voice firm, but not unkind. “i just don’t want to make this any more difficult than it already is.”

with that, he moved toward the chaise, gathering a pillow and blanket from the wardrobe. his actions were efficient, almost mechanical, as if he had already resigned himself to this fate. he didn’t look at you as he arranged the blanket over the chaise.

you stood there, feeling a strange mix of emotions—relief, awkwardness, and something else, something heavier that you couldn’t quite place. this was your wedding night, but it was nothing like you had ever imagined. there was no closeness, no warmth—just two people bound together by obligation and circumstance.

finally, you moved toward the bed, the thick carpets muffling your steps. the soft fabric of your gown felt heavy as you climbed beneath the covers, though they provided no comfort. you lay there, staring up at the intricate canopy above, your mind racing. this bed, this room—none of it felt like yours.

heeseung settled on the chaise, his back to you, the distance between you both feeling vast despite the small room. the silence was oppressive, each second dragging on longer than the last. you wondered if he was as uneasy as you were, or if he had already steeled himself to this new reality.

for a long while, neither of you spoke, the only sound in the room the faint rustling of fabric as you shifted beneath the covers. the weight of the day, of the vows, of your new title, pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe.

finally, you couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “heeseung,” you whispered, unsure if you even wanted him to respond.

he didn’t turn, but his voice was low and steady when he answered. “what?”

you hesitated, searching for the right words. “do you think... do you think this will ever get easier?”

there was a long pause before he responded, his voice quiet, almost resigned. “i don’t know.”

and with that, the conversation ended. heeseung remained silent, his back still turned to you, and you knew there was nothing more to say. you turned onto your side, pulling the blankets tighter around you, though they offered little warmth. the room felt too big, too empty, despite his presence.

eventually, exhaustion crept in, dulling the sharp edges of your thoughts. but even as sleep began to claim you, a cold, sinking feeling settled in your chest. this was your life now—bound to a man you barely knew, a man who had been your enemy for years, and yet, somehow, your husband.

and as you drifted off into uneasy sleep, the last thought that crossed your mind was how strange it felt to be lying just feet away from heeseung, yet feeling as though he was a world away.

the morning after the wedding dawned cold and gray, mirroring the lingering tension between you and heeseung. you woke up in the large, empty bed, the space next to you untouched, a stark reminder of the distance that had been established on your wedding night. the air in the room felt thick, suffocating, as if the very walls were pressing in on you, reminding you of your new reality.

as you sat up, the unfamiliarity of your surroundings only worsened the tightness in your chest. this was your new life. not just this bed, but this room, this palace—heeseung’s palace—and you would share it with a man who barely spoke to you, who looked at you with that same cold distance he had always shown.

you dressed quickly, your movements mechanical, trying not to think too much. the maids moved around you silently, well-trained and efficient, but you could feel their eyes on you. it was impossible to escape the fact that everyone knew. the entire kingdom knew the story—the princess who had run away, and her sister forced to take her place. the whispers would never stop.

when you finally made your way downstairs to the grand dining room, heeseung was already seated at the long table, a plate of food in front of him. he didn’t look up when you entered, simply continued cutting into his meal with precise, practised movements. you hesitated for a moment, then took your seat across from him.

the silence was unbearable.

you picked at your food, barely tasting it, glancing at heeseung from time to time. his expression was as unreadable as ever, his attention focused on the papers beside his plate—likely matters of the kingdom that required his attention. he was already immersed in his duties, the weight of his impending kingship pressing down on him just as heavily as your new role as his wife weighed on you.

finally, you couldn’t stand it any longer. “do you plan to ignore me for the rest of our lives?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

heeseung didn’t look up immediately, taking his time to finish his bite and set down his utensils with deliberate care. when he finally met your gaze, his expression was cool, detached. “i’m not ignoring you.”

you scoffed, unable to hide your frustration. “you’ve barely spoken to me since the wedding.”

he raised an eyebrow, his tone as calm as ever. “what would you like me to say?”

the question took you off guard. you hadn’t expected him to be so blunt. you opened your mouth, then closed it again, unsure of how to respond. what did you want him to say? that he regretted everything as much as you did? that he hated this arrangement, too? or perhaps you wanted him to acknowledge the years of bitterness between you, to admit that this marriage was a farce.

instead, you said, “we’re married now, heeseung. we have to live together. we can’t keep pretending the other doesn’t exist.”

his jaw tightened ever so slightly, but his voice remained calm. “i’m aware of that.”

you waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. the silence stretched on once again, thicker than before, suffocating in its awkwardness. you pushed your plate away, no longer interested in eating. “fine,” you muttered under your breath, standing abruptly. “i suppose i’ll just get used to it, then.”

you turned to leave, but his voice stopped you. “you don’t have to like this any more than i do, but we have responsibilities now.”

you paused, your back to him, your hands clenched at your sides. “responsibilities,” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. it seemed like that was all your life had ever been reduced to—duty, obligation, and responsibilities.

without another word, you left the dining room, the heavy doors closing behind you with a soft thud. you could feel the weight of the situation bearing down on you even more as you walked through the halls of the palace, each step echoing in the vast emptiness. you weren’t just trapped in this marriage—you were trapped in this life.

days passed, and though you and heeseung were forced to share the same space, your interactions remained minimal, stilted. in the mornings, you would find him already at the breakfast table, poring over documents and barely acknowledging your presence. he would spend his days attending council meetings and handling matters of state, leaving you to navigate the palace on your own, feeling more like a guest in your own home than its mistress.

at night, he would retire to the chambers late, often when you were already lying in bed, pretending to sleep. he would quietly take his place on the chaise near the window, far enough away to avoid any awkwardness, but close enough that his presence was a constant reminder of the divide between you.

it was during these nights that the loneliness settled in most heavily. the silence of the room, broken only by the occasional rustling of fabric or the soft crackle of the fireplace, was suffocating. you had grown accustomed to sleeping alone, but now, knowing heeseung was just a few feet away, the distance between you felt almost unbearable. there was an unspoken understanding that neither of you wanted to bridge the gap.

one evening, after yet another day of awkward meals and tense silences, you found yourself in the library, one of the few places in the palace where you felt at peace. the vast room was filled with shelves upon shelves of books, their spines worn and familiar. you had always loved to read, finding solace in the stories and histories of others when your own life felt too overwhelming.

you were seated by the window, the late afternoon sun casting a soft glow over the pages of your book, when the door creaked open. you looked up, surprised to see heeseung standing in the doorway. he paused for a moment, as if uncertain whether to enter or leave, his eyes scanning the room before they settled on you.

“may i join you?” he asked, his voice unusually soft.

you blinked, caught off guard by his request. this was the first time he had sought you out since the wedding, and the suddenness of it left you momentarily speechless. you nodded, unsure of what else to do. “of course.”

heeseung crossed the room, moving with his usual grace, and took a seat in the armchair opposite you. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet of the library enveloping you both. he seemed content to sit in silence, his gaze wandering to the bookshelves that lined the walls.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “this is... one of the quieter rooms.”

you raised an eyebrow, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “it’s a library, heeseung. of course it’s quiet.”

to your surprise, he chuckled softly, though it was a dry, humourless sound. “fair enough.”

silence fell again, but this time it wasn’t as suffocating. there was something almost... peaceful about it, the weight of your shared presence not as unbearable as it had been before. you watched him out of the corner of your eye, noticing how tired he looked. the weight of his responsibilities was evident in the slight furrow of his brow, the way his shoulders sagged ever so slightly.

after a while, you set your book down on your lap, deciding to break the silence. “it must be difficult,” you said quietly. “taking on so much.”

heeseung didn’t answer right away, his gaze still focused on the shelves, but eventually, he nodded. “it is.”

you hesitated for a moment, then spoke again, softer this time. “you don’t have to carry it all alone, you know.”

he turned to look at you then, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something softer than the cold indifference you had grown accustomed to.

“and what would you suggest?” he asked, his voice quiet but not unkind.

“i don’t know,” you admitted. “but we’re in this together, whether we like it or not.”

heeseung’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, and then he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. it wasn’t much, but it was the first step—however small—toward something more than just forced cohabitation.

the shift in your relationship came faster than you expected. it started with a challenge—a reckless, unspoken dare that neither of you could resist.

it had been a clear, crisp day, the first after several weeks of rain. you were restless, tired of the palace walls and the constant burden of your new role. you had gone to the stables, hoping to take one of the horses out for a ride, needing to feel the wind in your hair and the ground beneath you. but when you arrived, heeseung was already there, adjusting the reins of his own horse.

you paused in the doorway, surprised to see him. “you ride?”

he glanced up, one eyebrow raised. “you sound surprised.”

“i am,” you admitted. “i’ve never seen you ride before.”

he chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

the challenge in his voice was unmistakable, and you couldn’t resist rising to it. “care to prove it?” you asked, moving toward your own horse.

heeseung’s smirk widened. “what do you have in mind?”

you mounted your horse swiftly, the thrill of the challenge already coursing through your veins. “a race.”

heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “you think you can beat me?”

“i know i can,” you shot back, turning your horse toward the open field beyond the stables.

without another word, you spurred your horse into motion, not waiting for his response. behind you, you heard heeseung’s laughter, low and rich, before the sound of hooves thundering against the ground told you he had accepted the challenge.

you raced through the fields, the wind whipping through your hair, the thrill of the chase making your heart race. heeseung was right behind you, and you could feel the tension building, the competitive edge between you sparking like fire. it was like being children again, challenging each other at every turn, pushing each other to the limit.

but this time, it was different. the stakes were higher, the tension thicker, and the way heeseung looked at you when he finally caught up to you sent a shiver down your spine.

when he finally pulled his horse beside yours, you were both breathless, your faces flushed with adrenaline. you glanced over at him, and the look in his eyes—intense, dark, heated—made your pulse quicken.

“not bad,” he said, his voice low, rough around the edges.

you smirked, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding. “you almost kept up.”

heeseung leaned in just slightly, his gaze locking with yours. “almost?” he murmured, his voice sending a jolt through you.

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. the space between you was too close, the air charged with something you weren’t quite ready to name. his eyes lingered on your lips for just a moment too long, and you could feel the heat of his presence, the tension that had always existed between you now manifesting in a way that was far more dangerous.

before either of you could say anything, heeseung pulled back, his smirk returning as if nothing had happened. “we’ll call it a draw,” he said, though there was a teasing edge to his voice.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, shaking your head with a laugh. “you wish.”

but as you rode back to the palace, the tension between you remained, simmering beneath the surface. it was no longer the resentment of old enemies, but something far more complex, far more dangerous. and for the first time, you found yourself wondering what would happen if that tension ever boiled over.

later that night, the air was thick with the remnants of the day’s energy. you couldn’t sleep, your mind still racing from the ride and the way heeseung had looked at you—how close he had come, how your heart had nearly betrayed you in that moment of suspended anticipation.

you wandered the halls of the palace aimlessly, your footsteps soft against the marble floors. the palace at night was a different place, quiet and still, the shadows long and heavy. it felt like a place where secrets lingered in every corner, where the walls whispered of things that could never be said aloud.

as you passed by the study, you noticed the faint glow of light beneath the door. curiosity piqued, you pushed the door open just enough to peek inside. heeseung was there, seated at the desk, bathed in the warm glow of candlelight. he was reading, his brow furrowed in concentration, his lips slightly parted as he focused on the page in front of him.

you hesitated, but before you could turn away, he looked up, catching sight of you. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words. then, without breaking eye contact, heeseung set the book aside.

“couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low, intimate in the quiet of the room.

you shook your head, stepping into the room. “no. you?”

heeseung’s gaze flicked over you, his eyes lingering on you in a way that made your skin heat under his scrutiny. “i’ve been thinking,” he said, his tone soft but laced with that same dangerous tension that had been building all day.

“about what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you moved closer, drawn to him in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

heeseung’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. “about you,” he said quietly. “about us.”

the weight of his words settled in the space between you, thick and intoxicating. about you. about us. it echoed in your mind, stirring something deep within you that you had tried to ignore for far too long. you weren’t sure if it was the late hour, the dim candlelight, or the fact that you had been dancing around each other for weeks now, but something inside you snapped.

your breath hitched as you looked at him, his eyes dark and full of something you couldn’t quite name. but it was there—undeniable, pulsing in the space between you. and now that it had been spoken into existence, you couldn’t unsee it.

“what about us?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. it wasn’t just curiosity anymore. it was a challenge.

heeseung’s gaze flicked to your lips, and the tension in the room intensified, coiling tighter and tighter until it felt like the air itself might shatter from the pressure. he stood slowly, his movements deliberate, and took a step toward you, closing the already-small distance between you.

“there’s always been something between us,” he said, his voice low, rough. his eyes never left yours, burning with intensity. “even when we hated each other.”

your heart was pounding now, so loud you were sure he could hear it. you wanted to deny it, to tell him that he was wrong, that it had always been pure hatred. but that would’ve been a lie. you knew it as well as he did—whatever had always been there between you, it had never been simple.

“and what is it now?” you asked, forcing yourself to meet his gaze even though every instinct told you to look away. to run.

heeseung took another step closer, his hand reaching up slowly, as though giving you the chance to pull away. but you didn’t. you couldn’t. his fingers brushed against your cheek, the touch so light it sent a shiver down your spine. his hand lingered there, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

“maybe we’ve been fighting the wrong battle,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost tender. the warmth of his breath ghosted over your skin, and you felt your pulse quicken.

your throat tightened. every word he said felt like a dangerous line, one that you were teetering on the edge of crossing. the tension between you had always been a fire—burning too hot, too fast. and now, it felt like it was about to consume you both.

heeseung’s thumb brushed over your bottom lip, and your breath caught in your throat. his touch was tentative, as though he wasn’t quite sure if this was real or if you would pull away at any moment.

but you didn’t.

instead, you took a step closer, closing the gap completely. the air between you was charged, thick with unspoken desire and the weight of all the years you had spent fighting against each other. your body was betraying you, leaning into him, drawn by a force you had denied for too long.

heeseung’s eyes darkened as he leaned in, his lips barely an inch from yours, the heat between you almost unbearable now. you could feel the tension in every muscle, the way his hand trembled slightly as it cupped your cheek, the way your own body was responding without your permission.

then, in a breathless moment that felt like it stretched on forever, he closed the distance.

his lips pressed against yours—soft at first, testing, as though he wasn’t sure you would let him. but the moment your lips met his, something ignited between you. the kiss deepened, filled with all the pent-up frustration and longing that had been building for so long. it was a clash of emotions—anger, desire, need—all colliding in that single moment.

you responded instantly, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. the kiss was rough, almost desperate, as though you were both trying to make up for years of missed chances in that single moment.

his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you gasped against his lips at the feeling of his body pressed so close to yours. the intensity of it was overwhelming, but you didn’t want it to stop. you didn’t want to think. you just wanted to feel.

but then, as quickly as it started, heeseung pulled back, his breathing ragged, his forehead resting against yours. his hands still gripped your waist, holding you in place as though he couldn’t quite let go yet.

“this isn’t... what i expected,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. his breath was warm against your skin, and his eyes searched yours, as though he was looking for an answer in your gaze.

you swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing, trying to make sense of what had just happened. “what did you expect?” you asked softly, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

heeseung’s grip on your waist tightened for a moment, his eyes darkening once again. “i didn’t expect you to feel this way.” his voice was low, almost a growl, filled with the same intensity that had been building between you all night.

you opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. you had no idea what to say, no idea how to explain the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside you. all you knew was that everything had changed in that kiss.

“i don’t know what i feel,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely audible in the heavy silence of the room.

heeseung’s lips twitched into a small, almost sad smile. “neither do i.” he stepped back, finally breaking the physical contact between you, and you immediately missed the warmth of his body against yours.

“but whatever this is... it’s dangerous,” he continued, his eyes locked on yours, as though warning you. “we’ve always been enemies. we don’t know how to be anything else.”

you felt a lump form in your throat at his words, because deep down, you knew he was right. but that didn’t stop the ache in your chest, the desire for something more—for the possibility of what could be.

“i don’t want to be your enemy anymore,” you said softly, the confession surprising even you.

heeseung’s eyes widened slightly at your words, his expression unreadable. for a moment, you thought he might say something—might admit that he didn’t want to be your enemy either. but then, he shook his head, the walls between you coming back up, brick by brick.

“this doesn’t change anything,” he said quietly, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.

and with that, he turned and left the room, leaving you standing there in the soft glow of candlelight, your heart pounding and your mind reeling from the kiss that had shifted the entire balance between you.

as the door closed softly behind him, you exhaled a shaky breath, your fingers brushing your lips where his had been moments before.

everything had changed.

the royal court was buzzing with tension, and for once, the tension wasn’t between you and heeseung. the kingdom was on edge, not from war or rebellion, but from something far more insidious—political manoeuvring. rival noble houses were plotting against heeseung’s rule, questioning his right to ascend to the throne, especially after the sudden marriage to you. the whispers had grown louder over the past few weeks, the courtiers’ gazes sharper, waiting for the first misstep.

you had known court life would be full of power plays and alliances, but this was different. it was personal. every snide comment, every hushed conversation behind closed doors, felt like an attack on your marriage, on your family’s legacy. and worst of all, it felt like an attack on you.

one afternoon, as you made your way through the palace corridors, you overheard a group of nobles—close to your family—voicing their displeasure over your sudden marriage to heeseung. it was the same old song—how your sister should have been the bride, how you were never meant for this role, how heeseung marrying you was a strategic disaster.

you felt your blood run cold, but you kept walking, your head held high. you had grown used to these remarks, but today, they stung deeper. not because they questioned your worth, but because they reflected the deep-seated insecurity you had always carried.

that night, you found yourself alone in the study, staring out the window at the darkening sky. the weight of the court’s judgement, the impossible standards, the constant comparisons to your sister—they were suffocating. and then there was heeseung, whose coldness had thawed just enough to show you glimpses of something deeper, something real. but he was still heeseung—your husband, your childhood rival, and now the man who held your future in his hands.

the door creaked open behind you, and you didn’t need to turn to know it was him. you had grown attuned to his presence, the way the air shifted whenever he entered a room.

“what’s wrong?” his voice was quieter than usual, but still carrying that edge of command. he always knew when something was off, as if he could sense the turmoil swirling inside you.

you didn’t answer immediately, your gaze fixed on the stars outside. “they’re saying we’re not suited for each other,” you murmured, finally turning to face him. “that i’m not fit to be queen. that you made a mistake.”

heeseung’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing in that familiar way, but this time, it wasn’t directed at you.

“let them talk,” he said flatly. “they’re just waiting for us to fail.”

“and what if they’re right?” the words slipped out before you could stop them, the fear and doubt bubbling to the surface. “i was never meant to marry you. this isn’t the life i was prepared for.”

heeseung stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. then, to your surprise, he closed the distance between you, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“i didn’t choose you because you were an easy choice,” he said, his voice low but intense. “i chose you because you’re stronger than you realise.”

you blinked, taken aback by the conviction in his words. heeseung wasn’t one to offer praise lightly, and hearing it now, in this moment, felt more intimate than anything he had ever said to you before.

“there are plenty of people who want to see us fail,” he continued, his grip tightening slightly. “but they don’t matter. what matters is that we don’t give them the satisfaction. we fight together.”

the intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine, and for the first time, you saw beyond the cold exterior he had always shown you. there was something deeper there, something raw and unspoken. a partnership.

but the closeness also brought something else—a heat that had always been there between you, simmering beneath the surface. his hands lingered on your shoulders, his thumbs brushing the bare skin just above your collarbone, and suddenly the room felt smaller, the air thicker.

“you think i’m strong?” you asked, your voice quieter now, tinged with something more vulnerable. something real.

heeseung’s gaze flicked down to your lips, just for a moment, before returning to your eyes. his voice was rough when he spoke, low and filled with an unspoken promise. “i’ve always known.”

the charged air between you was impossible to ignore now. his fingers slid from your shoulders to your arms, the touch sending a jolt of warmth through you. it wasn’t just the weight of responsibility pressing down on you—it was him, his closeness, the undeniable pull you had both been dancing around for weeks.

you could feel the tension in every inch of your body, your heart racing as heeseung’s hands rested on your waist, pulling you closer, but still leaving just enough space for doubt. he hesitated, as if waiting for you to push him away, to remind him of the enmity that had defined your relationship for so long.

but you didn’t. instead, you leaned into him, your hands tentatively reaching up to rest on his chest. the fabric of his shirt was soft under your fingers, but beneath it, you could feel the steady beat of his heart, as rapid as your own.

“maybe i’ve been wrong about you,” you whispered, your breath hitching as the tension between you reached a breaking point.

heeseung’s eyes darkened at your words, his lips hovering just inches from yours. “maybe you have,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. but there was something softer there too, something almost tender.

before you could talk yourself out of it, you closed the distance between you and kissed him.

the kiss was like nothing you had ever experienced—fierce, desperate, and full of the years of unresolved tension between you. it was as if all the walls you had built around yourselves were crumbling in an instant, leaving nothing but the raw, undeniable attraction that had always simmered beneath the surface.

heeseung responded instantly, his hands tightening on your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. his lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, his body pressing against yours as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

it was overwhelming, the intensity of the moment, the way your bodies seemed to fit perfectly together, the way every touch sent a shockwave of desire coursing through you. you had spent so long fighting him, fighting this, and now, as his hands slid up your back, holding you close, you wondered why you had ever resisted.

when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. heeseung’s grip on your waist didn’t loosen, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat as wild as your own.

“we can’t keep pretending,” you whispered, your voice shaky, your lips still tingling from the kiss.

heeseung’s eyes met yours, the vulnerability and uncertainty in his gaze mirroring your own. “no, we can’t,” he agreed, his voice rough with emotion.

for a moment, the world hung in the balance. you had crossed a line, and there was no going back. everything between you had shifted, and the question now wasn’t whether you would move forward—it was how.

heeseung’s thumb brushed gently against your cheek, his touch so tender it nearly broke you. “we’re in this together,” he said softly, the weight of his words heavy with meaning.

this time, there was no need to say anything more. you both understood what had changed between you, even if neither of you was ready to fully admit it. and though the path ahead was uncertain, you knew one thing for sure: you weren’t facing it alone anymore.

weeks passed, and with each passing day, things between you and heeseung slowly shifted. the cold, sharp walls that had once kept you apart were crumbling, revealing a warmth and understanding that neither of you had anticipated. where there had once been biting words and icy glares, there was now laughter, quiet conversations, and small gestures of affection.

the palace felt different. it was lighter now, with the growing sense of partnership between you and heeseung. your bickering had been replaced with genuine care, and though the wounds of the past hadn't fully healed, you were both learning to forgive. but it wasn’t just the emotional connection that was shifting—there was something deeper brewing beneath the surface. unspoken feelings, simmering tension.

it wasn’t until a grand banquet in honour of a visiting prince from a neighbouring kingdom that these feelings came to a head. you stood at the centre of the ballroom, dressed in a gown that glimmered under the candlelight. it hugged your figure perfectly, catching the attention of more than just heeseung. the prince—prince seojun—had been particularly charming throughout the evening, his eyes lingering on you a little too long, his compliments a little too bold.

“you are by far the most captivating presence in this room, your highness,” seojun murmured, his voice low as he leaned in slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “if i had known such beauty awaited me here, i would have visited sooner.”

you laughed politely, glancing over your shoulder, searching for heeseung in the crowd. he was across the room, deep in conversation with some nobles, but even from the distance, you could feel his gaze on you, sharp and intense.

seojun continued, his hand brushing lightly against your arm as he leaned closer. “perhaps we could steal a moment away from the crowd? i would love to know more about the woman behind such an enchanting smile.”

before you could respond, a sudden shift in the air caught your attention. heeseung appeared at your side, his posture tense, his expression a mix of barely contained irritation and something else—something more possessive.

“princess,” heeseung’s voice was smooth, but there was a dangerous edge to it. his hand slid around your waist, pulling you firmly against his side. the claim was unmistakable. “i believe your dance card is full for the evening.”

seojun’s smirk faltered slightly as he glanced between the two of you, sensing the tension. heeseung’s eyes never left the prince, cold and unyielding.

“of course,” seojun replied, raising his hands in mock surrender. “i wouldn’t dream of overstepping. after all,” his gaze flickered to you, then back to heeseung, “she’s your wife.”

the words hung in the air for a moment, charged with unspoken meaning. seojun bowed slightly, a smirk still playing on his lips, before taking his leave. but even as he walked away, you could feel the lingering weight of his gaze.

you turned to heeseung, about to make a light-hearted remark about the interaction, but the look on his face stopped you. his eyes were dark, his jaw clenched, and his grip on your waist was firm—almost possessive.

“did he touch you?” heeseung asked, his voice low and tight.

you raised an eyebrow, surprised by his tone. “barely,” you replied, trying to play it off with a soft laugh. “why? are you jealous?”

his eyes flickered with something dangerous as he leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “you’re my wife. i don’t like other men thinking they can take what’s mine.”

your heart skipped a beat at his words. the possessiveness in his tone, the way his body pressed protectively against yours—it was unlike anything you had ever experienced with heeseung. you had always seen him as cold, distant, but this... this was different. there was fire in his eyes, and you could feel it burning between you, a tension that neither of you had acknowledged until now.

“and what if i enjoy a little attention now and then?” you teased, testing the boundaries, wanting to see how far he would go.

heeseung’s eyes darkened even more, and in one swift motion, he pulled you even closer, his hand cupping the back of your neck as he leaned in, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear. “i don’t care how many men look at you, but remember this—” his voice dropped, sending shivers down your spine, “you belong to me and i belong to you.”

a thrill ran through you at his words, and for a moment, you were speechless, your mind spinning from the intensity of his claim. the ballroom, the crowd, even prince seojun—all of it faded away as heeseung’s gaze held you captive. you could feel the heat of his body against yours, the possessiveness in his touch, and for the first time, you realised that this wasn’t just some marriage of convenience anymore.

heeseung cared—more than he was willing to admit.

your breath hitched as you looked up at him, your eyes searching his, trying to read the emotions flickering behind them. “and what about you, heeseung?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “do you want me to be yours?”

his eyes softened for just a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features before he leaned in, his lips brushing lightly against your temple. “you already are,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “and i’m not letting you forget it.”

the banquet had left the air between you and heeseung charged with an intensity that neither of you could ignore. his possessiveness, the fierce look in his eyes when he claimed you as his wife in front of prince seojun, had stirred something inside you—something that had been simmering for far too long.

as the last of the guests departed and the palace quieted down for the night, the tension remained, lingering like an unspoken promise. heeseung walked beside you in silence as you both made your way through the dimly lit corridors toward your chambers. though no words passed between you, the air was thick with anticipation, the unspoken pull between you stronger than ever.

when you reached your shared chambers, heeseung opened the door for you, his gaze never leaving you as you stepped inside. you could feel his eyes on you, burning with a need that matched your own. the soft glow of the candlelight cast long shadows across the room, but all you could focus on was the man standing behind you, his presence overwhelming.

you moved toward the vanity, fingers trembling slightly as you began to remove your jewellery. you were acutely aware of heeseung standing behind you, the weight of his gaze almost tangible as he watched your every movement. his silence spoke volumes, filled with desire and unspoken emotions that neither of you had fully confronted until now.

the tension was unbearable. finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, you glanced at him through the reflection in the mirror, your voice soft but steady. “you’ve been quiet,” you murmured, meeting his intense gaze. “what’s on your mind?”

he didn’t answer immediately. instead, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush against the bare skin of your shoulder. the touch was light, tentative, but it sent a shiver down your spine. his fingers lingered, tracing the delicate curve of your shoulder before he leaned in, his breath warm against your neck.

“i didn’t like how he looked at you,” heeseung finally admitted, his voice low and rough with suppressed emotion. his eyes met yours in the mirror, dark with jealousy and something more—something deeper. “or the way he made you laugh.”

your heart raced at the possessiveness in his tone. you turned to face him, taking in the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes blazed with something primal. his emotions were raw, laid bare before you in a way that heeseung had never allowed himself to show before.

“it was harmless,” you replied, stepping closer to him, your voice softening. “but i can’t say i minded the way you stepped in.”

his gaze darkened, his hand moving to your waist, pulling you flush against him. you could feel the heat of his body seeping into yours, the hard lines of his frame pressing against your softness. his eyes locked onto yours, filled with unspoken desire, but also with something more—something tender.

“i’m not the kind of man who likes to share,” he said, his voice a low growl as he leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours. “especially not when it comes to you.”

your breath hitched at his words, your pulse quickening as the fire between you flared even hotter. you couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through you at his possessive tone, the way his hands gripped you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

“and what are you going to do about it?” you whispered, your voice daring, testing the boundaries as your lips brushed his, teasingly close but not quite touching.

heeseung’s response was immediate. his lips crashed against yours, fierce and hungry, as if he had been holding back for far too long. the kiss was searing, filled with all the emotions you had both kept hidden. his hands roamed over your body, possessive yet tender, as though he was staking his claim but also worshipping every inch of you.

you responded just as fiercely, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, needing to feel every part of him against you. the tension between you, the unspoken desire, it all poured out in that kiss, in the way his body pressed against yours with a need that matched your own.

heeseung’s hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he carried you toward the bed. the air between you was electric, charged with desire and the intensity of emotions that neither of you had allowed to surface until now. he laid you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze dark and filled with a hunger that made your heart race.

for a moment, he paused, his fingers brushing over your cheek with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of what had just passed between you. his eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw the vulnerability behind them—the raw emotion that he had been hiding behind his cold exterior for so long.

“are you sure?” he asked, his voice husky but laced with care, as if he was giving you one last chance to pull away, to stop this before it went too far.

you gazed up at him, your heart swelling with the overwhelming emotions coursing through you. heeseung, the man you had once considered your rival, your enemy, was now looking at you with a tenderness that took your breath away. you reached up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumb brushing softly over his cheek.

“i’m sure,” you whispered, pulling him down into another kiss, softer this time, but no less filled with the emotions swirling between you.

what followed was slow, deliberate, and filled with a tenderness that you had never expected from heeseung. his hands moved over your body with care, as though he was savouring every touch, every breath. the fierceness from earlier softened into something more intimate, more meaningful, as he explored you with reverence, his lips following the path of his hands.

your name fell from his lips like a prayer, whispered against your skin in the quiet moments between kisses. heeseung’s touch was both possessive and gentle, as though he was claiming you but also offering himself to you in return. the intensity of the moment was overwhelming, but it was the tenderness in his gaze, the softness of his touch, that made your heart ache with something deeper than mere desire.

and as the night stretched on, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony, you realised that this wasn’t just about passion—it was about the connection you had been fighting against for so long. the rivalry, the bickering, the walls you had both built between you—it all crumbled away, leaving only the raw truth of what you felt for one another.

when it was over, you lay beside each other, your breathing heavy, your bodies tangled in the sheets. the room was quiet now, the only sound was the soft rustle of the fabric and the faint crackle of the dying fire in the hearth.

heeseung turned to you, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. his eyes, once so cold and guarded, were warm now, filled with an emotion that made your heart skip a beat. he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you and holding you against his chest as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. it was comforting, grounding you in the quiet aftermath of everything that had just passed between you. his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, soothing and gentle, as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

neither of you spoke, but words weren’t necessary. the silence was filled with a sense of peace, of contentment that neither of you had known before. heeseung’s touch was soft now, filled with care as he held you close, his body warm and protective against yours.

and in that quiet, intimate moment, you realised something: this was more than just passion, more than just desire. it was something real, something lasting.

heeseung’s hand continued to trace gentle patterns on your back, his lips brushing your temple as he whispered softly, “are you alright?”

you smiled against his chest, your heart swelling with warmth at the tenderness in his voice. “more than alright,” you murmured, snuggling closer to him.

heeseung let out a soft sigh, his arms tightening around you as if he never wanted to let go. and as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, the weight of the past finally lifted, leaving only the warmth of the present and the promise of a future you were both ready to embrace.

the next morning, you woke to find heeseung already up, standing by the window of your shared chambers, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the early morning light. he looked deep in thought, his expression pensive as he gazed out over the kingdom.

quietly, you approached him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. he stiffened for a moment at the contact but quickly relaxed, his hands covering yours as he let out a soft sigh.

“you’re up early,” you murmured, resting your cheek against his back.

“i couldn’t sleep,” he replied, his voice thoughtful. “i was thinking about everything that’s changed.”

you smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “a lot has changed, hasn’t it?”

heeseung turned in your arms, his expression soft as he looked down at you. “i never thought this would work,” he admitted, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “but i’m glad i was wrong.”

you gazed up at him, your heart swelling with warmth. the man standing before you was the same heeseung you had known all your life, but now, you saw him for who he truly was—not your enemy, not your rival, but your partner. your husband.

“i’m glad too,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek. he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for a moment, a small smile playing on his lips.

and in that moment, you knew that this was your new beginning. the past, with all its bitterness and tension, was behind you. what lay ahead was a future you hadn’t expected but one you were ready to embrace—together.

as heeseung pulled you into a gentle kiss, the warmth of the morning sun streaming through the window, you knew that this was the start of something beautiful. your marriage, once forged out of obligation and resentment, had grown into something real, something lasting.

and as you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you realised that sometimes, the best love stories were the ones you never saw coming.

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˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

taglist: @punchbug9-blog @firstclassjaylee @capri-cuntz @addictedtohobi @jaysfavoritegirl

[zorosangell]

hiii! hope you’re doing good and I’d like to give in a suggestion, could you make a fic about gnreader being choppers mother figure and both zoro and reader are fighting for the parental role 😭😭

(they later on share it lol)

⛥ﾟ・。 endgame

synopsis: prequel to inn -- when chopper asks about your past, zoro reminisces on your history together... and is reminded of exactly what you are to him.

cw: THIS IS A PREQUEL TO INN, fluffly fluff, comfort, takes place pre-timeskip during alabasta, young reader is so cute, protective zoro, ZORO IS WHIPPED, i really loved writing this.

a/n: i really, really loved writing this

"Hey, Zoro!" Luffy called, eagerly. "Look over here! Look at what we're doing!"

"We're training!" Usopp added, clapping his hands together.

Begrudgingly, Zoro looked up from Chopper's fur, glancing toward the boys, who were standing under a huge stream of water like it was a ninja's waterfall.

"Real funny," he nodded, sarcastically, before returning to what he was doing.

After saving the kingdom of Alabasta, the king invited the crew to the royal bath, hoping to clean up after dinner.

The young doctor had asked for help washing his back, and the swordsman played it off as having nothing better to do.

But, in actuality... he enjoyed helping boy, feeling a sort of fatherly obligation toward him.

"Zoro?" Chopper piped up, quietly, eyes trained forward as the man went back to carefully scrubbing his fur.

"Yeah?" Zoro hummed. "What is it?"

"Do you know why (y/n) acts the way she does?"

Confused, Zoro raised a brow, unsure of what he was talking about.

"What do you mean?"

"Well... you know," the boy slightly stammered. "She's so nice... and kind... she cares for me so well even though I just joined the crew."

He looked down at himself, making sure to choose his words carefully.

"Even Doctorine didn't warm up to me this quick... but she treats me like she's known me all her life. And I figured since you two grew up together, you could tell me why."

'So, that's it...'

Zoro nodded, finally getting the picture.

"I see what you mean," he confirmed, moving on to the boy's shoulder. "(y/n)'s always been like that... even when we were kids. There's no rhyme or reason to it."

He glanced up, the memories rolling back like calm waves after a storm.

"She just... is."

"I thought I told you to stop following me! Cut it out!" a ten year-old Zoro exclaimed, glaring at you sharply.

"But... you're bleeding..." a nine year-old you reminded, worried, as you tightly clutched the handle of your first aid kit. "Kuina beat you up really bad this time."

"Shut up!" he barked. "I don't need your help! Or anyone else's! I'm gonna get stronger all on my own!"

You flinched at his tone, but held strong, despite the tears welling in your eyes.

"Well, you can't be the strongest if you can barely lift your arms!"

Zoro's eyes widened, surprised.

In your months of chasing him, attempting to patch him up, you had never raised your voice.

Not even once.

"I believe in you! And I wanna help you! So let's make a deal!"

Brows furrowed with determination, you pointed at him, firm in your disposition.

"Every night, I'll patch you up, and help you out with normal stuff, like food and clothes! And in return, you work your hardest to become the strong enough to beat Kuina! Sound fair?"

"No!" he scoffed, incredulously, and incredibly confused. "Why are you doing this?! You don't even know me! What do you get out of that?!"

"I get to watch you!" you grinned, jumping at the chance to gush. "You're so cool! And tough! I'm no good at sword-fighting, but you're amazing at it! I can tell you're gonna be a really great swordsman someday!"

Happily, you looked up at him, your starry eyes bringing a faint tinge of pink to the boy's cheeks.

"And I wanna be there to watch the whole thing!"

For a moment, Zoro paused to think, weighing his options before caving with a sigh, unable to say no to your hopeful smile.

"...Fine."

"YAY!"

Without hesitation, you pulled him into an embrace, overwhelmed with joy.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! No hugging!"

Zoro chuckled, moving the scrub brush to the young doctor's head.

You were the strangest, most persistent girl he had ever met... but the only one that believed in him from the very beginning.

Even if it was at your expense.

"What were you thinking?!" a twelve year-old Zoro scolded, haphazardly applying band-aids to all your cuts and bruises. "You know Haru and Kenzo are stronger than you. Why'd you try to fight them?"

An eleven year-old you sniffled, using the back of your hand to wipe away the stray tears rolling down your cheeks.

"They were making fun of you," you mumbled, looking down at your lap. "They said three-sword style was stupid, so I tried to punch them... but I missed and they ganged up on me."

"Did they, now?" Zoro glared, turning to the two boys next to him.

Quickly, he struck them both in the back of the head, giving them two giant welts and adding to their multitude of injuries.

"What do you two say to her?!"

"We'wre sowwy..."

Chopper lit up, relieved to her you had no ulterior motive in your kindness.

"(y/n)'s been this nice all her life? Wow! I wish I met her sooner! She sounds like a really great friend!"

Zoro nodded, fighting off the small smile threatening to rise to his lips.

"I was lucky to meet her when I did... her enthusiasm always gave me something to look forward to."

He sighed, dreamily reminiscing on the thought.

"Even when the future was unclear..."

"I can't believe it! We're actually leaving!" an eighteen year-old you squealed, watching the island of Shimotsuki get smaller and smaller as you clung to the mast of your small fishing boat. "This is so exciting!"

"I know," a nineteen year-old Zoro agreed, watching with an air of pride. "Feels like a new chapter. One step closer to becoming the strongest."

You nodded along, until you were suddenly hit with a thought, which forced you to sit down.

"But... I can't help but wonder," you started, glancing up at him. "Why'd you bring me along?"

He raised a brow, confused, and silently asking you to elaborate.

"You know I'm not very strong. Hell, I can barely throw a punch," you reminded. "I won't be much of a help..."

"All those years ago... didn't you say you wanted to watch me become the Greatest Swordsman in the world?" Zoro asked, rhetorically. "You can't do that cooped up in a dojo."

Your eyes widened slightly, not expecting such a straight-forward answer.

"I promised you I'd work hard to become the strongest. So you better believe you're getting a front row seat," he smirked, plopping himself down next to you, slightly rocking the boat. "You're stuck with me, (y/n). There's no backin' out now."

You replied with a chuckle, carefully resting your head on his shoulder, blissfully unaware of the flush on his cheeks.

"Thanks, Zo'."

He nodded, slowly and warily looping an arm around your shoulder, letting out a sigh of relief when you didn't move away.

"Don't mention it."

"Wow! I'm so happy!" Chopper cheered, jumping up from his seat. "I'm gonna go dry off and give her a big hug to say thank you for all the stuff she's done!"

Quickly, he turned to Zoro, his blinding smile warming the swordsman's heart—though he'd never admit it.

"Thanks for telling me Zoro!"

Without a word, Zoro nodded, and Chopper zoomed off back to the rooms, leaving the man alone with his thoughts.

Glancing at the divider separating the men and women's bath, Zoro listened closely, tuning out Luffy and Usopp's roughhousing to see if he could hear you.

And he did.

From beyond the great wall flowed in your silvery laugh, the delightful sound hitting his ears like the world's greatest song.

Closing his eyes, the swordsman rested his arm on his knee, and his cheek in his palm, allowing himself to fully experience its beauty.

God, he was so in love with you...

Words couldn't even begin to express.

You were the most consistent thing in his life.

His personal nurse.

His number one supporter.

His best friend.

His childhood crush.

If he was being honest, he didn't know where would've ended up if it weren't for you, or the person he would've turned out to be.

You taught him the value of kindness and compassion at such a young age, and were never afraid to wear your heart on your sleeve if it meant pushing him closer to his dream.

And you knew him so well.

He couldn't have found a better partner in crime if he'd searched for a thousand years.

Muscles relaxing, a small smile rose to his lips as your laugh floated into the air once again, accentuated by the occasional, adorable snort.

There was no one else in this world for him.

There would be no one else in this world for him.

You were absolutely, positively, without a doubt... his endgame.

[physalian]

What No One Tells You About Writing Fantasy

Every author has their preferred genres. I love fantasy and sci-fi, but began with historical fiction. I hated all the research that historical fiction demands and thought, if I build my own world, no research required.

Boy, was I wrong.

So to anyone dipping their toe into fantasy/sci-fi, here’s seven things I wish I knew about the genres before I committed to writing for them.

1. You still have to research. Everything.

If you want any of your fantasy battle sequences, or your space ships, or your droids and robots, or your fictional government and fictional politics to read at all believable.

In sci-fi, you research astronomy, robotics, politics, political science, history, engineering, anthropology. In fantasy, you have to research historical battle tactics, geography, real-world mythology, folklore, and fairytales, and much of it overlaps with science fiction.

I say you *have to* assuming you want your work to be original and unique and stand out from the crowd. Fanfic writers put in the research for a 30k word smut fic, you can and will have to research for your original work.

2. Naming everything gets exhausting

I hate coming up with new names, especially when I write worlds and places divorced from Earthly customs and can’t rely on Earthly naming conventions. You have to name all your characters, all your towns, villages, cities, realms, kingdoms, planets, galaxies, star systems.

You have to name your rebel faction, your imperial government, significant battles. Your spaceships, your fantasy companies and organizations, your magic system, made-up MacGuffins, androids, computer programs. The list goes on and on and on.

And you have to do it all without it sounding and reading ridiculous and unpronounceable, or racist. Your fantasy realms have to have believable naming patterns. It. Gets. Exhausting.

3. It will never read like you’re watching a movie

Do you know how fast movies can cut between scenes? Movies can balance five plotlines at once all converging with rapid edits, without losing their audience. Sometimes single lines of dialogue, or single wordless shots are all a scene gets before it cuts. If you try to replicate that by head-hopping around, you will make a mess.

It’s perfectly fine to write like you’re watching a movie, but you can’t rely on visual tricks to get your point across when all you have is text on a page – like slow mo, lens flares, epically lit cinematic shots, or the aforementioned rapid edits.

It doesn’t have to, nor should it, look like a movie. Books existed long before film, so don’t let yourself get caught up in how ~cinematic~ it may or may not look.

4. Your space opera will be compared to Star Wars and Star Trek

And your fairy epic will be compared to Tinkerbell, your vampires to Twilight, your zombies to The Walking Dead, Shaun of the Dead, World War Z. Your wizards and witches and any whisper of a fantasy school for fantasy children will be compared to Harry Potter. Your high fantasy adventure will be compared to Lord of the Rings.

You can’t avoid it, but you can avoid doing it to yourself. When people ask about your book, let them say “oh, you mean like Star Wars” to which you then can say, kind of, except XYZ happens in my book. These IPs will never fade from the public consciousness, not while you exist to read this post, at least, but Harry Potter isn’t the only urban fantasy out there. Lord of the Rings isn’t the only high fantasy. Star Wars isn’t the only space opera.

Yours will be on the shelves right next to them, soon enough, and who knows? You might dethrone them.

5. Your world-building is an iceberg, and your book is the tip

I don’t pay for any of those programs that help you organize your book and mythos. I write exclusively on Apple Notes, MS Word, and Google Suite (and all are free to me). I have folders on Apple Notes with more words inside them than the books they’re written for.

If you try to cram an entire college textbook’s worth of content into your novel, you will have left zero room for actual story. The same goes for all the research you did, all the hours slaving away for just a few details and strings of dialogue.

There’s a balance, no matter how dense your story is. If you really want to include all those extra details, slap some appendices at the end. Commission some maps.

6. The gatekeeping for fantasy and sci-fi is still very real

Pen names and pseudonyms exist for a reason. A female author writing fantasy that isn’t just a backdrop for romance? You have a harder battle ahead of you than your male counterparts, at least in the US. And even then, your female protagonist will be scrutinized and torn apart.

She’ll either be too girly or not girly enough, too sexy, or not sexy enough. She’ll be called a Mary Sue, a radical feminist mouthpiece, some woke propaganda. Every action she takes will be criticized as unrealistic and if she has fans who are girls, they will be mocked, too.

If you have queer characters, characters of color, they won’t be good enough, they won’t please everyone, and someone will still call you a bigot. A lot of someones will still call you a bigot.

Do your due diligence and hire your army of sensitivity readers and listen to them, but you cannot please everyone, so might as well write to please yourself. You’re the one who will have to read it a thousand times until it’s published.

7. Your “original” idea has been done before, and that’s okay

Stories have been told since before language evolved. The sum of the parts of your novel may be original, but even then, it’s colored by the media you’ve consumed. And that’s okay!

How many Cinderella stories are there? How many high fantasies? How many books about werewolves and witches and vampires? Gods and goddesses and celestial beings? Fairies and dragons and trolls? Aliens, robots, alien robots? Romeo and Juliette? Superheroes and mutants?

Zombies may be the avenue through which you tell your story, but it’s not *just* about zombies, is it? It’s about the characters who battle them, the endurance of the human spirit, or the end of an era, the death of a nation. So don’t get discouraged, everyone before you and everyone after will have written someone on the backs of what came before and it still feels new.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Thirsting Grail, Outergod of Wants and Wounds

Artsource

Adventure Hooks:

While travelling the party encounters a once famed surgeon who seeks their help in undertaking pilgrimage to the distant shrine of a death god. When pressed on her motivation, she reveals that through some curse or divine act of cruelty, those she operates on can never die, but also cannot heal. 

There is a tree that grows in the ruins of the old braon’s castle, said to have sprouted from the chopping block upon which he had his wife’s lovers executed. The tree grows no leaves, only flowers, and it’s said that if you make a tea from its blossoms, you will receive a vision of your one ture love.  Beings of woven thorn are said to guard the tree, but there are those who would pay desperately to drink of its boughs. 

A once peaceful kingdom dissolves into a generations long civil war, any hope of peace drowned beneath a tide of violence, ruination, and grievance that none can hope to escape.

Among the outergods there are none more eager to engage with mortals than the entity known as Thisting Grail. It is a thing of violence and appetite, and seems all too eager to lend its power to those most likely to misuse it, whether they sought it’s aid in the first place or not. 

Scholars and madmen have long debated the Grail’s motivations, what goal or ideology it is trying to achieve with the visions and often horrific miracles it bestows. In truth, Thirsting Grail has no goal beyond the pursuit of violence and longing, it is a means without an end, ready to lend itself to any cause that would make the world a bloodier, hungrier place. 

The god is formless, an ocean of boling blood that takes on the shape of whatever “vessel” its followers imagine for it, borrowing their cultural iconography and birthing itself anew each time. There are litanies of these avatars, hundreds more likely forgotten by history;  blood saints and baleful red stars and heart hungry blades. Perhaps because of blood’s ubiquity in ritual and occult practice the Grail’s influence can “seep” its way into the worship of other entities, divine or demonic, and it’s not unheard of for otherwise upstanding and dogmatic worshippers of banal gods to accidentally begin practising the grail’s bloody rites. 

Sanguimancy and other forms of blood magic are the most obvious of Thirsting Grail’s gifts, but it has other more esoteric offerings: smoke from sacrifices or incense mingled with the formless god’s essence can grant visions of desires made manifest, though often twisted through a disturbingly carnal (in both senses of the word) lens. All too often worshippers ( and the cult leaders that encourage them) see these visions as prophetic, leading to the outergod being sometimes called “the mother of truth”.  It can also manifest the objects of desire: succulent fruits, unearthly lovers, weapons of inordinate power, but there is something fundamentally wrong with these creations as they cannot grant true satisfaction, and often leave those that partake of them wanting more than when they started. 

Those who fall prey to Thirsting Grail’s influence can become warped as their own veins become polluted by the entity’s ichor: becoming feral creatures of endless cruelty and appetite, or having their wounds open wider and wider until there is nothing but wound remaining of their swollen flesh. Those so overtaken grow and warp and merge with others until new horrors are birthed from them, a permanent seedbed of 

Titles: Mother of truth, formless mother, font erubescent, the bloodstar.  Symbols: A red grail or fountain, cultural iconography stained with blood.  Signs:  Wounds that bleed but do not heal, plants overflowing or cracking open to expose their innards. Unsettling red dreams.  Worshippers: Those with bloodstained hands be they doctors, butchers, or murderers. Vampires, occultists, and other sanguiphiles. Instatiable gourmands and unfulfilled lovers.   

Inspiration:  I wear my influences on my sleeve with this one.  I’ve been turning the Elden Ring mythology over in my mind for some time partially because I think there’s a lot of fun ideas there but also because I felt like (in typical Fromsoft fashion) there wasn’t enough shown to really scratch my itch for discovery. 

The formless mother/bloodstar was chiefest among these elements: A killer aesthetic with lore that was a little too thin to use as inspiration. After a while that thinness turned into a feature, the idea of an eldritch entity of pain and violence that conformed to the needs of those who worshipped it, granting power to those who would go out and make the world more violent and painful.  I liked the idea that “mother of truth” was a misnomer, and that cultists would ascribe meaning and intent and iconography to a god that didn’t care one way or another. 

Another strong influence is the Grail from Cultist Simulator/Book of hours ( SERIOUSLY, play book of hours you fools), an eldritch entity/aspect of reality that presides over hungers and births be they literal or figurative.  The Blood + Mother connection was obvious here, but the Grail provided some more texture and esoteric aspects to fill out my version’s storytelling potential.

[gremlingottoosilly]

The horror and the wild (Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader) Medieval Fantasy AU

You had a nice, simple life. Serve the princess, obey the princess, protect the princess with your life. You never thought that this nice, simple life would bring you to be kidnapped by the infamous Northern Emperor. Konig never thought that kidnapping a wife would be much easier than courting one. CHAPTER 1 Word count: 4906 Tags/Warnings: Medieval fantasy/Alternative European history AU, Age gap, Enemies(one-sided)to lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Forced marriage, Size difference(Konig is absolutely huge), Somewhat one-sided slow burn, Yandere Konig

This fic on AO3

— I do not wish to speak about politics before breakfast!

— Your Highness, I’m afraid, politics would not be waiting patiently until you’re finished with your sweet pastries. 

— What do you mean? 

— The Emperor’s army is on our doorstep. 

The look on the face of the Princess – your Princess – was priceless. First, it was a surprise, her adorable features all twisted in a very unladylike gasp. Then, it was terror – the first time you saw her ever express that emotion since the palace was always clear of anything that could scare her royal highness, from mice and snakes, and up to severely ugly people(poor, poor Elvin – he’d a good life if it weren’t for his pointy slabby jaw). Then, and it was the final emotion on her illustrious face – it was anger. To nobody’s surprise, the anger was mostly coming at you. 

You see – you’re a Princess's most loyal handmaiden. Raised under her crib, going to the same classes, doing everything in favor of your royal highness, from warming up her jewelry and to trying the food first to see if it’s poisoned – your whole life’s goal is to make sure that the Princess is as comfortable as possible. You’re her shadow, her servant, the closest to a friend she can have – and if you were the bearer of the bad news, it’s only natural that she would be angry at you in the first instance, and not at the imperial army clashing down at your tiny bordering kingdom. 

— Where are the guards?!

— Judging by the screams I am not sure if there are any left in the outer levels of the castle. And if the King didn’t come with a usual note after breakfast, it’s safe to assume that he is more busy. 

With a trained movement, you quickly duck under the table when the Princess, naturally, throws a plate in your direction. You knew she wasn’t meaning it – your poor, innocent darling Princess, she was just as scared as you were but had not learned of how to hide her emotions under sarcasm and false calmness. Your job is to keep her safe – and calm – even if there is no royal family to serve anymore. You don’t want to think of the possible outcomes – King took you in, a simple peasant girl with no talents whatsoever, and gave you an illustrious education, the most sought job in the whole kingdom, and an allowance that would allow you to study in the real collegium, were they to accept women. You don’t want this place to fall in Northern Empire clutches – and you especially don’t want the Princess to learn the harmful ways of two pretty young women trapped in a castle full of enemy soldiers. 

— How could this happen?!

— I’d have an answer for this question, Your Highness, but you ordered to urn any mail from the Northen Empire. Perhaps, they send us quite a bit of war declarations before finally going down. 

Your hand goes to the side of your skirt, clutching on the suicide dagger – if something happens, you’d have to kill the Princess first, take the sin of killing oneself from her innocent soul – and then go down after her, hoping that your dog-like loyalty would allow you to serve her in heaven. 

The Princess has many things that she’d like to take with her to the afterlife. You better start preparing her package soon – this castle wasn’t built to be protected from the army of beasts, hiding under human skin – your kingdom never provoked any wars, always trying to search for the opportunity of negotiations – and now this comes to bite you right in your soft rear, without a sufficient amount of guards or a suitable army to protect itself. 

You’d pray for the god, but your god wants you to die. 

— Princess, we need to…

Before you could say anything else, an explosion erupts somewhere in the southern tower – the closest place to enter the Princess chambers. You can hear screaming, you can hear laughing – a foreign language, the one you are proficient with, but it never made it less barbaric, less harsh. These people talk like swords clangs against each other – like a harsh metal against your skull. You’d give up anything to not understand what they are talking about. 

There is something to be done before the soldiers arrive, finding only a few guards and two pretty, terrified young things. You might not be afraid of death, but you sure are terrified of what will come before their blades would slit your throat. You do not wish to die with blood between your legs. You do not wish that fate for the Princess either. 

“The Princess should be here.”

“Did Lord say anything about trophies?”

“Don’t take anything now. Tiger said we were never here – he would pay us later”

“What about…”

“Don’t kill the Princess either. Emperor want her to himself, remember?”

“Come on, are we here for a whore?”

“A royal whore, dumbass. Now shut up before Emperor hears you.”

They laugh and you can hear the Princess whimpering, crying softly – all of the layers of harshness are washed away with every tear rolling down her perfect cheek. You move to them as fast as you can – these stupid clothes allow you at least some freedom of movement, saved from the excessive decorations and expensive, heavy fabrics – you are only as few levels higher than cleaning rags. you could probably rip away the lower levels of your skirt and run – the Princess wouldn’t even be able to move without your hand steadying herself. 

You need strength to not slap her right now – you know that the pain on her perfect puffy cheek would help get her to listen, but nothing in your body moves to ever hurt her, no matter the cause. You push yourself to the door, thinking – your castle isn’t the highest one in the whole world, if anything, the Princess would be able to escape either via the window or the secret tunnels – but they would search for her, they would never accept defeat like that. Even if you’d stall them for long enough, pulling every bit of luck you don’t have – they wouldn’t stop if they had the goal of catching the Princess. 

— Your radiance, we have to go!

— Where? The castle is going to crumble any second now, and Mama and Papa are…

You press your ear against the tough wood, listening to the soldier’s speaking – language is even harsher now when the adrenaline runs through your veins instead of blood. You would give up anything to be strong – to have your dancing and embroidering lessons switched to sword fighting, to archery, to read dark arcana books instead of romance novels that you and Her Preciousness liked so much. Your hands are soft and delicate, only a bit harsh from occasional cleaning and serving – you’re a shame to any servant in the castle, a house pet made to entertain and please, not to fight and work. 

The Princess is a cherished treasure for your kingdom. Protected and hidden away, the King was smart enough to know that a royal gem like her would make all the old rulers of kingdoms surrounding yours go into a frenzy – so Her Radiancy wasn’t ever allowed to any royal mingling and balls until she’d reach the age of at least 21. Her birthday was next month – a small mercy, knowing that there was a possibility of never getting of that age. 

“Is that a Princess?”

You hear a woman – probably one of the higher members of the court, considering her high-pitched accented whimpers with a familiar voice. God bless her soul and dedicate her a quick death – you don’t want to think what would come of her if not for this prayer.

“Princess should be in her quarters. This one definitely doesn’t speak like a royal meat”

“How do we even know which one is the Princess?”

“She should speak like one. Would be easier if her family ordered a fucking portrait.” 

But…you were with the Princess your whole life. You know how to act like her, you know how she talks, how all royals talk. You know how manners, you know how to sing, how to dance, you received the education that allowed her to copy your study work and give it to her personal teachers – her own reflection wouldn’t copy her better than you would. 

You’re young, like a Princess, you’re pretty, almost like a Princess – and you’re loyal like a dog, itching to pay your debt to the royal family. 

— Your Highness! You need to run, please, just take the secret route through the walls and…

It was the most horrible moment for her to put her foot down.

— I…I live to serve the royal family. Dying for you will be the greatest of honors. 

— I will not just leave you here!

— They’d defile and kill us both, Your Highness. But if I just pretend to be you, they won’t come looking for you, won’t they? They would have what they wanted and you will be free.

— What about you? 

You’d feel hurt for how quickly she ran to the secret tunnel – if such feelings were normal for a servant to have. You’d feel betrayed if it wasn’t the life or death situation – if you weren’t putting on her dress as swiftly as possible before the soldiers would come running for you. It’s funny, how you always wanted to try her dress – how you were jealous of everything she had, even if you were the closest to her – you pride yourself in not caring about such silly mortal possessions, and yet, you always wanted to try something as beautiful as her dress. 

You stare at yourself in the mirror – terrified, small, ready to die at any point or to be hauled back to the Northern Empire like a piece of meat. Dress suits you, the bright pink would tell about innocence and radiance – but not it smells of blood and betrayal. If the soldiers thought that the Princess killed herself in her room, they would surely not think about trying to find her. 

You push the tiny dagger against your wrist, praying to all of your knowledge of medicine that your death will be quick and as painless as possible. You left out a silent prayer – knowing that the god would only welcome you after your death. 

Not a war, Horangi corrects himself – a massacre. 

***

Tiger of the North was fucking tired.

This whole mission – declaring war that no one seen and no one wanted, marching through the street without an army behind him, felt more like a bandit’s doing than something that a general of the best army in the world would do. This whole operation is a stunt, an order from the Emperor that no one expected – seriously, sometimes he still felt like a child with new, exciting toys. For all he knew, König never saw a Princess – yet, he sent his best men to take her out, not caring that this would mean a war on the bordering kingdom.

Not his fault this shithole didn’t even bother to reply to any of the Emperor’s letters regarding the marital status of the Princess. Not his fault they don’t even have a proper army – the king died, gutted like a fucking pig, and the queen followed soon after. Their unit can count less than 20 people, with royal hounds and other animals to help – yet, no one was able to foresee them entering the castle and butchering it. It’s a hunt, not a war or even an assassination – a hunt for the Princess, the useless fucking thing. 

If they’d only bothered to get at least some portraits – something to tell what she looks like. Perhaps, she is ugly, a mix of a toad that fucked a pile of shit. Perhaps, she is crazy and eats pillows and keeps her handmaidens' heads like a trophy. Perhaps, she don’t fucking exist and the king just didn’t want to say out loud that his dick was never working enough to produce an heir. 

— Search the quarters! I don’t want them to have time to know that their precious king is dead. 

The low rumble of König beside his almost makes him dart from surprise. He wears a mask, of course, not even trusting his people to see how he looks like – perhaps, he is as ugly as a toad that…ah, shit, he is using the same comparison again. 

A faceless ruler and a faceless Princess – a match made in heaven. 

— You think other kingdoms would send their condolences? 

— I’m sure that Price is already aching to write a congratulatory letter for the expansion of the empire. A nice addition to the title, ja? 

The emperor laughs, a sword in his hand, dark from the king’s blood. Horangi still doesn’t understand why he would decide to go on such a dangerous operation – if anything, they could haul the Princess back to the capital, or at least the nearest Empire territories – but no, König decided to go here himself, searching for a Princess that would, surely, not be worthy his attention. If this man didn’t want to marry all the options other kingdoms offered him, he surely wouldn’t be satisfied with a girl from this shithole of a country. Their land is barely enough for a normal castle, let alone all of the riches that the Empire provided. 

Yet, König stumbles in every room, searching for something – for someone. Other soldiers don’t dare to take trophies in front of their emperor, knowing that this operation should be as secretive as possible – no other rulers would bat an eye for a mysterious royal passing and the quick marriage of the Princess of this kingdom, but Graves would be quite concerned and bitching about the Northern Empire coming close to his kingdom. God, if König could just bathe every last one of them in blood, he would have. 

— Sir, I believe the Princess should be here Unless she killed herself already. 

— Those people honor death more than they do life. Better be fast before I’d have to marry a corpse. 

— We could bring her back. 

— Nothing can wash off the dead smell even after resurrection. You think why Krueger can only have sex with common whores? 

They both have to suppress their laugh at the thought of the royal advisor. Poor, dead Krueger, serving a contract that even death would not be able to break – it’s a good thing to have it on their side. Provides a good amount of jokes just from being around him. 

König rushes to the door that looks the most guarded – judging only by the amount of dead servants around it. The Princess must be here and, knowing the traditions of your kingdom, he has about a minute before you’d kill yourself, yelling something ridiculous about finding solace in death and that they would never take you alive. The door comes crashing down ridiculously easy – or it’s his strength challenging in the form of barbaric savagery. When he pushed into the room, he didn’t see what he was expecting to see. 

He sees something better. 

You look divine in the moonlight, your form, draped in an expensive dress that you only managed to take on halfway through, getting stuck in that stupid corset and billions of tiny bows and cutting jewels. You look majestic, godlike, you look like something from a fairytale. He was anxious before this, thinking if it was worth it – overthinking every bit of the operations, evaluating if the enemy kingdoms would be fine with him just taking you. König wasn’t sleeping a good few nights before this – now he looks at you and wants to kneel in front of your perfect form. 

— No wonder they didn’t have portraits. They wouldn’t capture your beauty. 

He shook the knife – little thing, as dainty as you are – from your trembling hands. Poor thing terrified of him – he’d pick you up and haul you on your shoulder already, but he wants to take a moment and just admire the comparison between his huge, muscular arms and your fragile form. He knows he is big, imposing, threatening – but compared to you, he feels like a war god paying tribute to his newest sacrifice. 

You shake in his grasp, not fighting it – Princess wouldn’t fight, you remind yourself. If killing yourself is not possible, if your dignity is tarnished, the death and torture shall be met with silence – you put your lips together, as firmly as you can. Still, you can’t stop yourself from sobbing when his hand goes to cup your face – a faint trace of your makeup staining his dark gloves. 

— This is the declaration of war. You were…

— This is no war, meine Liebe. How could we fight the nation with a dead king? 

The Princess would cry, learning about the death of her parents. You try to force more tears, making yourself look as miserable as possible – it isn’t hard in this brute’s hands, with his soldiers surrounding you – but, for some reason, he doesn’t look surprised when you are not crying immediately at the mention of the death of your supposed parents. 

He laughs, cupping your face in a rough, crude gesture. He shouldn’t treat Princess like this – even you are not used to men being this vile, to speak of such lewd matters with his men. They surround you, laughing, not even bothering to pay the least bit of respect in front of their Emperor. 

He wears a hood and it makes him look like an executioner, not a ruler. But, perhaps, you would welcome a butcherer more than you would a husband. 

— Let me go! The guards shall rise to my abduction and they will not leave thou to…

You don’t even need to force yourself to speak like her – you’re royal by any means, other than blood and service. You can imitate her your whole life if needed, shadowing her your whole short existence – it only hurts you more when you are praying that the Princess, dressed up in your garments, would be able to escape. You know that someone will save her, and take care of her – it’s just like the plot of your favorite romance book. An abandoned Princess of the burned kingdom rises to be the wife of a mysterious, masked blood knight, saving him from pushing his soul into the darkness. You, in this story, would be just a minor victim for the author to kill.

— The guards would rise if they weren’t dead, Princess. Too late to call for them now. 

He sneers at this “Princess” like a snake, ready to sink her teeth into your soft, limp body. You whimper, finally trying to get your knife from his hand – as gracefully as you can, remembering that you are to stall the time for her to escape, not to actually save yourself. He laughs and lets you go suddenly – only to pick you up like you weigh nothing. Pick you up like a bride, not a pig for him to gut. 

The tip of your ears is burning – your whole face is burning, you feel ashamed, embarrassed, angry, every emotion swirls in your head as he doesn’t even try to be subtle about his affection. You thank god for the layers of skirt you are wearing – but the upper part of the dress is barely holding together, showing a scandalous amount of shoulder. You are tainted – a scandal in the court, if there was a court alive. 

— Put me down this instant. My kingdom will not just accept these levels of disrespect!

You say this weakly than you wanted to. He laughs – thunder and bear roar, ocean waves against the mountains – you whimper when his hand goes to rip the upper part of your dress entirely, leaving you barely covered, with only three layers of clothing and a corset between you and his horrible, dangerous hands. A lady should not be seen by men when she is in less than five layers of clothing – still, you feel much better when the heavy fabric lets go of your skin. Still, you feel mortified, knowing, what would happen when he started to take off your clothes. 

Well…you think you know what will happen. You and Her Highness read books with a scandalous amount of intimacy – touches, hugs, kisses even, the last book having record five instants of the main heroes being in close proximity with each other – you also know that whenever a male enemy soldier captures a woman, he is doing…something before killing them. Not quite sure what, but obviously torturous. 

— The only kingdom that is left for you, your Highness, is what lies between your legs. I’ll be sure to pay my regards later.

Before you could say something – anything for that matter, he already hauls you away, still stuck in his hands like a trophy. You thank god that he doesn’t see the difference between you and the Princess. You never knew your acting talents would be of this amount, but nonetheless, you feel complete, knowing that the Princess is safe and sound. 

— What is the purpose of your actions? 

You are weak, voice whimpering and quiet. You don’t want to touch him, but the hungry gazes of his soldiers make you weak and fragile – you cling to him, trying to cover your modesty. The corset is a part of the wardrobe that no fine lady should ever show to men – yet, this is the only thing now that is keeping your tits together, saving at least some of your dignity. The heavy skirt of the torn dress lingers on your legs, covering you as much as barely holding up fabric can. König’s chest rumbles with a laugh when he notices you clinging onto him like a helpless kitten. 

— I’m taking my bride as your parents were not kind enough to answer any of the proposals.

— Why didn’t you just visit? 

If it were for him, he would just sprawl you on the ground and take what he wants. He would, were he a simple soldier, not the North Emperor – he would if there weren’t any witnesses if there were no intentions of marrying you later. But alas, he needs your hands in marriage – he needs you whole in marriage, from head to toe, from your heart to your soul, from your pussy to that sweet mouth of yours – and he can’t have all that unless he is patient. 

— I did. Right now, for that matter.

— As the only heir to the throne, this would mean the death of my country. You can’t just…

— Who is there to stop me, little one? Your parents? Dead. Your army? They would kneel for my men were we at actual war. 

You close your mouth. He laughs again, this terrifying hood of his moving when he shakes his head. You sob, tears flowing freely down your cheeks – it’s a wonder you can still talk while crying like this, but you need to keep up the act and you need to stall the time as much as possible. His hand goes to wipe away your tears and, for a second, you almost want to bite him. But, Princesses don’t bite – they lay in the hands of their captors and wait for princes to save them. 

— The other kingdoms would protect us, we had war pacts!

— Were you loved enough to start a war with the Empire to protect you from getting married? 

— I shall…

— You’re too young to speak like a queen, Liebe. Leave that to me, ja? 

You open your mouth. 

You close your mouth. 

You open your mouth again. 

— Please, let me go. 

This is a quiet, soft sob – König stops for a second, looking at your fragile, vulnerable expression. You’re as weak as a kitten, as adorable as a bunny – and precious, his little treasure, tucked away nicely in the deepest corners of this kingdom. He almost feels bad for breaking you, for taking you away. He killed many men, the king included, and he captured more land than his father ever could dream of – the biggest empire lies at his hands and yet, he feels weak when you cry in his hands. 

It still suits you more – a pained expression, pure terror, all the emotions that a young woman like you should experience when she is captured by someone like him – he believes in terror through submission and the tears streaming down your face makes his cock twitch in his pants. 

— I have all the right for you, little one. It’s your father’s fault that you were not protected more. 

He laughs, his large, imposing hand goes to cup your ass – you don’t even understand how his touch manages to get through this many layers of clothing. Your skirt is in complete disarray when he touches your legs, squishing and destroying the crinoline parts and whale bones. So much went into creating this skirt, a horrifying construct that never allowed the Princess to move freely, stuck in one place like a glorified little dolly – now it becomes your grave, mortifying and freezing you in one place. 

— You can’t…no, please, don’t…

He grabs your hips with the ferocity of a warrior, not an emperor. Rulers shouldn’t kidnap Princesses from neighboring countries, and they shouldn’t lead their troops on an operation that would destroy any diplomatic relationships with them – but he stands here, no more than a normal soldier, and you were never this terrified in your life before. He is a monster, a beast, an anomaly that shouldn’t exist in this world – even your desire to protect the Princess isn’t stopping you from crying and shaking. You bite your lips and sob softly, quietly, hoping he won’t just throw you to his men. 

— This is what politics leads to, no? Your father decided to stop being diplomatic…and I did too. 

He isn’t my father, you want to scream. He did nothing but take you from the streets, and slums you were scrambling aimlessly like nothing more but a tiny critter under his boots – he gave you everything, any book you wanted, the best company in the whole kingdom. He isn’t your father, still, but you pay for his mistakes – mistakes that you had no idea of. Princess ordered you to ignore any mail that would come from “This Northern brute” and you didn’t know that it could come to this. 

If only you were to steal those letters and read them instead of throwing them away…but what would it come to? Princess wouldn’t marry someone like König, she had no like for the emperor twice her age, for the human who defiled the very laws of nature, sitting in his high castle, ordering the undead soldiers around. Monster with, probably, three heads and two faces, with four hands hiding under his magnificent armor. A beast who is…

A best who is cradling you in his arms like you were his lover, not his victim. 

— Put me down. Please. 

— I’m getting tired of listening to little Princesses wailing. Tell me, Liebling, do you wish to continue this journey quietly or unconsciously? 

His hand goes to your neck – no doubt, he would be able to squish the life out of you if he so wished. No doubt, you are fucked – utterly and completely, with his ability to do whatever he wants your inability to stop him in any way. Sobbing softly, not wanting for him to continue this humiliation, you simply nod – to whatever option he deems appropriate. Princess would be screaming, yelling for help, and she would stomp her adorable feet on the ground until she’d get what she wanted – but you are no Princess, and playing pretend already makes you miserable enough. 

— I do not wish to see the destruction of my kingdom. 

— It’s not destroyed, little Princess. Merely defiled, captured and burned down. 

— You didn’t…

— Of course not, kleine Hase. I wouldn’t dare to burn the newest addition to my empire…unless you would make me to. 

It’s not a threat – it’s a promise, poorly concealed by the obvious smile in his voice. You cling to his chest and hear the rumble of his laugh when he pushes his cape over your shivering form. It’s a small form of comfort, but an unwelcome one – you’d rather be shivering, naked, and exposed in front of his troops than find comfort in the way he treats you. His cloak is heavy, more suited for the harsh weather of the central parts of the Empire – not your kingdom, mostly warm and wet, with bountiful rains and plentiful soil. You understand why he would want this land – you don’t understand why he would want you. 

— Don’t hurt my people. 

— Be nice then. You can be nice to your husband, ja? 

If you weren’t a Princess, you’d claw his fucking eyes out – get your dainty hands under his hood and scrap the pulsating flesh, turn his face into a mush of blood and gore. If you were real Princess, you would declare war on the Empire and die the protector of your kingdom – not a terrified girl. 

But you’re neither a Princess nor a commoner. 

You push your lips together, allowing König to take you away. Accepting your fate not with dignity, but with quiet, fearful acceptance. 

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the pained peace treaty

fused with the foe, chapter one

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

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

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

word count: 4813

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, your highness?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you expect?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Barnes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, your highness.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh…” was all he breathed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[jeonggukookies]

the crown's kingdom || jjk

– summary: after rejecting many suitors, your mother chooses a husband for you, and her choice is none other than your worst nightmare: Jungkook, the prince heir of Aurum. How will you survive an arranged marriage with Jungkook, the one you hate the most?

– genre: royalty!au, enemies to lovers!au, prince!jungkook, queen!reader, arranged marriage - fluff/angst

– note: this is rewritten and reposted as i changed and added some NEW details regarding both oc and jungkook & loosely based on the history of mary stuart !! (i am so sorry)

– word count: 1.2K

The two countries, Caelestia and Luxuria, have been in conflict with each other for many generations now, with constant ongoing invasion battles and military campaigns, shedding hundreds of thousands of blood on each landmass. Being two border countries surrounded by the sea, both countries were hungry for the power, land, and wealth for it to be one.  

Tensions escalated even further after your father, the king, had been assassinated by a Luxuria anarchist. Luxuria soldiers saw this opportunity to put the Caelestia castle under siege, seeing this as their chance to finally take the country as their own. 

But what they didn’t know is that your mother, the Queen Consort, had given birth to his heir. 

The throne of Caelestia, was inherited by the daughter of King Constantine of Caelestia and Queen Consort Nylah, you, two days after you were born. 

During your childhood, your mother has been acting Queen Regent, taking care of all the responsibilities on your behalf since you’ve been crowned Queen. She wasn’t like most mothers, letting you live a privileged life, not wanting you to suffer through the hardships of royalty until you were of age. 

Despite spending most of your time with your many governesses and trying to play hide and seek in the castle with other noble children, the People of Luxuria still saw you as a threat. And by your seventh birthday, they were finally brave enough to send a message, that they still wanted your throne by seasoning your porridge with poison, intentionally killing your royal taster.  

With a failed assassination attempt, your mother sent you to the country of Aurum for your protection away from the Luxurians, hidden away from your own people across the sea. 

Not only were you the Queen of Caelestia, but because of your mother’s side, you were related to the Queen of Luxuria, meaning you could claim the Luxuria throne as yours if the Queen of Luxuria dies without a heir and if the people accept you.

Before marrying your father, she had been an Aurum noblewoman with land in Luxuria, and the Aurum court allowed you to be there for your safety and as a part of a small, meaningless alliance. 

Living at Aurum Court was almost the same as your own courts. The only difference was being with other Aurum royals. As a child, the Prince of Aurum had been a constant troublemaker, a reigning terror for his own people. He was known for cheekiness and confidence, getting out of tough situations with his charms and good looks. 

“Jungkook.” You forced a smile, entering the throne room after being suddenly summoned in the middle of the night. “What are you doing here?” 

He pointed in the direction in front of him, and there was his parents, the King and Queen consort of Aurum on their respective thrones with your mother standing next to his mother.

Your jaw dropped, not expecting her to be standing in front of you. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had seen her in person. The last few years, you’ve only been corresponding with letters to her. “What are you doing here?” 

“That’s no way to greet your mother.” She came forward to give you a quick hug and then returned back to her original position. “The Luxuria troops are getting stronger at the border.”

“And I’m sorry, how does this matter revolve around me and my country?” Jungkook asked. 

You rolled your eyes at Jungkook’s comment. As children, your personality always clashed with Jungkook. The two of you always tried to avoid each other at all costs.

Although you and Jungkook were raised together in the castle, experiencing the same exact royal lessons of courtesy, ballroom dancing and diplomacy, you never once could get along with Jungkook, turning everything with him into an argument or competition whether it was for academic endeavors or favoring the people of

the court.

“I took a risk coming here as Luxuria has barely allowed travel between our two countries,” she said. “I came here to finalize the alliance, that the two of you would wed.” 

Jungkook sighed. “It happened, didn’t it?” 

“What happened?” You asked, not understanding the context. “Hasn’t Jungkook been engaged with Princess Comet of Cometes since they were six?”

“The King legitimized his first-born and mistress’s son,” his mother explained.

Your heart dropped upon hearing the news. “She is no longer the Princess of Cometes?”

“I am afraid not, but good news, Jungkook, you have a new bride,” your mother announced. 

“This can’t be,” you insisted. “Surely, there’s someone else.” 

“My child, you will marry our son and make him the king of two countries, and then later put your claim on Luxuria once the queen dies. There, you two will have three countries,” the King said. 

But you never once wanted to rule Luxuria.  

“We have given you protection and will continue to do so for this alliance.” 

“But we cannot be wed,” Jungkook argued. 

“You will especially since you’ve scared all the other suitors away,” your mother said. 

You were fiercely known for your independence and stubbornness, always speaking your mind. Your honesty and independency allowed you to earn your title as the Ice Queen, but that was all because of Jungkook. 

Through the game of telephone and writing secretive notes around the castle, the whole castle knew how you rejected possibly the best suitor for love, Kim Namjoon. He would have given up his country for you, and everyone knew it. 

At the time you were thirteen, still lacking tact, you met with Namjoon in the library and told him that giving up his own country for someone was foolish and idiotic. And Jungkook, hiding behind the curtains of that room, ran with it, spreading the word that you broke Namjoon’s heart, needing more than him and his country as a power hungry queen. 

Kim Namjoon’s heart wasn’t the only one you broke. Prominent and wealthy families from neighboring realms had sent their sons to court you, yet their efforts left you unimpressed and unmoved. 

As the years went on, there were less and less potential suitors. No one wanted their son to marry someone who was an intimidating person, and no one especially wanted a queen that could not be controlled. 

“It’s time for this childhood rivalry of yours to end.” 

“Mother, you know he’s the reason why suitors are afraid of me.”

“Get over it,” Jungkook gritted through his teeth. 

“How dare he disrespect me as a queen?”

“He was thirteen.” Your mother groaned. “You will marry Jungkook for your people, for your country.” 

You stepped forward, distancing yourself away so no one could hear what you were about to say. “And you and I know he will not love me.”

As fortunate as your life was, there was still a burden to bear, a burden even heavier as a royal. You still sought for an union to secure your financial and political status in society. Despite being a queen and having almost everything you want, the one thing you want the most is the one thing you knew you couldn't have: love.

She sighed. “And we both know love does not matter for people like us.” 

“But did thou not love my father and he thee?” Despite his death, the story of your father and his legacy lives on, including his love story with your mother. 

“Indeed, we loved each other truly,” she said. “But stories like his and mine happen once in a lifetime. Perhaps, the promise of love and the future of reconciliation can come.” 

Taking a look over your shoulder. You see Jungkook smirking. “Well Ice Queen looks like we need each other after all.”

________

hello hello hello!

thank you for reading the prologue for this new series :) i am very excited! please let me know if you need more context or visuals of some things were confusing.

[mayaree-darling]

history in the making // rex lapis (zhongli)

from aree: inspired by the latest collab genshin has with the Sanxingdui Museum (and the trailer for said event). (Slightly SAGAU just bcoz but can be read as a normal Reverse Isekai AU)

You're a security guard for the museum and you're out on your regular patrol for the night. All is quiet save for the tapping of your shoes on the marble floors and the jingle of keys hanging from your belt.

When you round the corner, you flinch. There's a man standing there, barefooted, just staring at the museum displays with curiosity. You accidentaly shine your light on him, unconsciously trying to get a better look at him and he turns to you.

Something about him was definitely off. He was wearing some kind of hooded robe. And... gloves? What else could they be? They reached from his shoulders to the very tips of his fingers, making his arms look brown like the very earth. Whatever gloves those were, they ran with veins of gold, making him glow under the museum darkness. But above all else, the most damning piece of evidence that he wasn't from around here were his golden eyes that almost seemed to glow brighter than the gold of his arms.

He definitely did not look like he belonged here, and yet, he looked like he was right at home in this very museum - if you said he was as ancient as the very displays, it felt like you'd be correct.

"You're not supposed to be around here right now." You say dumbly. What else were you supposed to say anyway? You're a security guard in a museum, your sole job was to kick people out past visiting hours.

His mouth ticks up at the corners, like you just said something funny. You would be offended at the thought of not being taken seriously while on the job, if you didn't think he suddenly looked more... human. The deadpan stare he had on earlier made him look too statuesque, too detached from everything.

"Then what say you would be the most apt time to pay a visit?" His voice is deep and melodious, almost intimidating if not for the playful lilt to his tone.

"Uh, 8:30 AM to 6 PM?" You rub the back of your neck, directing the flashlight to the museum entrance. The doors were firmly closed and locked. You can see him staring at you from the corner of your eye. "How did you even get in here...?"

He seems to think about your words, closing his eyes in thought. Without the glow of his eyes, you notice even the tips of his hair are golden. Maybe some kind of cosplayer? But by the looks of it, he seemed to move around too comfortable in his attire for it not to be every day wear. And his eyes didn't look like contact lenses. Finally, he opened his eyes, a mischievous glint to them.

"If I were to say I have arrived here through a dream, would you believe me?" His mouth forms a small smile and you blink at him.

"Guess you don't plan on telling me the truth," You sigh. "Fine then."

You tentatively touch the two-way radio on your belt. Should you call this in? Some guy in cosplay just found his way in and has no plans on telling you how he got here. You think you should tell someone. But...

"You are from here, correct?" He asks and you turn to him immediately. He really has a way of getting people's attention, especially with his voice. You nod at him. "Then might I ask you to tell me of what these statues mean?"

Huh. Now that you thought about it, he was looking at the displays when you first saw him, too. Maybe he'll cooperate easily with you if you tell him a couple of things about the museum. You should really tell someone, but at the same time-

You feel like the moment you tell someone else, he'd disappear from your view. You must be going mad.

"Follow me, then." You're no tour guide, but you do know of the things they speak of. So you repeat what you hear during the day.

You tell the golden-eyed man about the remains of the ancient Shu Kingdom four thousand years ago. You tell him of 50,000 artifacts unearthed in the ruins. He asks questions about the Bronze Age, of their masks and artworks, and you answer best you can while reading the displays.

Finally, you reach a corner where the fire exit is. He stops beside you.

"Sorry about this. But not gonna lie, I've let you stay long enough," you sigh.

He shakes his head and smiles softly. "You have done more than enough. I thank you for letting me see your world."

Your world? Odd choice of words. But if he really wasn't from here, then you guess in a sense this is a bit of your world.

"Just go past these doors and they'll lead you straight out the building. Do I need to escort you out?" He shakes his head and you open the door for him.

He passes through, but stops just before passing you. "May we meet again, Overseer."

"That's not really my name. Also I hope you wouldn't come back like this." You tell him your name, but he merely whispers it and smiles. "Oh, right, I forgot to ask yours."

He opens his mouth before closing it and shaking his head. "I fear that if I tell you my name, we will never see each other again. As such, I promise to tell you the next time we meet."

This guy gets weirder by the minute, but atleast your meeting was ending. "Just make sure to come back during visiting hours, alright? I don't wanna lose my job."

You close the door behind him, but just as you do, smoke and golden light slips past the cracks of the door. With a yelp, you throw the door open, expecting a fire, but there's nothing.

No robed man, no fire. Just the remains of a mist.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe you were dreaming.

You think it's a dream. Not until by the next night, you find the same man. Same golden eyes, in armor of brown and gold.

He looks to you and offers another smile.

And he tells you his name.

✨ Masterlist ✨

Taglist: 💛@wonpielle 💜@shikanosn

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and belong to their respective creators. Their portrayal is merely my own interpretation of them and may not be accurate to their intended characterization. I stake no claim to the original works, only to the ideas and plot of the fictitious stories I’ve written them into.

[povofjustme]

 The Queen of Death

(2/?)

Fandom: house of the dragon

You read about it many times as a kid

Legends say the island was filled with the strongest and most dangerous warriors

Men and women

The king and Queen throne and crown were made out of there enemy’s

They believe that they are there own ruler, they don’t need the king of king landing telling them what to do

They wear there colors with pride (purple and black)

“The live will walk but the dead will rule”

Mortensen is the family name - the meaning of death

If you were in war with them, just hope you said goodbye to your family

And you could never find them unless they want to be found (they give off Dothraki vibe but without the rape and slavery)

“Who are you?”

You looked around the beach you landed on, your eyes landed on a tall dark longed hair man and your heart stopped when you looked at the man.

“Am y/n Velaryon, I was flying when a storm hit and I seem to land here”

“Velaryon you said” a different voice come out, he seem to be wearing and crown made of bones

“Yes, will half Targaryen… your grace ” y/n

“And the dragon, yours?” Same voice

“Yes, your grace” y/n

“And you survived the storm?” Same voices

“It seem so… your grace”

While you were talking , many people of the kingdom started to come out to see you and your dragon

“ Well my dear, you seem to be the chosen one. I am king Alejandro Mortensen and this my eldest son, Prince Miguel. Please come inside and make yourself at home. You most be cold”

They welcome you in with open arms

Your got to meet King Alejandro family, his wife Queen Mariana, his second Elders princess Sofia and husband youngest prince Antonio

The Queen had got you a room made and had you changed in a more traditional Mortensen clothing.

Princess Sofia and you were the same size so while trying on clothes and got to know each other a little but you still had your guard up

They had asked you to join them for dinner to get to know you better

King Alejandro (bigger version of khal drogo) became king when he was seven and one and meet the queen when he was two and one. They fell in love and he married her

Queen Mariana (looks like Ellaria Sand) come from a small house. She ran away from a marriage that her father tried to force on her. She found herself in the storm as well and landed on this island. The restless history.

Prince Miguel was the one who found you on the beach. You found out he was a year older than you. And was to inherit his father’s. While looking at Miguel, he had this dark look to him. But every time your eyes met his light up a little.

Princess Sofia always had a smile on her face, with much attitude. She seem to be pulled towards you.

And Prince Antonio how to Playboy feel to him. But very open to you about himself. No filter.

“so y/n, what brings you to the island of death?” Antonio

And you couldn’t hold it in any longer , you spent months at Kings Landing, holding in the words in your head, and you only been to this island for less than a few hours, and the pain and emotions were gone

you felt peace here

So you told them everything

To the cheating husband, the best friend’s baby and you going mute

“ I never wanna go back well maybe when I’m stronger but for now I need to find somewhere to call home”y/n

“ you can stay here as long as you need” Miguel

“Really”y/n

“ we need more warriors like you” king

“ l’m not a-“y/n

“ Yes you are and don’t tell yourself that. I see myself in you y/n, we will help you get stronger. Is that right Miguel?” Queen

and since that day, the queen and king has took you as their own

you’ve missed your mom and dad dearly, but you needed a new start for yourself

days turn into weeks, two weeks, turning into into months to months turning into years

and you changed

Miguel told you about the history of the death island. Whoever is to survive the storm, the dead who believes you to be the chosen one.

His father and great grandfather and his great great great grandfather wife all come from the storm. The women came at their weakest point and at the end became the strongest queens

And now you are a warrior and soon to be a wife

Miguel and you fell in love, you’ve never knew you could after Harwin.

It took you a year for you to open about your feelings

He was always good to you, even with the hard look on his face

He will make sure you eat before practice, ask about your day even on his busiest days. And helped you with the wounds that you got from sword fighting

He got on Vermithor good side and always found away to get the dragon some food without flying back in the storms

He taught you everything you know, to hand on hand combat, to fighting with a sword. With him, you became one of the strongest warriors on the island.

He was known to be the most dangerous human on the island. Killed many people and went to war for the first time when he was one and five and lead them to win (Very much Drogo vibe)

And the queen herself molded you, teaching you their language, helping you learn the traditions.

She pushed you and Miguel together with any chance she got, like she said, she sees herself and you and only wanted the best

So after a few years being on the island, you married the heir to the death island.

Now you are known as Princess Y/n Velaryon Mortensen……

Throughout the years, you and Miguel had three children and one on the way 

Your twins boys Jośe and Juan and your baby girl Isabella

You loved your children, only wishing your mother and father could see them

One day, you and Miguel was walking hand-in-hand with your children on the beach, when you saw Vermithor flying away in a hurry 

“Momma, where did Ver go” Jośe asked

“I not sure my love but he always come back” y/n

Vermithor didn’t come back for 2 weeks

A note on the side of his saddle

Leana Velaryon is dead…..



@dramioneforevertilltheend @classicsimpforaaronwarner @ayamenimthiriel @hikaerys

(I hoped you like part two, hold on to your ass bc part 3 in going to be something)

[odileeclipse]

hii I just recently read your work

“A Scholar's Indifference”

And I really loved it (the anon who rq it is smart) do you think you’ll be doing a part 2?? I kinda want to see how and what will happen to their relationship

not forcing tho it’s completely up to ur choice!

A Scholar's Indifference Pt 2

A/N Well initially I didn't plan on it but since it's been requested, I'll just write a bit more on it <3 btw all the lore is made up

It started with a name you did not recognize. A scholar draped in navy and silver, with ink-stained fingers and a voice that dripped with the cadence of someone who knew too much. He arrived at the Grand Archives on an evening like any other, appearing at your desk with a quiet, measured presence, as though he had every right to be there. “I’ve been meaning to meet you for quite some time,” he mused, setting down a worn, leather-bound tome. “Your research on arcane philosophy is… impressive, to say the least.” You glanced up from your notes, eyes flicking over him in a brief assessment. He was not one of the scholars you recognized, not from the Vanilla Kingdom, nor any neighboring academies. Yet, the way he spoke was precise. The weight of his words carried the grace of an intellectual.

He had done his homework. Still, you remained unbothered, simply tapping your quill against your parchment. “And you are?” “A fellow scholar.” He smiled, placing a hand over his chest in a modest bow. “I go by Noctis.” Noctis. A name as shadowed as the night itself. How… poetic. You gave him a slow nod, gesturing for him to continue. He took a seat across from you, intertwining his fingers as he leaned forward ever so slightly, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “I must say,” he continued smoothly, “your recent thesis on ancient magical constructs was particularly fascinating. I found your insights on the correlation between early arcane inscriptions and the forbidden arts rather… thought-provoking.” Ah. So he had really done his research. You hummed, tilting your head. “Most scholars avoid discussing the forbidden arts.” “That they do,” he agreed, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “But true knowledge should not be feared, should it? After all, history is written by those who dare to seek the truths others wish to forget.”

An interesting choice of words. You allowed yourself to feign mild intrigue, resting your chin on your hand. “So, you’re suggesting that we should pursue knowledge, no matter the cost?” Noctis chuckled, the sound warm, too warm. “I would not be so bold as to suggest such reckless abandon,” he mused. “But I do believe wisdom comes not from caution, but from understanding.” He reached into his bag, withdrawing an aged manuscript. It was covered in glyphs you did not immediately recognize, and yet… some of them stirred something in the back of your mind. Something forgotten. Something lost. You leaned forward slightly, studying the text. “This script… it doesn’t match any recorded dialects.” He smiled, as if pleased. “Because it predates them.” Interesting. Very interesting. Your fingers traced one of the symbols absentmindedly. “Where did you find this?” “A remnant of the past,” he said airily. “A glimpse into the knowledge of those who came before.” You let his words settle. Let them sink into the silence between you. And then, softly, you asked: “…You speak as though you were there.” His smile froze. Just barely. Just enough. But you noticed. You leaned back in your seat, tapping your quill against the parchment once more. “It’s funny,” you mused. “You reference the first drafts of the Lexicon of the Soul, and yet… those drafts were never recovered. Only mentioned in passing by scholars who disappeared soon after. It’s almost as if…” You tilted your head. “You’ve read them yourself.”

Silence. Then aughter. Low and indulgent, curling through the candlelight like the whisper of something long-forgotten. Ink bled into shadow. Soft, well-worn robes unraveled into a harlequin’s silken finery. And standing before you, grinning as if you had just performed the world’s most delightful trick, was Shadow Milk Cookie. "Ah," he sighed, running a hand through his dual-toned hair, "you truly do take the fun out of things, starlight." You didn’t even blink. "You say that as if this was ever going to work on me." Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, twirling his staff idly between his fingers. "I had hopes," he admitted, a touch too dramatically. "But you are always so… unmoved." He sighed again, heavier this time. "It’s dreadfully boring, you know. How unaffected you are."

"Then stop wasting your time," you said bluntly, returning your attention to your notes. "Now, now," he chided, resting his elbow on the edge of your desk, propping his chin on one hand. "You’ve uncovered my little ruse, so what’ll you do with this revelation?" You gave him a bored look. "Nothing." Shadow Milk Cookie blinked. For the first time since he had revealed himself, he looked genuinely caught off guard. "…Nothing?" You exhaled, rubbing your temple. "What exactly am I supposed to do? Report you? Alert the kingdom?" You waved a hand vaguely. "You and I both know that won’t amount to much. And frankly, I don't care enough to try." He studied you. And then he smiled. Slow. Amused. Intrigued. "Oho… how fascinating." You ignored him, picking up your quill again. "So," you said flatly, "what’s the deal?" Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Whatever do you mean?" You gave him a look. "The grand deception, the illusions, the masquerade. Surely you had some greater purpose in mind besides watching me sigh in exasperation." He laughed.

"Must I have a reason?" he mused, eyes glinting. "Perhaps I simply wanted to see if I could weave a tale even you would believe." You didn’t react. He leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Or," he purred, "perhaps I simply wanted to see that spark in your eyes when you thought you had found something truly lost." You held his gaze. Unmoved. Unshaken. Then, with the same dry tone as before, you replied "How tragic for you, then, that all you got was mild irritation." Shadow Milk Cookie stilled. And he burst into laughter. Rich, full-bodied, genuine. "Oh, you truly are delightful," he breathed between chuckles. "Absolutely, marvelously delightful." You exhaled sharply through your nose, unimpressed. "Are we done here?" His laughter tapered off into a quiet chuckle, a knowing smile curling at his lips. "For now," he conceded, pushing himself up from your desk. "But do take care, dear scholar one of these days, I might just truly surprise you." "Unlikely," you muttered, already returning to your work. Shadow Milk Cookie merely chuckled again, melting back into the shadows, his presence fading like an unfinished story. And yet. You did not miss the way he lingered just a moment longer. Watching. Waiting. Perhaps, just perhaps, a little envious of the way you were always two steps ahead.

[untoldstar]

male yandere! king x fem! witch reader x male yandere personal secretary part 2

warnings: yandere themes, obsessive behavior, jealousy, nsfw content

sorry to the ppl who didn’t want this to have a nsfw scene</3

TAGS:

@rai-xxx

@xephieeee

part 1

You sigh and plop down on the stone bench in front of the fountain with Marcus seating himself beside you the both of you gazing at the beautiful garden, colorful flowers of every kind scattered all across the garden. The fountain was very grand and elegant and the buzz of insects and the light that bounced off the spraying water painted the picture of perfection. It was exactly what you needed after enduring the stuffy tour of the castle. The inside was beautiful of course. But considering the history of this kingdom everything dates back many years which means..the tour was accompanied by lengthy explanations.

Every time you entered a room you were awestruck by the sheer beauty. Grand windows reaching the ceiling allowing rays of sunlight into the room. Curtain of the finest silk. Paintings of past family members lined up on the walls and skillfully crafted pieces of furniture you're sure you've never seen in any other household nor will you in the future. But your moment of admiration was always interrupted by Marcus briefing you on the historical value of almost every piece. What the color of each room symbolizes, its purpose and if it's meant to hold official matters or family affairs.

By the end of it, your brain was fried and you desperately needed a change of scenery "I know it could all be rather..daunting." You dart your eyes over at Marcus "But I can assure you it's lovely here." you scoff "And what of the king?" he doesn't spare you a glance "What of him?" you fully turn your body towards him "How is he? with everyone. With you." he's silent for a few beats "His majesty is a wonderful king you shouldn't have to worry about him which is why I encourage you to take his offer seriously." you push further "Because he's a good king or because it would be wise of me to accept his offer considering I don't have a choice either way?" Your words come out harsh even though its isn't truly Marcus' fault. Reid didn't tell you outright that you have no choice but you're not an idiot, you know what this tour is, it's simply an introduction to the life that awaits you now. Marcus sighs "I know you feel cornered right now but I'll have you know I'm not..against you. Should you stay here know that you have..someone to turn to." If his words were supposed to console you he was certainly terrible at conveying it, His stone expression did not change a bit nor did any warmth seep into his ice-cold voice but still you understand what he's telling you. This situation is terrible but he would try to make it better.

You know what you have to do. You have no one back at home and this is..business. It certainly doesn't seem like you have a choice.

You offer Marcus a small strained smile "Thank you, Marcus. I'll remember that." You both stare at each other for a moment and you could swear you caught a shade of pink dusting his cheeks but before you could confirm it a cough sounded behind you. You look behind your shoulder to see Reid standing with a strained smile while his eyes dart between you and Marcus who immediately jumps up from the bench and creates a distance between you two "I see you two have finished the tour and have been getting along quite well." You think he throws a glare in Marcus' direction but he quickly covers it up by clasping his hands and beaming at you "Well then my beloved witch. Have you come to a decision regarding my offer?" you swallow and nod slowly "Yes I..I accept your offer." His eyes light up "Wonderful! Allow me to escort you to your quarters- ah and don't worry about your belongings they will be taken care of." He gestures for you to follow him, placing his hand on your lower back to lead you before halting, turning his head to look over his shoulder "Oh and Marcus" his voice drops down an octave "We're having a ball tonight, I'll tell you the details as soon as I escort our guest here. See to it that the servants are ready." Marcus only dips his chin and watches as the lion leads you into his den unable to save you.

"We're having a ball?" Your voice echoes through the hallway walls and Reid nods, his face beaming "Indeed. A small celebration." You tilt your head "Celebration for what?" You both stop in front of your room door and Reid looks down at you with a smile "Why, you of course!" You blink "Unfortunately we must part here, I have to see to the preparations. You'll find a small gift from me in your wardrobe. I'll see you tonight, witch." His footsteps disappear deeper into the castle and you're left alone with a small pit of uneasiness in your stomach.

You absolutely despise balls and anything of the like. It's a complete waste of money and with rich people who have nothing to do all night but drink, dance and gossip...you're sure some unwanted attention will be on you.

You huff out a breath and step into your new room.

Best to get ready now.

Worry laces your features as you inspect yourself in the mirror. The dress of the king's choice was a lacy black dress that hugged your figure from the top and flowed near your calves with a slit that went down your thigh. It was a lot more scandalous than what was usually worn at these kinds of parties.

Your eyes land on the mask on the vanity in front of you- turns out it was a masquerade ball. The mask was a match to your dress adorned with expensive black lace. You had to admit although it was a bit scandalous it suited your taste much more than the other extremely big bright dresses that were usually worn.

A knock sounds at your door and you quickly put on the mask and tie the ribbon behind your head. You take quick strides towards the door and open it to see Marcus "Oh-" His eyes rake over your body and he clears your throat "You look..." You raise an eyebrow and he clears his throat again "Good." he finally chimes and you snort "I'll be escorting you, if you're ready then let's get going." You nod and take his outstretched hand letting him lead you through the castle halls.

You don't know what you were expecting but it certainly wasn't this.

You're sure this was quite a sudden decision from the king so how...how was he able to manage something so grand? You look around in awe and Marcus snickers beside you "Try not to look too obvious witch. You live here now, you have to look like it." you scowl "I started living here only a few hours ago." You take your eyes off the bright chandeliers and the beautiful decorations to gaze at the crowd. You see two girls in a corner subtly pointing at people and covering their mouths with a fan to giggle. Near the bar, there's a group of men sipping from their filled glasses and exchanging talks. You notice them constantly sneaking looks at you before focusing on their conversations again. You quickly avert your eyes before they take it as an invitation for a conversation. In the middle all the couples dance to the music, laughing and enjoying themselves. You catch Reid talking to a group of men across the room and his eyes catch yours. He looks at you with a strange glint in his eyes before they fall down to your arm linked with Marcus'. His features harden before they return to the neutral expression he had on and continues talking.

Marcus sucks in a breath "I think you've caught someone's attention." You think he's talking about Reid when you catch a man you recognize from the group that was standing at the bar walking in your direction, his eyes locked with yours. You start to panic when Marcus grasps your hand in his and pulls you to join the dancing couples "What are you doing?" You snap and he grits his teeth, placing one of your hands on his shoulder and the other on his arm "I'm saving you from an unpleasant conversation with a nobleman who wants a wife whose only purpose is to give him an heir." He gracefully guides you and you quickly fall into step with him and you see the man from the corner of your eyes retreating. Your body finally relaxes and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding "I hate parties as well." You look up at him and his gaze has turned softer "I think these types of social obligations are absolutely excruciating."He lets out a soft laugh "It's ironic considering it makes up such a large part of my job." You sigh grumbling "Yeah, a huge part of mine now as well." You feel like the realization has only now dawned on you. This is your life from now. Would you truly handle it?

You're snapped out of your thoughts when Marcus' warm breath fans against your ears "You're unlike anyone here, you don't deserve this...He doesn't deserve you." Your eyes widen "What-" Suddenly the music stops and he backs away from you. He doesn't spare another word before he disappears through the crowd.

You look around you at all the watchful eyes and you suddenly feel suffocated. Since you're alone now there's no better time to retreat and get some fresh air.

You let out a long exhale as your shoulders drop. The crisp night air eases some of your tensions.

You opted for the balcony on the other side of the castle. You figured if you went out the one in the ballroom it wouldn't be long before you were followed by some nobleman jumping at the opportunity of you being alone without Marcus by your side.

Marcus...

"He doesn't deserve you."

What did he mean by that?

"Bored already?" You jump and whirl your head to see Reid leaning against the balcony doors with a lopsided grin "Oh uh- no the ball was lovely I just..needed some fresh air." He pushes himself off and walks towards you "I understand. I'm sure it was getting a bit stuffy with all the attention you were getting." His last words have a bite to them. Did he perhaps think you were trying to steal the attention away from him? "Ah there was barely anyone looking at me everyone was so focused on you." You offer politely and he scoffs "Come now witch..we both know you're not that naive." Your breath gets caught in your throat when you look up to suddenly find him only inches away, the smell of liquor on him immediately hitting your nose. You take a step back only for him to take one too, and another and another until he's got you pressed up against the stone railing. You fight the urge to look behind you and see the distance from this height "You know exactly what you've been doing all night. Tell me, witch. Was it your goal tonight to have every man in the room fantasize about fucking you?" His low soft voice doesn't match his biting words "What?! Just what are you insinuating ‘your majesty’? I'll remind you that this dress was your choice. I didn't do anything!" He laughs "Indeed it was..perhaps that's why I'm so upset." He lowers his head against your neck and your heart beats loudly when you hear him take a long sniff and then exhale "It's because of me that every man wants you now.." His hands grip your waist and you shudder when you feel him trail sloppy kisses down your neck. You grip his collar and give a gentle push but he doesn't budge "Your majesty..your guests must be waiting-Ah!" you yelp when he bites down "My guests are fine." he kisses up your jaw "You're drunk." he pulls back and stares down at you "And you want this." he reaches one of his hands between your thighs, his fingers traveling across your skin in an agonizing speed until they reach your clothed cunt and a gleam sparks in his eyes. He leans against your ear "Liar. You're dripping wet for me witch, you want this~" You pant and squirm when he starts rubbing slow circles over your clit "I wouldn't be surprised if you cast a quick love spell on me." He grins and slowly moves your underwear to the side "Wha- What are you talking about-" A loud gasp escapes your throat when he plunges his fingers into your wet cunt "That's the only explanation. Why else would I be this crazy for you?" His fingers work faster on you and find yourself clinging to him as pleasure overwhelms you "You drive me absolutely insane. I want to kill every man who looked at you tonight." He growls and the sound makes your cunt clench tighter around him.

You whine when his free hand lifts up to grope your breast. His glazed eyes suddenly darken "..Do you prefer Marcus over me?" Some of your haze clears up "What?" His thrusts turn rougher and you throw your head back moaning "You two seem so close already, dancing, holding hands..hah...I didn't think by bringing you here I'd have to watch you go on little play dates with my secretary." He spits out before roughly yanking down the fabric of your dress exposing your breasts to the cold air. He lowers his head and latches on to one of your nipples letting out a loud groan while his fingers speed up. That's all it took to have you throwing your head back and moaning loudly. His fingers keep moving letting you ride your orgasm out before finally slowing down. He lets go of your nipple with a loud pop making you shudder. He gently pulls his fingers out and covers you up again. His eyes linger on your neck and a satisfied smirk plays over his lips. You're about to ask him what he's smiling about when a loud cough sounds behind him. You look over your shoulder to find a stone-faced Marcus standing "You majesty, Lord Albert has arrived. Shall I tell him to wait or will you be..retiring for the night?" Reid doesn't take his eyes off of you as he brushes a stray strand of your hair behind your ear "Hm? Oh, no need I'll be there shortly." He waves a dismissive hand and Marcus nods but doesn't leave. His eyes lock with yours and he studies your disheveled appearance and a strange emotion flashes in his eyes when they land on your neck. Reid lets out an impatient sigh and looks over his shoulder when he notices your eyes still set on Marcus "Anything else, Marcus?" He grits out. They both exchange odd looks before Marcus bows his head and takes his leave. Reid turns back to you beaming "You don't have to go back to the party. Clean up and get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning." He smiles and gives you one last kiss before leaving alone.

It's only after you take a bath and change into your night clothes do you realize that Reid left red blotches all over your neck.

And Marcus saw...fuck this is so embarrassing.

You should curse him and overthrow him for this.

..Maybe in the morning though.

[meruz]

hi meruz please tell me all your thoughts on outer wilds I am absolutely Living rn

HI oh my god i have so many thoughts. I think I'm gonna keep posting fanart so this definitely isnt gonna be my last word on the matter but wow what a game! um... idk if I wanna just type forever but I can give you at least a few key thoughts I had...

It took me a second to get into! I had been waiting for the switch port so I was really excited starting out but there were a couple early play sessions months apart where I was struggling with the controls and overwhelmed with the openness...I have a hard time with a lot of open worlds games because I just..dont have a lot of free time LOL. But I was complaining abt this to my brother and he was also having a hard time rly digging into the game so when he flew over to visit me a couple weeks ago I was like ok lets do this together (incentivizing gaming by making it social/co-operative). And we had a blast!!! it rly is the type of game you can play as co-op just by having someone else on the couch or on stream doin the thinking alongside you or bouncing theories off of. I do think he's a much better puzzle solver than me though lol (he works in research, so he's got that researcher brain), he made a lot of the leaps of logic way early while I was still turning things over in my head lmao.... AND he's better with the controls because he plays a lot of flight sims?! i think he got annoyed watching me bumble around anytime i had the controller. my sole contribution was doing the stealthy parts in the dlc because im stupid and consequentially lack fear.

I kind of grew up playing majoras mask and windwaker like that was the era of zelda games I was rly activated and engaged for as a kid and I didn't realize how much I was missing and craving that type of experience again LOL. I think especially with how I personally felt that tears of the kingdom was narratively and structurally a step down from botw... idk... i mean you can tell from interviews abt Outer Wilds that the devs clearly have a lot of affection for and thoughts abt the Zelda series as well and I think Outer Wilds was like such a good encapsulation of everything I loved abt those games and also everything I wish they would do lol!! IT ALSO kind of solved a lot of my pain points with open world games and did it in a way that was so elegant... like I think i initially recoiled at the openness but then when i started exploring and realized the scope and level of detail it rly clicked into place.. im just in awe.

umm i love every hearthian they were all so charming. it rly did feel like an older school of nintendo rpg where every npc has so much personality lol. i loved that every alien race in the game was some weird animal like the designs for all of them were rly good. i love that it was a "worn" universe and that everything looked old or used. I love astronomy and space and space concepts but I don't really like really lofty and impersonal/minimalist scifi so i feel like this was a great and accessible art direction for me personally. i especially thought the backpacking/outerdoorsy aesthetic was really inspired! I think "exploration" sometimes exists on a spectrum where one end of it can be really colonialist/militaristic LOL... UM which im not like. fully against i think it can be an interesting idea to dissect? but i feel like we see it a lot and it was neat to see this which felt like the complete opposite end of that spectrum. weirdly enough playing Outer Wilds made me immediately go and finally finish Firewatch right after but I felt a little spoiled I was like ehh..that was good but it wasn't Outer Wilds LOL.

i think a lot of the themes reminded me of lord of the rings/tolkien lore LOL IDK. I GUESS THIS IS LIKE BIG SPOILERS SO if you havent played dont read but like. the entire concept of being born at the end of a great and enormous world/age with a rich history and you only getting to see the end of it, living in the shadow of great civilization...keeping your humble home in your heart idk. but then also the new world being a song ... I'm a sucker. I love it.

yeah sorry only compliments. anyways yeah i want to do more fanart... soon!! hopefully!

[bookishcarmela]

Dark Desires

pairings: jacaerys velaryon x targ!reader, aemond targaryen x targ!reader

Warning: mild violence

Word Count: 6.5k

Chapter 5: the trial

The air in the court feels thick with tension, like something is about to snap. You're standing behind Rhaenyra, Jace at your side, Luke just behind him. You notice Bella, standing apart from everyone, dressed in Velaryon blue instead of the usual Targaryen red. It's strange, seeing her so different from her sisters. What’s she thinking?

At the front of the room, Otto Hightower sits on the Iron Throne, his presence suffocating. The King is absent, and the absence of his authority weighs heavily on the room. Otto speaks, his voice steady, though you can almost hear the hidden ambition in every word.

“Although we all hope Lord Corlys Velaryon survives his wounds,” Otto says, “we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. And as Hand, I speak with the King’s voice. All that matters now is the crown’s will. Now, we will hear the petitions regarding House Velaryon.”

You try to ignore the knot in your stomach. Despite Otto’s words, you know they can't deny Luke. There's no way they could.

Vaemond Velaryon steps forward, his voice rising with pride as he speaks. “The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell, we were the last of our kind. Our forebears came to this new land knowing that failure would mean the end of their bloodlines. I have spent my life defending my brother’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’s true blood—the unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins.”

Before he can continue, Rhaenyra cuts him off, her voice sharp as steel. “As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon. If you care so much about your house’s bloodline, you would not be so bold as to plant the rights of your nephews.”

Otto gives Rhaenyra a pointed look but says nothing, letting her speak. “You’ll have your chance, Princess Rhaenyra,” he says, almost too calmly.

Vaemond turns back to Rhaenyra, his eyes flashing. “What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show you, and you still wouldn’t recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house—not yours.”

You watch Luke, feeling your heart ache at the fear in his eyes. You squeeze Jace's hand, silently reassuring him, and he squeezes back, his grip tight. His anger is palpable, but he remains silent, his focus entirely on the confrontation.

Otto cuts through the tension. “Enough,” he says, his voice unyielding. “This is a matter of blood, not ambition. Lord Vaemond, you may continue.”

Vaemond presses on, his voice dripping with pride. “I humbly put myself before you as the rightful successor to my brother’s seat.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at his use of ‘humbly.’ You lean toward Jace, whispering, “He’s anything but humble.”

Jace nods in agreement, though his jaw is tight. He’s pissed, but doesn’t say a word.

Otto nods curtly. “Thank you, Lord Vaemond.”

“And now, Princess Rhaenyra, you may speak on behalf of your son, Lucerys Velaryon.”

Rhaenyra rises, poised, but before she can even speak, the doors to the throne room suddenly crash open. A collective gasp fills the room as the King himself, who was bedridden just days ago, stumbles into the court.

You’re stunned. The last time you saw him, he looked frail, sickly, a shadow of the man he once was. But now, he’s standing before everyone, barely holding onto the staff he’s leaning on. His face is pale, his eyes sunken, and the mask he wears only adds to his fragile appearance. He’s barely able to make it to the throne, and when he does, he stumbles, his crown slipping off.

Before anyone can react, Daemon rushes to his brother’s side, placing the crown back on his head with careful hands.

The room is still in shock. You feel your heart race as your father returns to his seat, taking his place beside you.

“I do not know why petitions are being heard over a settled succession,” the King says, his voice rough but commanding. “As to Lord Corlys’s wishes, those closest to me know my desires. Princess Rhaenys, you may speak for him on this matter.”

Rhaenys steps forward, her voice steady, unwavering. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through to his true-born son, To Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him.”

A smile forms on your lips as the court falls silent, waiting for the next move. Your heart swells with a strange sense of relief. Rhaenys’s words are a confirmation of everything you’ve known to be true, and you can’t help but feel a surge of pride for Luke.

Then Rhaenys drops a bombshell. “As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons, Jace and Luke, to my granddaughters, Y/n and Rhaena.”

Your heart skips a beat. You can’t help but grin, your face lighting up. You turn to look at Jace, whose smile mirrors your own.

But as you smile, something catches your eye—Aemond’s stare. It’s icy, piercing, like he’s trying to burn a hole through you. Your stomach drops as memories of the other night come rushing back. You force yourself to look away, not wanting to think about it any more than you have to.

Rhaenyra’s proposal is met with murmurs of agreement, and the King stands, his voice ringing out. “I hereby reaffirm Lucerys Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, and he shall take the Driftwood Throne as the next Lord of Tides.”

But then Vaemond steps forward again, his voice filled with fury. “You break centuries of tradition to install your daughters as heirs,” he says, shaking with rage. “You dare tell me who deserves to inherit the Velaryon name?”

“I will not allow this!” he shouts. “Those are no true Velaryons! Those children—” He points at Luke and Jace. “—are no nephews of mine!”

You feel your heart stop for a moment, the words like a slap. You look at Luke, his face stricken with disbelief. But Jace’s anger is palpable.

Then, Vaemond’s fury explodes. “They are bastards!” he screams. “And she,” he points at Rhaenyra, “is a whore!”

The room goes silent. The King, who had been standing, suddenly moves forward. His voice is cold as he barks, “Bring me his tongue.”

In a heartbeat, your father is no longer beside you. You watch, almost detached, as Daemon swings his sword, and Vaemond’s head is severed from his body.

For a moment, the entire throne room is silent. Vaemond’s headless body sways before crumpling to the floor, blood pooling beneath him. His head lands just feet away, his mouth still open, as if the words he never got to finish are frozen on his lips.

Daemon wipes his blade clean with an eerie calm, then steps over the corpse, glancing down at the severed head before smirking.

“He can keep his tongue.”

You watch it all unfold, completely detached from the scene before you. The reactions around you are sharp, visceral—gasps, shouts, the rustling of movement as the courtiers shrink back in horror.

Jace stiffens beside you, his hand still gripped tightly in yours. You feel the way his entire body tenses, his anger rolling off him in waves. But you feel nothing.

You don’t even process that Vaemond is dead. Not really. He was talking, and now he’s not. He was standing, and now he’s not. That’s all.

You didn’t like him anyway.

Your gaze drifts downward, lingering on the severed head for a moment. It doesn’t seem real. It’s just… there. Detached from the body that once carried it.

Then something makes you look up.

Across the throne room, beyond the sea of stunned nobles and shaken courtiers, Aemond is staring at you.

His gaze is intense, locked onto you with an expression you can’t quite place. There’s no shock on his face, no horror. Just something dark. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way that feels unnatural.

You swallow thickly, a wave of nausea rising in your throat. The weight of his stare, the way it feels like it’s reaching inside you, makes you dizzy. You grip the fabric of your dress, willing yourself to breathe.

Court is dismissed.

The King begins to cough, a wet, sickly sound that fills the throne room. He’s pale, weaker than before, and even Otto looks concerned as he moves to his side. People are murmuring, shifting, trying to recover from what they’ve just witnessed.

You press a hand to your stomach. “I feel sick.”

Jace turns to you, concerned. “Y/n, do you need—”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off quickly. “I just— I just need a moment.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “I’ll come with you.”

“No,” you say, a little too fast. You force a small smile, stepping back. “Stay with Luke. Stay with your mother. I just need to be alone for a bit.”

Jace hesitates, but eventually nods.

You turn and leave before anyone else can stop you, slipping out of the throne room, trying to push down the nausea clawing its way up your throat.

You don’t even hear him coming.

One moment, you’re walking toward your chambers, pulse still racing from the chaos in the throne room. The next, you’re slammed against the cold stone wall, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.

Your head spins.

Before you can even process what’s happening, fingers curl around your arms, tight, unyielding.

Your vision clears just enough to see who it is.

Aemond.

Your stomach drops.

He’s close, his grip like iron, his breathing uneven. And his eye—gods, his eye—burns into you with a fury so raw, so blistering, it sends a cold shiver down your spine.

You’ve never seen him like this.

“What the fuck—” you choke out, trying to push at his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

“How long?” he hisses, voice razor-sharp.

You blink. “What?”

His fingers dig into your skin. “How long have you been lying to me?”

Your mind reels, scrambling for some understanding, some explanation for why he’s doing this. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about—”

“You said you weren’t getting married.” His voice is lethal, low and vibrating with barely contained rage. “You sat there, at dinner, and told me you had no prospects.” His grip tightens. “And yet, today, in court, you stood there and smiled as it was announced you’re to wed Jacaerys Velaryon.”

Your stomach twists violently.

Oh.

That’s what this is about.

You almost laugh at the absurdity of it. “You’re angry because I’m betrothed to Jace?”

His jaw clenches. “I’m angry because you fucking lied to me.”

A cold, sharp silence stretches between you.

And then it clicks.

“You—” You exhale sharply, trying to steady your breath. “You figured it out… after the announcement.”

His eye darkens.

That’s all the confirmation you need.

It clicks into place—the way his gaze burned into you in the throne room, the tension radiating off him the moment your betrothal was spoken aloud. That was when he pieced it together. When he realized that night, you had been sneaking away from Jace’s chambers.

“That’s why you’re so mad,” you murmur, almost to yourself.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it.

Aemond exhales harshly, his grip twitching. “I saw you,” he says, voice sharp, brittle. “You were coming from his chambers. And yet you stood there, looked me in the fucking eye, and told me there was nothing.”

“There was nothing,” you snap, though you’re not even sure why you feel the need to defend yourself.

His lips curl into something bitter. “Really? And I’m supposed to believe that, when you went from sneaking around in the night to standing at his side today like you fucking belong there?”

You glare at him, heat rising to your cheeks. “It’s not your concern who I marry.”

His fingers twitch again.

And then, suddenly, he shifts.

Before you can react, his hand moves from your arm to your face, fingers pressing into your jaw, tilting your head up—forcing you to meet his eye.

Your breath catches.

For a terrifying second, you think he’s going to kiss you.

Your body tenses, heart hammering against your ribs as his grip tightens just enough to make it clear that he’s in control—that you aren’t moving unless he allows it. His gaze flickers down to your lips, then back to your eyes, and your stomach twists with something you don’t understand, something that makes you want to shove him away and pull him closer all at once.

But he doesn’t kiss you.

Instead, his expression hardens, and with a sharp exhale, he shoves you back against the wall, his fingers finally releasing you.

You stumble slightly, breath uneven, head spinning.

Aemond steps back, his face unreadable.

“Bisa isnt toliot byka zaldrīzes” (this isnt over little dragon) he murmurs, voice rough with something you can’t quite place.

And then he turns on his heel and stalks away, leaving you breathless, shaken, and burning with something you can’t begin to name.

The door to your chambers slams behind you, the heavy wood muffling the noise of the castle, but doing nothing to quiet the storm within your chest. Your breaths come fast, shallow—your heart racing as if trying to break free of your ribcage. You press your back to the door, trembling fingers clutching at your sides as you squeeze your eyes shut. Aemond’s voice still echoes in your ears, his grip still sears your skin. And beneath the fear, the anger, the guilt—there’s something else. Something you don’t want to name. Something that makes your stomach twist and burn.

You clutch at your chest as though you can physically tear the feeling out of you. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. The walls are closing in.

Get out. You need to get out.

Your hands shake as you hastily pull on your riding leathers, the familiarity of the worn fabric grounding you, if only for a moment. You shove open the door and make your way toward the dragonpit, each step stiff and hurried, as if trying to outrun your own thoughts. By the time you reach the entrance, you’re still trembling, your heart still racing.

"Silverwing," you say, voice tight as you speak to the dragonkeepers. "Ready her for flight. Now."

They nod quickly and move to obey, but before you can retreat further into your thoughts, a familiar voice cuts through the air.

"Where are you running off to in such a hurry?" Daemon’s tone is light, but his eyes are sharp—too sharp.

Your father steps out from the shadows, his gaze sweeping over you with the scrutiny of a man who misses nothing. You freeze, trying to summon calm, but you know it’s already too late. He knows you too well.

"Just needed some air," you mutter, keeping your gaze averted.

"Air?" He arches a brow. "You fled the throne room like you were being chased by the Stranger himself. That wasn’t about Vaemond, was it? You’ve seen worse than that."

You swallow hard, but your throat is tight. You shake your head, unable to meet his gaze. "I just... I hate this place. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to go home."

There’s a long pause before he steps closer, his voice dropping to something softer. "Look at me."

You do—reluctantly—and you see the concern in his eyes, the warmth beneath his cool exterior. Your vision blurs with unshed tears, and before you can stop yourself, you lean into him, arms wrapping around his middle. His hand rests gently on the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair.

"I know," he murmurs. "I hate it here too. This place is full of vipers and fools. But we only have to endure one more night. Then we’ll go home."

You nod against his chest, but the tears won’t stop. One slips free, trailing down your cheek. You try to wipe it away, but his thumb is faster, catching it before it falls.

He tilts your chin up, his touch gentle, though his eyes glimmer with that familiar steel. "You are a dragon, my little dragon. And dragons do not cry. Not over matters such as these. Tears are for those who are weak of spirit. You are not weak. You are of my blood."

You blink up at him, his words settling deep in your chest—both a comfort and a command. You nod again, this time with more resolve, though your eyes are still glassy.

"Come," he says, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder before letting go. "I was going to fly with Caraxes anyway. Let’s go together. Clear your head."

The offer surprises you, but you don’t hesitate to accept it. He knows you need this. He always knows.

Together, you mount your dragons, the familiar rush of wind and cold air hitting your face as you ascend into the sky. The world below becomes distant, the tension in your chest loosening with every beat of Silverwing’s wings. You glance over at your father, flying beside you on Caraxes, his expression relaxed for the first time in days.

Up here, you are free. Up here, you can breathe.

And for the first time since you arrived at King’s Landing, you feel like yourself again.

The Kingswood welcomes you with open arms, its ancient trees standing sentinel over a clearing that seems untouched by time. A gentle river winds its way through the heart of it, the water glinting like liquid silver beneath the sun's soft gaze. The air smells of pine and damp earth, and a breeze carries the rustling whispers of the forest.

Silverwing and Caraxes land with grace, their talons sinking into the soft soil. The dragons linger only briefly, exchanging a glance before taking to the skies again. Their sinuous forms twist and coil in the air, playing or perhaps dancing—a rare display of something so close to joy. You watch them for a moment, finding a strange comfort in their freedom.

You dismount, your boots meeting the ground with a soft thud. Daemon joins you, his eyes scanning the surroundings with the ease of a man who has spent his life both embracing and defying the wild. Together, you move toward the riverbank, settling beside the gentle stream.

For a while, neither of you speaks. The only sounds are the water’s hushed song and the distant calls of your dragons above. You lean your head on your father’s shoulder, his warmth grounding you as the weight in your chest begins to ease.

He is the first to break the silence.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Your eyes stay on the water. “Everything,” you whisper. “Everything is wrong. My whole world is wrong.”

Daemon tilts his head slightly, his silver hair catching the light. His voice is softer than most would expect from him. “You’ve never been one to speak in riddles, my little dragon. Tell me plainly.”

Tears well up, but you blink them away. He notices, of course—he always notices. He lifts a hand and brushes his thumb gently beneath your eye. “Dragons do not shed tears over little matters, my little dragon. We are made of fire. Fire does not weep.”

Your lips twitch, but it is not quite a smile. “I know.”

He gives you a moment before pressing further. “Did someone hurt you?”

You hesitate. It is such a father’s question—protective, direct. For a brief second, you consider saying yes. You can see it so clearly: your father storming back to the Keep, his sword in hand, ready to spill blood without hesitation. But the thought passes as quickly as it had come.

“No,” you say quietly. “Not… physically.”

Daemon’s jaw tightens, but he nods. “Good.” He pauses, then, with a knowing look: “Would this have anything to do with a certain one-eyed prince who could not keep his eye off you today?”

You freeze. Your entire body stiffens, and that is all the answer he needs.

“Ah,” he murmurs. “That.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out. Daemon leans back against a tree, his gaze steady and calculating. “I won’t ask what happened,” he says. “But whatever it is—it needs to stop. He is dangerous. And he is a Green.” His voice lowers, rough with disdain. “You know what I think of their lot.”

You nod, but your mind is tangled. You want to say it isn’t like that—not exactly. But you can’t find the words.

Daemon sighs. “I cannot help you if you don’t speak to me.”

Your voice cracks. “It’s not that simple.”

He gives you a long look. “It never is.”

You exhale, your eyes on the water. “There’s… something there. And it frightens me. He frightens me. But it’s more than that. He makes me feel something and I hate it. I don’t understand it.”

Daemon’s expression darkens briefly before softening into something that resembles understanding. He had been young once. He had known desire, confusion, and the dangerous blend of both.

“You love Jace,” he states.

“I do. I’ve loved him my whole life.”

“But something has shifted between you.”

You flinch but nod.

Daemon is quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “You are not the first Targaryen to find their desires pulling them in opposite directions. Marriage is duty. But desire… desire is something else. What matters is how you wield it.”

You look up at him, unsure. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying this: If you do not love Jace in that way, there is no shame in that. You will marry him because it is expected. That does not mean your entire life must be bound to him. Targaryens have always kept their secrets, and you are entitled to yours. But Aemond Targaryen cannot be one of them.”

You swallow. “Why?”

His eyes narrow. “Because he will destroy you. Men like him—men like me—we do not let go of what we want. And we do not handle rejection well. You are playing with wildfire, my little dragon. And you are too precious to burn.”

Tears threaten again. “I just want to go home. I hate this place.”

Daemon wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in. “One more night. Then we go home.”

You close your eyes, breathing him in—the scent of smoke, leather, and something uniquely him. It steadies you.

He presses a kiss to your temple. “You are my little dragon. You always will be. And no matter what happens—whatever choices you make—you will always have me.”

You nod into his shoulder.

After a while, he stands. "Come. We should head back to the Red Keep. We'll fly over the Kingswood on our way."

You manage a smile—small, but real. “Race you?”

Daemon smirks. “You’ll lose.”

You both take to the skies, the cold air biting at your face, but it doesn’t matter. Up there, above the world, you can breathe again. You love flying—you always have. And with your father beside you, you feel safe.

That evening, dread coils in your stomach as you prepare for dinner. You spend the day in your chambers, reading a book on High Valyria that you found on your bedside table. You are certain you left it in the library, and someone has clearly been reading it—pages marked, passages underlined. The thought unsettles you, but you push it aside.

Dressed in Targaryen red with gold and black accents, your gown is off the shoulder, pushing your chest up slightly—modest by your standards but likely scandalous to the Queen. You wear your hair down, braided back in places, with a delicate gold chain across your forehead. As a knight escorts you to dinner, you remind yourself: one more night, then home.

The dining hall is heavy with tension as you enter. You offer a polite hello to everyone, your eyes briefly meeting Daemon’s. He gives you a small, knowing look—it comforts you more than you’d like to admit.

You sit beside Jace. He leans in. “Are you feeling better?”

You smile. “Yeah, I think I was just a little sick earlier. I’m fine now.”

“Good,” he says softly.

But you feel eyes on you—Aemond’s gaze, sharp and unrelenting. You refuse to look at him, keeping your focus on Jace.

The King is carried in. Everyone stands until he is seated. The King’s voice is weak but hopeful. “How good it is to see you all together.”

Alicent offers a prayer; you and your family endure it, exchanging glances. Daemon smirks, and you stifle a laugh.

The King toasts your betrothal to Jace. You squeeze his hand, finding comfort there, despite everything.

The dining hall is heavy with tension the moment you step inside. The long table is set with gold-trimmed plates and goblets of rich red wine. Candles flicker along the length of the table, their soft glow doing little to warm the atmosphere. You offer a polite, measured greeting to the room. “Good evening,” you say, your voice steady despite the knot in your stomach.

Your father, Daemon, sits at the head of the table, his gaze meeting yours briefly. There is an unspoken understanding in his eyes—a silent exchange that eases you, even if only slightly. You glance over and see Jace. He stands as you approach, concern written on his face.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks, his voice soft, careful.

You nod. “Yes, I think I was just a little sick earlier, but I feel fine now.”

He exhales in relief. “Good. I was worried.”

Before you can respond, you feel it—the weight of a gaze. Aemond. His eye is on you, burning, but you refuse to acknowledge him. You keep your attention on Jace, your fingers brushing his briefly as you both take your seats.

Soon, the King is brought in, carried upon his chair, his body frail and sunken into the cushions. Everyone rises. You stand with the rest, watching as Viserys is lowered into place at the center of the table. Alicent sits to his left, Rhaenyra to his right. At Daemon’s side is Rhaena, then Lucerys, Baela, you, and Jace. Opposite, Aemond presides over the other end, with Aegon and Helaena beside him. Otto Hightower sits close to Alicent, his calculating eyes ever watchful.

Once the King is settled, the room lowers back into their chairs. Silence blankets the hall, so thick it nearly chokes you. Viserys begins to wheeze, his labored breathing cutting through the quiet. You can barely stand to look at him—he appears as though the very act of sitting upright is agony.

“It is good to see you all tonight, together,” the King finally manages, his voice weak but determined.

Alicent glances at him with concern before speaking. “A prayer before we begin,” she suggests softly.

Viserys nods, and the Queen lowers her head. “May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Ser Vaemond Velaryon—may the Gods give him rest.”

You struggle to keep your expression neutral. The words feel hollow, almost ridiculous. You chance a glance across the table at your father. His lips twitch with barely concealed amusement, and you mirror his smirk, the brief moment of shared irreverence lightening your heart.

When the prayer concludes, Viserys raises his goblet with a trembling hand. “This is an occasion for celebration. It seems my grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Y/n and Rhaena… strengthening the bond between our houses.”

You look to Jace, and he to you. He squeezes your hand under the table, a gentle affirmation. You smile at each other, the brief warmth between you a rare comfort.

Daemon raises his cup. “Here, here.”

Others follow, lifting their glasses. You sip your wine, though the sensation of Aemond’s gaze continues to burn into you. You do not look his way.

As the cups lower, Aegon leans toward Jace, his voice low but not so low that you cannot hear. “Well done, Jace. You finally get to lie with a woman.”

Jace stiffens, his jaw clenching as he sets his goblet down with an audible clink. Your eyes narrow, shooting Aegon a glare sharp enough to pierce armor. He meets your gaze with a lazy smirk, clearly amused by his own crudeness.

Viserys speaks again, his voice strained but resolute. “Let us toast as well to Prince Lucerys… the future Lord of the Tides.”

“Here, here,” you echo, raising your glass once more.

Rhaena smiles at Luke, offering gentle encouragement. “You will be great.”

The tension simmers beneath the surface, but for this fleeting moment, there is unity—however fragile.

You sit beside Jace, your hand resting lightly on his leg, trying to soothe the anger still simmering from Aegon's earlier taunts.

Aegon leans in once more, voice low and slurred. “You do know how the act is done, I assume? Or is my dear nephew still in need of a tutor?” He smirks, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Jace stiffens beside you, his grip tightening on his goblet. You sense the fury bubbling beneath his composed exterior. Before he can react, you give his leg a firm squeeze, a silent plea for restraint.

You turn your gaze to Aegon with a forced smile, voice laced with subtle sarcasm. “Oh, is that your way of asking if Jace knows what to do? How thoughtful, my prince. We all appreciate your concern for our marital success.”

Aegon blinks, caught off guard by your tone. He huffs a laugh but looks away, momentarily subdued.

Jace seizes the opportunity. “You may play the jester if you wish, Aegon, but hold your tongue before my betrothed.”

Aegon eyes him with a lazy smirk, unimpressed. “Oh, very serious,” he mutters, rolling his eyes before returning his attention to his wine.

The King shifts in his seat, struggling to stand with his cane. Conversation halts as all eyes turn toward him. With effort, he begins to speak. “It gladdens me… to see you all together.” His voice is frail, wheezing, and his face, half-masked in gold, appears more ghastly than ever. When he removes the mask, revealing the decayed side of his face, you suppress a shudder.

“You are all dear to me,” the King continues. “I wish you to see yourselves as I see you—as one family. United.”

Rhaenyra rises, goblet in hand. “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father, but I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. For that, she has my gratitude… and my apology.”

You exchange a glance with your father across the table, both suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. The tension between your families cannot be so easily soothed with pretty words. Still, you sip your wine dutifully.

Alicent stands, visibly moved. “Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you and your house. You will make a fine queen.”

Polite applause follows. You join in but feel detached from the moment. You are merely playing your part.

Wine flows freely, and music swells in the background. For a brief while, the atmosphere lightens. But then Aegon stands again, his third cup drained. He moves toward the wine pitcher but pauses by your side, lowering his voice so only you can hear.

“I regret to disappoint, but you are to soon suffer. However… if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you need do is ask.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, not from embarrassment, but anger. Jace catches the murmur and is on his feet before you can stop him, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. The room falls into an uneasy silence as eyes snap toward you.

Aegon smirks, sauntering back to his seat as though nothing had happened. Jace exhales sharply, swallowing his anger, and raises his goblet. “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. I hope we may be friends and allies. Good health, dear uncles.”

You grasp his hand beneath the table, squeezing it gently. He looks at you and exhales, his smile small but genuine. The moment is not perfect, but you are proud of him.

Unexpectedly, Helaena stands, her voice soft but clear. “To Y/n and Rhaena. They will be married soon… It isn’t so bad. Mostly, he just ignores you. Except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

Laughter ripples across the table, though Aegon turns crimson with humiliation. You raise your cup. “Thank you, dear cousin. Here, here.”

Otto Hightower claps along with you, though his eyes narrow at his grandson’s shame.

As the music resumes, Aemond breaks his silence, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “It is rare to see you smile, cousin. I was beginning to think you found none of our company agreeable.”

You meet his gaze, steeling yourself. “I smile when I have reason to.”

Baela chimes in, her tone sharp. “And it seems tonight offers plenty of reasons, unlike some of our past gatherings.”

Aemond’s eye narrows, but you sense his amusement. “Perhaps the future holds more agreeable company then.”

Jace interjects, unable to hold his tongue. “If you are referring to yourself, cousin, I would not count on it.”

Aemond smirks. “Careful, Jace. We would not want you to lose your composure. You would not wish to follow in your father’s footsteps in that regard.”

You sense Jace bristle beside you. "And you would not wish to stumble and lose more than just an eye, cousin," he snaps back.

The tension is thick, but you speak up before it can escalate further. “Enough. Let us not ruin the King’s table with petty quarrels.”

Aemond tilts his head, considering you. “As you wish, cousin.”

The conversation shifts, drifting to less dangerous topics, but the undercurrent remains. You exchange brief, knowing looks with Jace, Baela, and Rhaena throughout the evening—silent assurances that you stand together. Whatever the future holds, you will face it united.

For now, you endure.

With the music starting to play, everyone’s mood begins to lighten. Jace looks to you, giving your hand a quick kiss, and says, “Excuse me,” which confuses you. He gets out of his seat and goes over to ask Helaena if she would like to dance, to which she agrees. They start dancing, and Aegon looks put off, his expression clearly reading, “What the fuck?” Aemond doesn’t look any happier.

You don’t care much, though—you’re just happy to see Helaena having a good time. You hold her dear to your heart, and seeing her smile warms you. You’re watching them dance when you suddenly see Aemond get up. “What the hell is he doing?” you think. He walks straight up to you, extending his hand. Your heart drops. “Fuck my life,” you think, but you know that refusing him would cause a scene. So, you take his hand.

As you rise, you shoot a pleading look to your father across the table. Daemon meets your gaze, his eyes full of knowing amusement. He can tell you want out of this, but he only gives you a small smirk. Jace notices as well, his expression shifting to one of concern as he catches your eyes while you move toward the dance floor.

Aemond’s grip is iron-like as he leads you into the dance. He holds you tight—too tight—pulling you close. It’s almost improper, the way his hand lingers on your waist and the way your bodies brush together.

“You seemed quite comfortable in his company,” Aemond says, his tone low and sharp.

“I wasn’t aware you were keeping such close tabs on me,” you shoot back.

He smirks. “I keep my eyes on what’s mine.”

“You’re mistaken. I’m not yours,” you say firmly.

Aemond leans in slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “Not yet.”

You roll your eyes. “Delusion suits you.”

He laughs under his breath, clearly enjoying your resistance. “You’ll come around, Byka zaldrīzes. You’ll see.”

“You wish,” you snap.

The song ends, and you pull away quickly, but not before Aemond leans in one final time, whispering into your ear, “When you tire of boys who barely know what to do with you, you’ll know where to find me.”

Your cheeks flush red with anger and embarrassment as you return to your seat. Jace notices immediately.

“What did he say?” Jace asks, his voice low with concern.

“Nothing,” you mutter, though your face betrays you.

Dinner continues with laughter, wine, and conversation—until Viserys begins to groan in pain. The mood shifts. The king is taken away, his condition clearly worsening. Everyone stands, unsure of what to do.

As the servants bring out a roasted pig, it is placed in front of Aemond. Luke can’t help but stifle a giggle, recalling the childhood prank involving the Pink Dread. Aemond slams his fist onto the table, causing the room to fall silent.

“A final tribute,” he says, raising his cup. “To the health of my nephews—Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… strong.”

Your heart stops. The word hangs in the air like a curse. You know what he’s implying.

Jace rises in anger. “I dare you to say that again.”

Aemond feigns innocence. “Why? It was only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?”

Luke stands, as does Aegon, ready to escalate the fight. Jace throws a punch, landing squarely on Aemond’s jaw. Chaos erupts.

You start to rise to defend Jace and Luke, but before you can intervene, Daemon is there. He grips your arm gently but firmly, pulling you back.

“Stay out of it,” he mutters.

“They can’t just—” you begin to protest, but he leans in close to your ear.

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight. Go to bed, little dragon.”

You freeze. The nickname and his tone are laced with both affection and authority. You glance over his shoulder and see Aemond staring at you with that same intense gaze. Daemon notices this too, and his smirk returns. The tension between them is palpable—a silent challenge—but while Aemond seems to take it seriously, your father remains cool, amused even.

Jace, now at your side, grabs your hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

You hesitate for a moment, but Daemon gives you a knowing look. You nod and follow Jace, leaving the chaos of the dining hall behind. As you walk away, you hear Alicent’s voice raised in anger, scolding Aemond. The night ends with the echoes of clashing tempers and unspoken threats lingering in your mind.

[fleurriee]

— the best way to learn ; aemond targaryen

pairing ; aemond targaryen x wife!reader

synopsis ; for a second there, you thought you’d lost your daughter. you should’ve known she’d be with her father, doing what they do best - causing mayhem in the privacy of your chambers.

word count ; 3.3k

themes ; fluff, established relationship (married)

warnings ; none. maybe slightly ooc aemond???

author’s note ; first time writing for aemond,,,, what do we think??? this man has a chokehold on me ever since that first episode we saw him in & i’ve finally given in and done something about it asdfghjkl also i can’t make alicent a villain, especially when she’s olivia cooke, im sorry.

masterlist request a fic!

You couldn’t find your daughter.

The last time you saw her had been early in the morning, sending her over to her nursemaids as they took over. She’d be spending majority of the day there, catching up on her reading and slowly beginning to learn more equity. You didn’t like it when the day turned out in such a way, because she was your daughter, and it was technically your job to teach her such things, but when yourself and Aemond became busy at the same times, you had no other choice.

This morning, you were called by Queen Alicent, your mother-in-law, requesting that you spend the majority of the day with her, sharing between both the council room, but also her chambers. She’d asked that you come in on some of the council sessions that would be taking place during the day, aiding her in the errands of the kingdom she was suddenly having to take care of due to the King’s declining health.

(Although, she had also mentioned that she also wished to spend some time with you regardless, seeing as it had been a little too long for her liking. The two of you had gotten along pretty much from the moment you met, with her relishing in the perfect match between yourself and Aemond. Ever since then, you’ve been like another daughter to her.)

You were constantly feeling honoured and a little proud of yourself whenever Queen Alicent would ask specifically for your presence during these meetings - after all, you were only her second son’s wife, with barely any authority placed upon your shoulders when it came to making final decisions like this.

When you’d first told her of your worries of others opinions on your presence there, she’d instantly shut them down. Queen Alicent head adamantly stated that she valued your opinion, not only as a member of her family, but as a woman. She knew you’d go with the options that would be best for the kingdom entirely.

No one had ever said anything to you, despite the lingering glances they’d continue to give you throughout each meeting. You had an idea that the reason nothing had happened was both on the Queen’s orders, and for the fear of your husband’s wrath should you mention just a slither of an occurrence to him.

The reason why Aemond was unable to properly look after your daughter was due to the training he had with Sir Criston Cole in the yard. It was an errand he didn’t enjoy - in fact, every time he knew he had it forthcoming and afterwards on his return, he would grumble and groan about participating in it.

When it came to Aemond, he much preferred staying in with his family, reading some other tome he’d found in the archives of the family library that spoke of extravagant histories. Aemond Targaryen had never been into tourneys and training like that, but, he knew, as was his duty as the second son of the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he needed to learn to protect those close to his heart - his two girls at the top of that list.

So, despite wishing he was anywhere else rather than in that particular yard, as onlookers watched on with beady eyes, he keep himself there. The practice would allow him to feel confident in himself that he could protect his wife and daughter. Not that he would never not try, anyway, but the reassurances were nice.

The bonus was that he was good at it, meaning those of the guard would command that he help protect the rest of the kingdom, alongside them. No one was about to pass up a good warrior like Aemond Targaryen, even if he did grumble and glare at them.

Therefore, due to the both of you being busy with duties neither of you were particularly happy to be doing, you had trusted your only daughter in the care of her nursemaids. Before you’d left her, you promised her that her mother and father would call for her later, at a more suitable time where the three of you could be together as a proper family in the safe confines of your chambers.

It was difficult to really show off the love you had for one another in the way you admired, majority of the time. You couldn’t really do so when roaming the halls of the castle, or when walking some of the better streets of the kingdom.

As royals, it was customary for you to keep straight faces, to smile politely in a nice way, and to only ever speak when you were spoken to, more so than ever seeing as you were a woman. To you, as a princess, the wife to the second son of King Viserys, it was of paramount importance that you taught your own daughter the same thing you were taught, too - to be a lady when seen in public, to be prim and proper, but when safely wrapped in the warm embrace of those your trusted wholeheartedly, be whoever you wanted to be.

Even from a young age, yourself and Aemond did your absolute best to teach her that, knowing it was to be a fundamental part of her personality if she were to survive in this part of the world she was chosen to grow up in. Thankfully (as you’d always say), your daughter had taken after her father immensely in every way, and not just in her appearance, with her violet eyes and silver mane - no, she was also fierce, wishing to one day be wearing a similar armour to her father and wield a sword that represented his.

This dream of hers wouldn’t disappear, no matter how many times you heard others try and quell it. It wouldn’t, though, not when you, Aemond and Queen Alicent herself allowed her to dream whatever she wanted, promising her that one day, they would all come true. And, if it was up to the three of you, you’d make sure it did. Aemond had told her it would, too, many times, but reminding her that, for now, the two of them would have to pretend it was the same when fighting with wooden swords in your private chambers.

And, that’s exactly where you were headed now.

After bidding a swift goodbye to your good mother, promising her that you would make sure to see her again before the day was over (to which she replied, preferably with my son and granddaughter, with a chuckle), you’d gone back to where you’d left your daughter with her nursemaids early that morning. But, upon entering, you noticed she hadn’t been there - no one had.

Despite believing that surely she’d be safe if she was in the company of her nursemaids, knowing they’d protect her with their lives as they had vowed, for just a split second, you could feel your heart dropping to the very bottom of your stomach, feeling as though you were going to throw it up out of nerves. But, you told yourself that everything was fine, willing yourself to calm down, and repeatedly telling yourself that you simply hadn’t checked enough rooms to be completely worried yet.

However, it only spiked up more than ever when you’d gone down to the yard to speak to your husband, wanting to see if maybe he had seen her. Only when you came up short, everything felt worse. Not even Sir Criston was there, meaning you couldn’t question him about anything, even if you’d wanted to.

There was a part of your mind that was desperate to think logically, to think rationally - maybe Aemond had left to see her. Yeah, you’re sure that was it. Still, that one part of your mind wouldn’t stop nagging at you with dangerous, pessimistic thoughts.

Palms sweating and eyes flickering madly from one corner to the other, and then only repeating the same process, desperation is clear in your actions as you tried your damn hardest to keep a levelled composure. You knew it wouldn’t do well for anyone else dwelling in the confines of the kingdom’s walls to see you acting so wildly and brash, not when they were so used to you being the rational one that calms your husband down during his own heightened tempers. There would be no use in causing a mayhem if there was nothing to worry about, which is what you continued to tell yourself, hoping that the more you thought it, the more likely it would be on the other end.

It wasn’t like you could help these particular feelings, either - you were a mother after all, and you were always going to worry. No matter the circumstances, no matter the place, no matter the people… you would always have these lingering doubts that something was wrong with your baby if she was ever not in your’s or your husband’s arms.

That’s why your steps stayed hurried and frantic, and your breaths started to become slightly laboured as you rushed to your shared bedchambers, forcing the doors open and hoping above all hopes - to both the Old Gods and the New - that something would be inside that would give you the answers to calm your racing heart.

And, the sight that greeted you, face-to-face, the moment those doors opened, managed to fill your heart with the upmost of love.

There, standing on your bed, feet bouncing her up, down and around as she yelled out with her squealed, tiny giggles, was your daughter. Her hair was an absolute mess, no longer styled in the plaits you’d given her that morning; strands of silver falling into her face from the length of it - again, wanting to take after her father. It wasn’t bothering her, though, not when there was an elated smile plastered right upon her lips as she attempted to push her father further away from her, hands pulled out in front of her like she was warning him off.

Said husband of yours was continuing to stand at the end of your bed, a teasing, expectant expression on his face, like he was awaiting something. Aemond was slightly hunched over, preparing for the next opening when he could pounce upon your daughter and attack with all the love he had on offer.

As all this was happening, you stayed silent, watching on as the two of them breathed heavily. That was a sure sign that this had possibly been happening for a short while now - as it always would, when she was playing with her father.

“Kepa (father),” she paused, taking another deep breath, the flush of her cheeks apparent as another small giggle escaped from her lips. “Kepa (father), I don’t know!”

Walking ever so slightly closer to her, Aemond tsked, shaking his head. Still, the reading grin never left his features. “Yes, you do, ñuha byke zaldrīzes (my little dragon)…”

My little dragon. You absolutely adored it when he called her that, making you feel proud and domesticated with the two of them, with your little family. And, she was his little dragon, in every aspect - looks, personally, heritage. It would only be a matter of time before she possessed her only companion, and you couldn’t wait to be there with her for that achievement.

However, too caught up in the haze of the love you held so dearly for them, you hadn’t realised your daughter spotted you, her eyes sneakily looking for a way of escape and heart jumping for joy when she spotted you lingering. “Muña (mother)!” her yell pierced through the walls of the chambers, clambering herself off the bed as quick as possible (trying to avoid her father’s arms reaching for her), and wrapping her tiny self around one of your legs, safe beneath your dress and hiding herself behind the material.

Watching her, and noticing what had caught her eye, accompanied by her correct High Valyrian, your lord husband spotted you, as well. His once teasing, mischievous expression instantly turned softer at the sigh of his lady wife, stepping a little closer to the two of you. “My lady wife, I did not expect to see you until later in the day.”

You chuckled, smiling back at him lovingly before reaching a hand out to stroke the top of your daughter’s head, both a motherly gesture and an attempt to brush some of the silver strands back from her flushed face. “As did I,” you replied, “but when I went to check in on Visenya only to find her not there… I panicked.”

With a sympathetic smile, Aemond looked lovingly down at you, at the worry that was still slightly hidden behind your tone of his at your admittance. He reached over until his hand was clasping behind your neck, bringing you forwards and all the more closer to him so he could place a delicate kiss against your forehead. The whole gesture was so loving and tender, so much different in comparison to how he usually portrayed himself anywhere else that wasn’t in your chambers with his little family.

“Kepa came to get me,” your daughter explained, not realising that she was beginning to rat her father out. Her chin was propped up against your leg, looking up at you with such innocent eyes - violet, like her father. “He told me it was time to learn more High Valyrian.”

At her words, you focused your attention back on your husband, cocking a brow at him as your smile slowly faded just a smidge. No one would’ve noticed it, but, Aemond wasn’t no one - he knew you better than he knew himself. He sighed, “I know I should’ve told you, but, I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“You know I always check up on her, Aemond,” you spoke, voice quiet and just a tiny bit exasperated as you reprimanded your husband. You should’ve known Visenya would’ve been with her father all along, for reasons exactly as this one. But, the worry of a mother would always eat away at you until your daughter was back in your own grasp. That’s just how it was - you couldn’t help yourself.

As a second longer passed and the silence stilled within the room, the small slither of annoyance you previously felt dissipated at the apologetic, longing look he was sending you. You always gave in easily when it came to Aemond Targaryen, no matter the face he was pulling at you - he was just that handsome. You could feel a small shift down by your leg, spotting your daughter continuously looking from yourself, then over to her father, trying to fully understand the situation playing out in front of her, and you couldn’t help but feel refreshed again, like you hadn’t had any worries to begin with. “And,” you began, smiling wide down at her, Aemond instantly knowing your next moves just from one look at you, “you know I always like to join in when you learn High Valyrian.”

The moment the last word fell from your lips, you bent down with quick movements, picking her up within your arms and holding her tightly against you before she could even think about trying to run away. She squealed in utter excitement, laughing and giggling all the same, feet kicking upon your sides as she desperately tried to leave your embrace.

“Now,” you began, tilting your head down at her, before looking back up to your husband, “what were you teaching her?”

Aemond began to stand a little further back, already sensing that you were going to join in on what he had been doing to your daughter earlier, and sensing that more chaos was about to be brought forwards, giving you a little more room. After all, this was how the two of you always taught your little Visenya High Valyrian, because, at the end of the day, it worked out in the end, helping her remember her words. Plus, she secretly loved it, too, but, she’d never tell either of you that.

“I was teaching her to say one day, I am going to ride the biggest dragon in the world.” A prideful smile lingered upon his lips after he’d finished, looking at his daughter fondly. There was a look in his eyes that told the two of you he’d make sure it ended up true - he’d make sure the two of you always got what you deserved, and more. That was his role as husband and father, and he would continue to do so until the Stranger forced him to go.

You gasped mockingly, looking back down at your little girl, pretend disbelief marring your features. Visenya had stopped in her attempts to escape since, now looking up at you with her doe eyes, a small, subtle smile on her lips, waiting. “You know how to say that, my sweet girl,” you cooed sweetly, “kepa (father) taught you not too long ago.”

The memory came back to you instantly, of Aemond speaking about how excited he was of your daughter claiming her own dragon egg to you. It was something that had been on his mind practically since the day you found out you were expecting, and ever since then, he’d gone on about it. So, of course, he was going to teach your daughter how to boldly proclaim such a thing. It was all he wanted to hear from her.

Visenya’s face scrunched up when you’d reminded her she’d been taught it not too long ago, raising her hands in the air like the little drama queen she is. “I know, but I can’t remember!”

“Well,” you began, pointedly, in a sweet tone that had a lingering tease within it, one that came accompanied with a look that instantly told your husband that the usual was about to happen. “You know what happens when you can’t remember…” you gave a pause for more effect, sneakily looking down upon her before the biggest smile broke out upon your features, instantly digging your fingers into her sides as you began tickling her. Even more giggles than before erupted throughout your bedchambers, mixed in with both pleads and begs for you to stop, but, you wouldn’t. It was obvious she was having a fun time just from the sounds she was emitting.

Continuing on with your playful attack, you moved the two of you over in the direction of your bed, lying her down on her back as her little legs kicked in the air, trying to feign you off. Aemond came up beside you, looking down upon his family with loving eyes, laughing at your daughter’s demise, her peals of delight capturing his heart and squeezing it tight.

There was nothing he simply loved more than being trapped within his chambers - something he enjoyed before he’d met you, anyway, preferring his own company rather than having to pretend around others - but, that had only intensified when his two girls came tottering along, looking for someone to cling onto and protect them, something he’d always do even in his sleep.

Nowadays, he never truly complained or minded as much when he had to go about his duties and pretend to be someone he wasn’t really, putting on a front just to please some overweight lords who wanted to get in his family’s good books - not when it meant he had something special waiting for him towards the end of the day when he returned home.

Aemond Targaryen had the two of you under his dragon wings, arms wrapped firmly around him and not letting go any time soon, and he couldn’t ask for anything more… not when, already, he’d felt like he’d accomplished everything within his life.

[kingdoms-and-empires]

The King's Hound Review

I recently had to go travel and read a few works that I never got around to reading but was interested in.

PLEASE REMEMBER THIS REVIEW IS DONE BY ME AS A READER AND IS MY OWN OPINION.

This means I will review in accordance to my own tastes, how the game caters to me, and what I feel. Do not take my word as gospel, what I may not be interested in or dislike, may be what YOU are interested and love!!!

@the-kingshound

Synopsis:

You are the King’s spouse, his right and left hand, the unstoppable executor of his will. Your name is whispered by enemies and allies with fear and respect alike, some says it’s your arm that bears the weight of the entire kingdom.

They call you the King’s hound. It started as a way to taunt you but it’s not that far away from the truth. Your loyalty is blind, your devotion absolute. The King’s vision is your vision.

Your name will forever mark history alongside theirs.

But for now, you are being shipped to your betrothed, alone and powerless on your way to Camelot.

As the seventh child of the Venegard House, you’ve always had little to look forward to other than an arranged marriage to achieve a political alliance.

That’s exactly why, after your parents lost the rebellion against King Arthur, you were the one sent to him as a sign of newfound peace.

You don’t know what awaits you now, but after you Camelot will never be the same.

Review:

The Good: The project is 18+, and the writing is very well done. It just feels quality. Plus the UI and and dark background are classy. The game is Twine, so you get the save functions of Twine and all that jazz. Anyways, descriptions are well done, the worldbuilding is grounded and helps form the politics in-game. It's thought-out and noticeable. The player customization goes hard and you even get the option to play mute! In The King's Hound, you also find a game that provides the LGBTQ+ demographic and FemMC playing community a welcoming and acknowledging home. The descriptions of the fight scenes and battles (like action set pieces) are good and don't leave you scratching your head. The transitions between paragraphs and pages happen naturally and without breaking pace, which shows the talent of a writer that considers their audience. Also, in regards to the King Arthur mythos and worldbuilding done by the author, i just really appreciate the fact that Camelot is Welsh.

It just gives me an idea of how much the author researched or cares about the mythos to give that respect of origin for the story. I had problems with how King Arthur was being super nice at first, but the author recently stated in a post that Arthur was acting in such a manner because he is deliberately trying to be the opposite of King Uther!

And that in the future, the work will offer more text to reveal that to us, the player.

The Bad: I wouldve liked being able to marry a cousin, niece, sister, or even daughter of King Arthur (or genderbender him) but that is literally my only complaint as a straight dude tryna self insert. The author tells you explicitly that you are marrying the king. If the author decides not to, as is their right and vision, I have no problem whatsoever. I still think the work is well written, and has many elements that i personally fuck with (low fantasy, grounded narrative, adult themes) The fact that i wish the author could change this, is only because i like the work so much. Instead, in this playthrough King Arthur will find that the MC practices

The Ugly: The MAP. But that's only because my history buff mind thinks of the British Isle when hearing these names and when i saw the map it physically gave me whiplash. But youre making your own version of the story, so bully!

The Aftermath: I know this game isnt catered towards me as a straight dude. It is a proud queer game with quality writing, that'd also do really well for the FemMC readers. I would recommend this game to anyone who wants a low fantasy medieval setting, with good writing, and grounded narratives that isn't a straight dude's traditional power fantasy.

Next playthrough, ima be a mute straight girl thatll hoe around King Arthur's court out of sheer spite

^Marci from Dota: Dragon Blood