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skzdarlings · 9 months ago

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the kingsguard ; jisung x reader ; part iii

pairing: han jisung/reader summary: You are a queen. He is a kingsguard - a member of a holy order that vows to defend the king in the name of the gods. They forsake all earthly goods and swear a vow of chastity to avoid worldly temptation. When he stands in as proxy for the royal wedding, all those vows are tested.

content info: reader is described with curly hair, mention of curves.

content warnings: a royal affair between queen reader and guard jisung. the king is a violently abusive man and continues to disrespect reader in this part. this chapter has an additional content warning for violence, assasination attempts and explicit sexual content: guided masturbation, mirror action, and skirting the breaking of chastity vows.

word count: 13000 words.

As promised, rest comes an hour later. Some stay in the woods with the wagons while the king and his party make for the nearby village.

The edge of the forest slopes downhill, the bustling city centre at its base. Civilians gather to watch the arrival of the royal retinue. Most villagers duck out of the king’s path well before he reaches them. You suppose the party might have stopped at this village on the journey in and you can believe the king did not leave a kind impression on its denizens.

You struggle with your skirts on the steepest slope. Because your husband pays you no mind, Jisung helps you, swishing back the length of his own robes as he climbs onto a boulder to reach you. You thank him, placing your hands on his shoulders while he clasps your waist. He swings you down on the path.

No sooner have you stepped down does a little voice ask, “Is that the queen? Why is her hair down?”

You look over. Some children are gathered nearby, staring at you with wide, curious eyes. A mother scolds the loud one, putting a hand over the child’s mouth.

“Your Majesty, I’m sorry,” the woman says, bowing deeper than necessary.

“It’s all right,” you say. You smile, maintaining some distance as the children seem skittish. You drop into a crouch to look at them. “Yes, I am the queen,” you say. “I’m sorry I’m bit dishevelled. The road is very bumpy and I was quite uncomfortable, but I am very happy to be in your village now.”

When they determine you are not going to lash out at them, the children get closer. Soon they are all yammering away, each of them wanting your attention for an introduction or story.

“Can you have lunch with us?” a little boy asks. He looks back at the woman. “Mama, can the queen have lunch with us?”

“Oh, I would love to,” you say, smiling to placate the very startled woman. “But my guard needs to eat too and we shouldn’t keep the others waiting.”

“He can come too!” a little girl says.

A little boy goes right up to Jisung, his eyes wide with awe. Though Jisung is not especially tall, the boy looks at him as though he is a towering titan.

“Whoa,” the boy says. “Are you a real kingsguard?”

“Aha, I am,” Jisung says. “Are you?”

“Me?” the boy asks. “I’m not a kingsguard!”

The children all squeal with laughter while Jisung grins down at them. You find yourself smiling too, surprised by how easily and naturally it comes.

“Is that your sword?” one of the children asks, tugging on his black robe but eying the silver sword hilt. “Can I touch it?”

“Ah, maybe no pointy objects,” Jisung says, giggling nervously.

“What’s the delay?” Chan strides over. The king has already entered a nearby inn to eat and drink. A few kingsguards linger outside, minding the door.

Remembering your actual place, your smile fades. You stand and smooth the creases of your skirt. You remember the king insulting your appearance and making comments about weight, so you are not particularly keen to sit down and eat a meal with him. Anxiety swallows your hunger.

“We were invited to lunch,” Jisung says, laughing. He looks from Chan to you, his grin faltering when he sees your solemn expression.

Chan notices too. His thoughtful gaze flicks between you and the children. After some deliberation, he nods.

“Right,” he says. “The king is occupied anyway. Would you like to spend time in the village instead?”

Your heart brightens. You nod.

“I’ll send Jeongin for extra security,” Chan says. He shoots Jisung a stern look. “Protect the queen.”

“Always,” Jisung says, hand over his heart as he bows.

It is just his duty, but that brightness in your heart turns incandescent with joy.

You sit with several villagers at tables in the square. There is more food than you can reasonably eat as several different families jump at the opportunity to feed the queen, at least once they realize you are more polite than the king. You easily eat your fill.

Jeongin and Jisung stand behind you, eating their own food as they pace and supervise. At one point, they agree to let the children see their swords. They even conduct a short bout of fencing while their little crowd oohs-and-awes.

You chat with the local craftsmen and some working women. One of them makes a less than flattering comment about the king’s manners. It garners Jeongin’s keen eye. When the kingsguard looks over, the villager ducks his head in shame, but he does not retract the comment either.

You do not say anything, merely remark that you are proud to be chosen by the gods and you are serious about the responsibility they have bestowed upon you.

“I care about this land very much,” you say.

“Well, we’re all just glad someone at the capital does,” a worker says.

“The gods have chosen a queen we can be proud of,” says another.

You are better at offering kind words than receiving them. You demure and look away. When your gaze wanders, you see Jisung already looking at you. He nods, offering you a smile so warm and kind that it leaves you even more flustered than before.

Lunch ends and the king returns. The villagers wave until you crest the hill, then it is a quiet trek to the horses and carriages. The group in the woods have packed away their things too. Everyone is ready to depart.

The king once again disappears without acknowledging you. Jisung helps you onto the horse, holding it steady while you mount, then he swings up behind you. A little girl gave you a ribbon to tie your hair, but he still gently brushes the low tail aside. He is wearing black riding gloves, the leather up to his knuckles, his fingertips bare as they leave goosebumps on your nape.

It does not take long to get back on the road. This path dips towards the sea and the great cliffs, so this is the last city for a while as the forest trail winds uphill. The next village is a day away. It lays on the other side of the descent, so camp will be constructed in the woods tonight.

You are not sure if you will be sharing a tent with the king. He claimed he would not have you until back in the capital, but that was before his mistress ran off. You shudder, imagining him taking those frustrations out on you. You may have to put that sleeping draft to use sooner than later.

“Are you cold?” Jisung asks.

Before you can answer, he presses his hand gently on the curve of your hip, guiding you back, closer to him. He is just offering his body warmth, mistaking your shiver for a chill. You remind yourself that he is a kingsguard. He has sworn a vow of chastity that he takes pride in maintaining. You are the silly one, starved for a kind touch, who feels the burning imprint of his palm long enough after he stops.

The journey continues. Songs are sung to pass the time, though Chan throws a look over his shoulder when Jisung starts a relatively dirty one. Jisung presses his lips together, smothering a laugh.

You suspect his relentlessly goofy shenanigans are for your benefit. He keeps trying to make you laugh and it keeps working. You find yourself giggling helplessly into your hands on more than one occasion. He seems determined to wring an embarrassingly loud guffaw out of you.

The joviality does not last.

No one is expecting the arrow that flies straight through the window into the queen’s carriage. You and Jisung are a few feet behind it and he rears back, swift but startled, the horse baying its own agitation. You also yelp, clutching the saddle as he steadies the horse.

Minho was close so he also rears back, settling faster without the extra weight.

“Arrow!” he shouts. It starts a cascade of action, the guards shouting orders back and forth to each other.

You do not really hear them. Your heart pounds from the sudden jolt, but it worsens as you stare at the carriage. If you had still been in there, that arrow could have pierced a leg, shoulder, or even your throat.

“Jisung…” you say, voice wobbling.

He lays a protective hand across your middle, all his silly theatricality gone, replaced with a sterner determination. His eyes dart around the treeline. His moves the horse just in time for another arrow to whizz past.

Chaos unfolds as a veritable horde pours out of the treeline, charging the royal train.

You never fathomed being at the centre of such violent mania. You were always safe and sheltered at home with bandits and assassins relegated to the world of stories. You fantasized you would be brave under duress, but the reality of such quick-moving danger is very different than a slow-told story.

You are terrified, especially after two close calls, though you have no time to consider the coincidence. You are too lost in panic, clutching your chest like you can restrain your racing heart.

The kingsguards take formation to combat the onslaught. Jisung opts to retreat, prioritizing your safety, especially when another arrow flies your way. He is quick dodging it, racing further down the line.

Chan seamlessly takes down an adversary while shouting, “Get the queen to higher ground! Hyunjin! Go with them! Fuck, I wish Felix was here. Go!”

While Chan barks orders, you look at the man he cut down. Even though these bandits are the instigators, it is still a vile sight. You have never seen a man die under such violence. Your panicked heart seems to stutter and stop and start again.

Jisung is unphased, quick to follow Chan’s orders. He turns the horse and gallops towards the opposite treeline. Hyunjin comes thundering after you.

All the kingsguards are armed with an array of weapons but it is fairly obvious which tools are favoured by which guards. Hyunjin has the most arrows and the most elaborate bow. You wonder if Felix was the other bowman, hence Chan’s exclamation.

They race you through the trees. You can only trust they know their way, seeking higher ground where they can defend you until the horde has been dispatched.

You look back and shriek. Some bandits are giving chase on horseback. You have never moved this quickly in all your life but it still feels too slow.

“Hyunjin,” Jisung says, loud but calm.

They criss-cross their horses, racing past each other. With rapid-fire precision, Hyunjin drops his reins, seizes his bow, and fires a shot behind him. It knocks the closest bandit off his horse. The other three fall back and continue their pursuit at a safer distance.

Hyunjin takes his reins. The horses cross each other again, making it difficult for anyone to get a clean shot at you.

All you can do is hold on for dear life, keeping your eyes ahead. The guards race uphill. Once situated at an advantage, Hyunjin dismounts and takes position, firing an arrow without delay. The bandits below duck and take cover. You curl towards Jisung when they fire an arrow back.

“Take her further in,” Hyunjin says, lining up another shot. “I have this.”

Jisung continues into the woods. You are very far from the trail now, surrounded by clusters of tightly packed trees. Weaving in and out slows your pace.

After a time, Jisung eases his horse to a stop, giving you both a moment to catch your breath.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

His hands are thoughtless with his concern. More intimately than a guard should, his comforting hand settles on the back of your neck, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle. The other pats your side to inspect any injuries.

“I’m fine,” you say, though your shaking voice betrays you. “Against all odds.”

“Against all odds,” he repeats with an airy laugh.

You let out a laugh too, halfway to a sob, an exhale of emotion.

You look at him. You are curled right into him, his hand on your nape, the other wrapped protectively around your waist. Your heart is a wild animal, frantic in your chest, and adrenaline fills your whole body with warmth. When you meet his gaze, that warmth gathers low. It finds all that tangled anxiety and loosens every knot.

His thumb slows. The arm around your waist lifts, just a bit, his hand hovering. He seems to realize you are too close but his own adrenaline holds him. He does not let go, though he knows he should, instead staring back at you, his dark eyes running all over your face.

“Your eyes are so—” he starts then stops. His face contorts with more terror than it showed during the attack.

“Pardon?” you say.

He swallows. You watch the bob of his throat.

“I mean—” he starts, but then he hears something. The softness in his gaze hardens as he whips his head up, catching sight of different bandits approaching on foot.

“They’re after me, aren’t they?” you say, thinking of the arrow in that carriage, the men on horseback. You are not sure if they intend to kill you or ransom you, but it is obvious they are less interested in the wagons than you.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jisung says, seizing the reins. “They won’t have you.”

He is faster on horseback but the trees are so dense that it is still slow-moving. The bandits on foot gain speed. One lets loose an arrow. Jisung dodges it, but the next arrow flies so close that you feel the wind as it breezes past your face.

“Fuck,” Jisung says. His arm tightens around your waist, so firm it steals your breath. “Hold on,” he says. “We need to dismount quickly.”

His idea of a quick dismount is essentially throwing himself off the horse. It surprises the bandits but it also surprises you, wrenching a scream as you fly towards the forest floor. He keeps his grip and yanks you into his arms.

“Run,” he says, taking hold of your hand. “And get behind me when I say.”

You run through the trees, holding your skirts in one hand and his hand in the other. He is much faster but your adrenaline propels you. You already anticipated sore legs from so long on horseback, but you are going to be in agony from so much running. Of course, that is provided you survive that long.

“Jisung,” you say in a warning voice. The treeline ends up ahead but it does not open into a clearing; it opens to the edge of a cliff, looming over the sea. You can smell the brine before you see the blue beyond the branches.

Jisung does not seem surprised. He barrels right towards it. When the edge nears, so close you can hear the ocean crashing into the cliff face below, he spins on his heel. Somewhere in the swirl of black cloth, he draws his sword, twisting it in the air and catching it as swiftly. He braces himself in a fighting stance.

“Get behind me,” he says. “And maybe close your eyes.”

His first order is easy, your shaking legs happy to halt. The second order is more complicated because you cannot help but watch as he runs straight towards the three adversaries. Your own adrenaline peaks. You want to chase after him and somehow help, but your remaining sense wrestles that instinct back under control. There is nothing you can do.

He does not need help anyway. Someone charges him but he disarms the man in two short moves. You do not even see the moment Jisung reaches back, but suddenly there is a knife in his other hand and he sends it hurtling towards the farthest opponent. It thunks into the man’s chest and the spurt of blood startles you out of your frozen panic. You finally obey his second command and close your eyes, covering them with your hands for good measure.

You have many skills but swordplay is not one of them. You do not like the sight of gore. You never imagined needing a stomach for it. Is this my life now? you think, trembling to the sound of metal on metal.

Through all your fear, there is one constant reassurance: Jisung will protect you. You do not doubt him for a moment.

When someone touches your shoulder, you do not scream, knowing it is him before you open your eyes.

Those familiar brown eyes gaze back at you. You release a long held breath in an embarrassing sputter, eyes filling with tears.

“It’s okay,” he says, cupping your cheek, the leather glove warm against your skin.

You are shaking with adrenaline, your hands still raised. You look behind him and see three bodies strewn across the forest floor.

He moves his head to block the view. He carefully takes your quivering hands. He squeezes one gently.

“I know, it’s a lot,” he says. “The first time is the worst. You’ll be okay.”

The first time. There will be more. Of course there will be more. Your shaking worsens with the thought.

You cannot find your voice. You lift your eyes and meet his gaze, imploring with a glance and nothing more. His lower lip wobbles with an unsteady breath, his brow furrowed. His eyes are deeply sympathetic.

He seems to battle some internal thought before he shakes his head and surrenders. He brings your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles. His other hand goes behind your head then he pulls you towards him, wrapping you in a tight embrace.

You grab him around the middle, burying your face in his neck. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly against his steadier body, but his relative calm tempers you. Some of your hair has fluttered loose from the ribbon, unsurprisingly, and he smooths it down.

“It’s okay,” he says.

Your shaking slows but your heart still races, all that anxiety twisting again. You keep your arms around him, lifting your head as you ask, “Are there more?”

As if in reply, there is a disturbance in the trees. Jisung spins and draws his sword again. He sweeps you behind him, blocking your body with his own.

Hyunjin emerges from the trees on horseback, a hand on his bow and the other clutching his reins. Jisung exhales then curses, sheathing his sword.

“You missed all the fun,” Jisung says as Hyunjin rides past the bodies. “Were you fixing your hair?”

“Funny,” Hyunjin replies dryly. “Where’s your horse?”

“She’ll find her way,” Jisung says. “Are there more of them?”

“There might be,” Hyunjin says. He dismounts and walks up to Jisung. They clasp hands but do not linger, both scrutinizing the forest, their gazes calculating. “I don’t like this,” Hyunjin says. “That wasn’t a robbery. They were after—” He glances at you but does not say it out loud.

You look at Hyunjin, at the long hair that has come loose from his tie, the sweat along his forehead, the sharpness of his gaze. You remember him getting catty with Seungmin, his haughty expression and pointed glance. That playful agitation was very different from his expression now. Rage burns behind his dark eyes.

“Whoever planned this,” he says, bitingly, “is targeting the gods, as far as I’m concerned. And I don’t care who he thinks he is.” He swings his sword free just to stab it into the ground. “And I don’t care what Chan has to say about it. This an offense too fucking far. She’s the queen.”

“I know,” Jisung says, softer but just as thoughtful. He looks at you, pity in his eyes. “It’s not right at all.”

“Fuck this.” Hyunjin yanks his sword out of the ground and sheathes it again.

That anxiety turns to lead inside you, your stomach sinking. You want to curl up on the ground and stay there. Even Hyunjin has deduced the attack was too targeted to be a coincidence. He is trying to sound vague but you hear the underlying accusation in his thoughts.

Someone wanted to kill you and someone was probably the king.

It makes sense. The union has been sealed. The money has been granted. The only thing that would stop him from killing you is a sense of honour and responsibility, but this king has neither. Of course he would try and eliminate you, but he could not do it himself. The king is a font of power, a representative of the gods on earth, but he is bound to his own holy vows. The queen is chosen by the gods. He cannot kill you himself as that would be an unholy offense.

No, if he wanted you dead, he would have someone else do it, and he would never consult the kingsguard on the matter, knowing their holy order would be vehemently opposed. The kingsguard protects the king. It also metes his punishment if he betrays the gods. It is why their own oath-breaking is so serious a crime.

Before further accusations can be made, distant shouts carry through the woods. It is not the kingsguard, nor any of the king’s men.

Jisung unsheathes his sword. Hyunjin draws his bow.

“Get the queen out of here,” Hyunjin says.

“Where are we supposed to go?” you ask, shoulders already shaking as the voices get louder.

Jisung turns around. His eyes dart right past you but there is nothing there except the expanse of sea. He stares at the open water, shimmering under the afternoon sun.

He looks at Hyunjin. Hyunjin seems to understand him without any exchange of words.

“You’re crazy, but I guess you’ve had worse ideas,” Hyunjin says and sighs.

“As usual, Hyunjin, your confidence in me is inspiring.”

“I miss when we hated each other.”

“I love you too, man,” Jisung says. “We’ll meet you at the inn. Tell Chan we took a shortcut.”

Hyunjin snorts and shakes his head. The guards part ways. Hyunjin swings onto his horse and rides towards the noise while Jisung sheathes his sword and sprints back to you.

You take his hands the second he offers them, needing the comfort. He squeezes yours tightly.

“You trust me, right?” he says.

“Trust you? Of course. Why do you ask like that?” you say hesitantly. “You’re not about to suggest something crazy, are you?”

“What?” His eyebrows jump. “Crazy? Me? Of course not. I mean, if it makes you feel better, I don’t have to say out loud—” He looks sideways again.

A sea bird calls as it swings over the water.

“You are not going to suggest we go over the cliff.” Your voice shatters on a high-pitched squeak.

“If anyone else comes this way, they won’t assume we went over!” he answers quickly. “They’ll assume we went farther into the woods and look for us there! It’s perfect!”

“Yes!” you say. “They will assume that! Because that is the sensible direction to go, not over a cliff into the sea! Over the cliff! Over the cliff!”

While you rant, he removes his leather riding gloves. You fall silent when he touches you, his bare palm curved around the slope of your jaw. He guides your face to his so he can look at you, really look at you, his eyes intense.

“Trust me,” he says. “I swear on my life and my honour as a kingsguard. My queen. Please. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

Those intense eyes first found you in a room full of people who looked right past you. They have found you again and again.

You exhale.

“Yes,” you say, scarcely more than a breath. “All right. I trust you, Han Jisung.”

“Hold my hand,” he says, drawing you close. “We’re high but not fatally high. It shouldn’t hurt but we are going to break the surface quickly. Whatever happens, don’t let go of my hand.”

“I won’t,” you say. “I promise.”

He squeezes your hand. You squeeze back.

You never had a fear of heights but maybe that was relative. Taking a running leap off a cliff is certainly one way to find out for sure.

It seems feasible with your eyes ahead, the sea rolling out in a vast carpet before you. Then your feet leave the ground and it feels as though the cosmos shift and the entire universe drops out under you.

It lasts an eternity but also seconds. You break the surface quickly, just like he said, with a crash more forceful than the white waves on the cliff-face. It feels like a shatter in the fabric of reality. For half a heartbeat, you think it killed you, the force so impossibly brutal.

Then it settles. You open your eyes underwater. As promised, Jisung did not let go of your hand even though you landed heavier and faster, weighing more especially with your dress.

Your dress.

You try kicking towards him. He is pulling your arm but it only draws him deeper, sinking with you. His black robes swirl around him, the material light and loose in the water, but your dress turns into a silk anchor.

An instinctive cry leaves your lips, a desperate attempt to say his name, but it bursts in a flurry of bubbles.

You grab at him when he kicks down towards you. He guides your arms around his neck. You cling to him, not thinking sensibly but with the frantic desperation of a dying animal.

You do not pray to the silent gods. You put all your faith in Jisung.

He does not let you down.

Jisung tears the back of your dress, ripping apart the seams with his bare hands. You feel the threads pucker and pop, the cloying material giving way around your neck. You help him, pulling at the neck and pushing at the sleeves. You get the bodice down your hips, then the rest falls away. It sinks without hindrance. You are left in a white shift, long but light, so freeing that you can practically taste the air.

Jisung grabs you. You cling to him. Together, you kick towards the surface. You shoot through it with a gasping breath, coughing and sputtering.

He shakes his head, whipping water droplets everywhere, then smooths his hair back in a single sweep. The blackness of his hair looks even darker when wet, an obsidian tinted blue in the sunlight and seawater. You think it is ridiculous how he cannot look bad even when soaking wet, while you feel like a drowned rat, your copious amounts of hair plastered to your face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, laughing in spite of himself.

You splash him and he laughs some more.

“If that wasn’t your worst idea ever,” you say, “I’m not sure I want to know what was.”

“No, probably not,” he says, still giggling as he paddles towards you.

You duck underwater to smooth back your hair. When you surface, he is even closer than before. The flow of the water pushes your bodies together. There is very little between you, black and white material so thin you can feel his body heat. You are not sure if that racing heart is his or yours.

Your hands find his shoulders instinctively. He keeps his arms out, treading water, keeping you both afloat.

“I—” he starts then stops, staring into your face. He releases a breath. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get to the shore.”

You emerge from the water, drenched and dripping, your white shift not only translucent but clinging to every curve. You notice first and a fiery storm of embarrassment ignites inside you. You wrap an arm over your ample chest and try to tug the material away from other sensitive places.

Jisung has his back to you. He is wringing out his black robes as best he can. When he does see you, his eyes widen, then he slips on nothing and faceplants in the sand. The tiny grains stick to his wet body like a second skin.

It makes you feel a little better about your own state, watching as he lifts his sand-covered face off the ground. You laugh and also apologize for laughing as he gets back in the water to wash it all off.

“Um, right,” he says, still scrubbing his face as he marches ashore. He does not look at you, glaring ahead at nothing while pushing his hair back. “Just… just wait.”

He gathers the hem of his robe to squeeze it dry. He determinedly keeps his eyes off you, muttering what sounds like a prayer.

You are about to make a comment, a joke at your own expense, when he abruptly strips off a layer.

Your eyes widen as you stare at his back.

It is true that Jisung is not as bulky as Chan or Changbin or even Jeongin. His build is a more slender athleticism. Those robes nonetheless concealed more than you thought. His under layer is far more revealing, a sleeveless black shirt and pants. His shoulders have a fair breadth, sturdy and strong, and his torso tapers down to a slim waist. His exposed arms move with a subtle musculature that catches you off guard.

You already considered him objectively handsome, but the starkness of his sudden masculinity has your knees knocking. A regular man seems to emerge from the robes of the kingsguard and that is somehow more intimidating. You feel your own exposure more keenly.

Jisung folds the material over his fists and wrings it tightly. It makes the soft slope of his lean biceps strain.

You drop your gaze too. It makes for a comical effort when he tries to pass you the robe when neither of you is looking.

In the end, he turns around, holding the robe to block his face. You laugh shyly and step into it. He wraps it around your shoulders and you pull your arms through. Even though it is also wet, it does a better job of preserving your modesty.

“Thank you,” you say. You meet his gaze and say sincerely, “For everything.”

He laughs a short laugh. It sounds more disbelieving than truly humorous.

He tilts his head as he looks at you, like there is something he does not understand. It makes your stomach twist and your heart skip. Even when he caught a glimpse of your body, it did not feel as raw as this regard. He looks at you and he sees through to something far deeper than skin and much more vulnerable.

“You know,” he finally says, “the king has never thanked me for anything.”

You do not know what to say to that. You hold the neck of the borrowed robe closed, fidgeting with it. He seems to remember himself and he shakes his head. He looks away, towards the trees that line the beach.

“Ahh,” he says. “It’s fine. The king shouldn’t have to thank me. Neither do you. It’s my duty.”

“It’s not because I have to,” you say defensively. “I want to. Jisung, I want you to know that it wasn’t meaningless. Everything you’ve done – I appreciate it. I appreciate you.”

He looks at you again, his face a storm of different emotions. The pinch of his brow looks almost sad. It makes you want to reach out and touch his face, smooth out his features under your fingers.

He steps back before you can.

“My Queen,” he says, bowing. He does not look at you when he stands, strutting past, heading down the beach. “Come on,” he says. “It’s still a couple hours to the city from here.”

You walk on foot to the next city, the one that will take the retinue a day to reach. Going over the cliff is certainly faster than travelling through the forest path, though obviously a less sensible approach. You entertain yourself with thoughts of the king’s carriage careening over the cliff.

It is a warm summer’s day so your wet clothes do not bother you. It feels rather refreshing. With the king far behind you, you can breathe a little easier.

You and Jisung amble along the beach. There is an awkward silence at first. Though he was chatty on horseback, having the other guards around made the conversations feel less personal. Now it is just you and him.

Fortunately, he is a natural showman. It does not take much to wrestle funny stories out of him. He has many, gleefully recounting every embarrassing story about his fellow guards. He tells you how he and Hyunjin didn’t get along at first. When you ask if it was for any political or religious reason, he laughs and says, “Nope! Just hated that handsome face. Seriously, who looks like that? Everything he did was annoying because he did it with that stupid smoulder.”

You laugh. At least an hour has passed and the sun has dried your clothes now. Your curly hair is partially dry but a tangled mess. Everything feels a little stiff and grimy with seawater, but you hardly care. Here, under the sun, cool from your impromptu swim, you feel more alive than you have in weeks.

“Why would it matter if he’s so handsome?” you ask. “With all due respect, it’s not as though that is especially handy in your occupation…”

He laughs maniacally at that. You swat his arm.

“It’s a valid question!” you exclaim.

“It is! It is!” he says, hands up in surrender. “And I don’t know, ha-ha. Old habits, I guess.”

“It wasn’t hard?” you ask. “Giving up your worldly goods? Swearing your vows?”

“No,” he says, a little more serious. He looks down at the ground, kicking a little stone. “I didn’t have much to my name. And for the other part – ah. It’s never been that hard for me, to be honest. Serving the gods felt right. Before I was a guard, I didn’t really have a purpose. A reason to be here on this earth. But now… now I do.”

“I see.”

“Did you…” He clears his throat. He seems to know his question is audacious, inappropriate for a guard, but you give him an encouraging look. Maybe because you are alone, or maybe because you have shared an ordeal, or maybe because you are in his robes, he gives in. “Did you ever want a different life?” he asks. He then winces as if suddenly remembering last night. “Sorry,” he says. “That insensitive. I’m sure you—”

“It’s all right,” you say. “I know what you mean. It’s just… the question is a little overwhelming.” You look across the sea and stare at the long edge of the horizon. “Last night… I felt a lot of things for the first time. I didn’t really know how to process it. I grew up with expectations. I didn’t know I would marry a king but I was raised to expect a match. I knew I was in a position of privilege and that meant conceding other things. I… I just wanted to make things good for other people. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“It does,” he says sincerely.

You smile at each other.

“Good,” you say. There is a moment of silence. You look at the horizon again. “I don’t think I really know how to want something, to be honest,” you say, more to yourself than to him. “Not deeply. Not truly. I was wealthy. All my needs were met. I was never aimless. I always had someone telling me what to do. If there was ever time I wanted something, something I couldn’t have, I don’t remember. Maybe that’s for the best. I imagine that would be more painful than not wanting at all, right? Maybe it’s better to simply commit to duty. But I don’t know if that makes sense either.”

“It… it does,” he says. “It does.”

You eventually leave the beach and cross a short forest trail, intersecting the path the royal train will ride tomorrow. You walk into the city and look for the inn. It will be empty tonight in preparation for the royal visit tomorrow.

You reach the doors at dusk. The innkeepers recognize the kingsguard and usher you both inside. When Jisung introduces you as the queen, they fall over themselves, apologizing for being unprepared.

“It’s all right,” you say. You share a laughing glance with Jisung. “We took an unexpected shortcut.”

You are seated by a fireplace and given some food while they prepare a room for you. The innkeeper’s wife provides you with a more appropriate cover so you can return Jisung’s robes. He drapes them loosely around his shoulders but they are stiff with sea salt. Fortunately, you will both have an opportunity to wash.

When the room is ready, the innkeeper’s wife escorts you upstairs. She has prepared a bath in the bedchamber.

Jisung departs for a moment, just long enough to wash himself in another room. His outer robes are taken to be washed along with your grimy shift, though he stays in his shirt and pants as a kingsguard is not supposed to wear anything but his uniform. His spare robes are in his saddlebags.

You wash your hair while the bath water is hot. You try to focus on the heat, the water sluicing over your skin. You fight to keep your panic down as you think about encountering the king tomorrow.

You are wringing out your hair when the door opens. At first, you think it is the innkeeper’s wife returning for some reason. When you see it is Jisung, you duck down so the water covers your shoulders.

Jisung stumbles to a stop, eyes widening when he sees you in the tub.

“Oh!” he says. He spins around and walks right into the door.

You cover your mouth, watching as he stumbles back into the room, holding his face. For such a skilled swordsman, he can be remarkably clumsy.

“Are you okay?” you ask. You kneel in the deep tub, pressing yourself to the edge so it covers everything sensitive.

“Fine,” he says, pinching his nose. He waves a hand in your direction. “Fine. Sorry. They told me you were washing, just not in a bath.”

“They just sent you in here?” you ask. “Why?”

“Uh, well, I mean…” He dances over the threshold, rocking back and forth with uncertainty. He keeps his back to you. “I mean, it, uh, it is my job to, um, watch you.”

“In the bath?” you ask dryly.

“Well, everywhere.” He pinches his nose again and takes a breath. “It’s not unusual. The vows and – you know. The kingsguard is a different order. The gods see everything and we serve the gods. It, uh, it is fairly normal for at least one guard to be around at all times, regardless how the king… or queen… is… um… occupied.”

You feel a bit flushed, not just from the hot water.

“At all times?” you ask.

“Yup,” he says, popping the syllable. “The king used to have Felix stand guard in the room all night, even when he was with his mistress and ohhh wait a minute. Wait a minute. Hold on. I think I just put something together. Yeah, wow, okay. That was probably a bad idea for everyone involved.”

He always makes you laugh, even when you feel anxious or embarrassed. It untangles that knot of dread faster than anything else.

You fold your arms on the rim of the tub and rest your cheek there. He is still standing with his back to you, the door open. It is letting in a slight draft.

“Jisung,” you say. “It’s your duty. It’s fine. Can you please come inside and close the door? It’s getting cold.”

“Ah. Right. Okay. Sorry.” He finally enters the room, though he pointedly does not look in your direction. He busies himself with closing and bolting the door, taking far too long testing the locks.

His hair is a bit damp. He runs his fingers through it and your own fingers twitch. You have never wondered what it would feel like to run your fingers through someone else’s hair, not until now. His hair looks like it would be pleasant to the touch.

You shake your head and look away. Such foolish thoughts. You settle in your bath and leave Jisung to his busy work. He inspects every corner of the room and verifies the windows are securely sealed and locked. Eventually, he seats himself in a chair near the fireplace, warming his hands and staring into the flames.

You absently splash a bit of water, watching the droplets plink around you. Your thoughts stray to the king then his absent mistress. You cannot imagine any woman willingly and happily submitting to that man. You wonder when she and her kingsguard connected. You are glad she got away. You hope it stays that way for their sake.

Your own future is less certain. The king wants you dead. You do not know if he will make another attempt soon or if he will concede defeat for the time being. You already know he will never like you. It is obvious he is not that type of man. He was born to power, raised believing he was divine. Rather than use that blessing to aid his people, it has given him a cruel sense of superiority over them.

The best outcome is that he will decide it is too much work to kill you.

Or maybe death would be better. You thought so last night, which seems so long ago now. You remember the king’s violent hands on you, the demands he made, the way he looked right through you, treating you like a wretched thing. You shudder to think he intended to hurt and use you, knowing he was planning to kill you the next day.

“Are you all right?”

Jisung’s voice draws you out of your reverie. You are slouched in the tub, the water preserving your modesty at his distant vantage. His face is illuminated in the firelight, the flickering light revealing his obvious concern. Those dark eyes are wide as they gaze at you.

“Yes,” you say. He lifts a disbelieving eyebrow in reply. You cross your arms over your chest, though it is your heart that feels exposed. “No. No, I’m not all right.” You whisper as though you can conceal it from the gods even while their servant listens. “I’m sorry, Jisung. I know he’s the king. I know he is heaven’s earthly sovereign. I know I’m his wife. I know, no matter what he has done, if he has done anything, I have a responsibility, but I—” You wipe your tears when they start to fall. You sink a little lower in the tub.

Jisung stands. He goes to the bed where the innkeeper laid out a robe for you. He smooths it out and picks it up.

“Here,” he says.

He does not look when you step out of the tub. He wraps the robe around your body. The fleeting contact makes you shiver. You pass each other, avoiding eye contact. He returns to his seat by the fire and you sit on the edge of the bed.

The room is quiet except for the crackling of the flames.

“It’s not right,” he says after a moment.

You were picking at lint on the robe, your thoughts far away, but you look at him now.

“Pardon?” you ask in a small voice.

His hand is curled in a fist. He unclenches it slowly, then occupies his hands by removing his sword belt. He holds the weapon in his hands, running his thumb across the silver hilt while he frowns.

“It’s not just because you’re the queen,” he says. “You’re— you’re kind. You’re good. Your people cried when you left. The king’s people only cry when he returns. The way you talked to the villagers... The respect between you... The way you… the way you were good to those children…”

You recall the story of his own childhood, a poor peasant boy on the capital streets with nothing to his name but a song. His journey has been difficult. Given the way he speaks about himself, you believe there has been little reprieve or kindness.

He rubs his forehead, then shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t have to suffer,” he says. “No one should. But you... It’s not right. It’s not right.”

“I’m not special, really,” you say, not even to be self-deprecating but because you can see him sinking into his thoughts. You do not want him hurting for your sake.

“You are! You’re the queen!” he exclaims. “By the will of the gods! And I really do believe that. Because you... You are everything.”

You jump when he drops his sword, the metal clattering on the wooden floor. He puts his hands together as if he intends to pray but then he looks at you, aglow in the firelight.

“Your Majesty,” he says. “You are good and kind and funny and gentle. You are a heaven-sent queen. You are everything I ever dreamed of worshipping.”

Your wild heart breaks free. It is not with the pounding terror of adrenaline but like a drumbeat, a rhythm that has you taking a long, shuddering breath to keep pace with it.

No words suffice in reply. You sit in tense silence until the innkeeper’s wife knocks at the door. She has come to empty and clear away the tub.

Jisung lets her in. You smile and chat while she works – because she adamantly refuses to let you help – and she confirms everything is to your liking. You assure her that everything is perfect and she can be proud of her work. Jisung watches silently the whole time, leaning against the fireplace, loosely holding his sword.

When the room is clear and the bed turned down, the woman leaves, and the silence feels even heavier than before. You sit on the bed in your robe, drying your hair with a cloth. Jisung locks the door then takes his seat by the fire again. You suppose he is going to stay there all night.

He slouches very low, his elbow propped on the armrest and his hand on his face. His knees are spread wide enough that you can imagine kneeling between them. You do not know what would follow, just that you want to be there.

Yes, you want that, you realize. You want to be there, looking up at him with a reverence equal to his words. It would be easier than finding something to say. Your gaze would speak for you, in a position that should be reserved for the king and the gods.

You know you cannot do that. Your roles are very different. When he speaks of devotion and worship, it is as a kingsguard, not a man, even if your heart aches.

Because whether or not it is blasphemous to imagine, you would worship a man like that all the same.

The very thought has your blood racing. You imagine him looking down at you, his hand your face like before – guiding, gentle, good. You cannot imagine Jisung hurting you the way the king did. No, it would be different. The king seized your waist with a proprietary aggression. Jisung has touched your waist again and again, always to help you, always to protect you. You know his touch would not hurt. You know his touch would not leave you curled in pain for hours afterwards.

You know what it would not be, though you cannot imagine what it would be. You just know the thought makes you tremble.

That is not your fate. It is ridiculous to imagine. It will be the king in this room tomorrow night.

You tremble for a different reason.

“He’s going to hurt me,” you whisper. You are not sure if you even want to Jisung to hear but you simply cannot keep it inside. “Even if he doesn’t kill me,” you say. “He’s going to hurt me. He already tried once. I won’t be able to stop him again.”

You dare a glance at Jisung. He is staring at you with those wide, sympathetic eyes. After a moment of contemplation, he stands. He paces a little, back and forth, seemingly debating himself in his head. It turns to incoherent muttering as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Jisung—” you say, prepared to apologize. It is not appropriate for the queen to complain to a kingsguard about her duties. You are putting him in a difficult space because he is a good man who does not want to see you suffer, but he is a holy man and he should demand you pray and do as the gods bid you.

Instead he claps his hands and sighs a musical sigh.

“There are…” His voice breaks and he laughs, a nervous little giggle before clearing his throat. He says more seriously, “There are, uh, ways… things… um… yes… that you can do… so it doesn’t… so it doesn’t hurt.”

“Ways,” you repeat slowly. “Things.”

“Yes,” he says, gesturing nonsensically, waving at nothing. “Ways and things.”

“What ways and things?”

“You know.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“You do?”

“Ahhh…” Jisung looks sheepish, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. He gives you a too-toothy smile. In spite of everything, warmth moves inside you, a bright and delightful joy, even if it is temporary. “Well, um. I’m chaste, obviously, so I don’t – I don’t know much. But I maybe know some things… There’s a ritual the kingsguards do… before they are, um, initiated…”

“Do…?” you say. You wave him onward with an amused smile.

“Uh, yes.” He stands ramrod straight and clasps his hands behind his back. “Don’t tell anyone I said anything, but, um. They send you to a brothel. It’s for a decent reason!” His hands fly out again, waving defensively even though you did not say anything.

You prop your elbow on your knee and your head on your fist, more entertained with his ranting than anything.

“You know,” Jisung says, speaking as much with his hands as his words, “They just want to make sure you are actually going to be okay with a vow of chastity, especially if you’re a virgin like, um, like I was. Am. Anyway. They don’t want a Felix situation, you know? Where you change your mind later. The vows are a serious, serious, serious thing. Felix was an exception, that whole thing was just – it was crazy, you know? But the vows. The vows. Oh, I was ready for the vows. My life… it wasn’t great, you know? I was worthless. I was a street kid. I was a thief. I came back from the war to nothing. The kingsguard gave me a reason to live. So I wasn’t tempted, oh nooo, I was never tempted. But they, um, they sent me anyway to make sure I knew what I was giving up.”

“I see,” you say. You want to correct him when he insults himself, but you suspect he will deflect any argument. Instead you ask, “What happened then?”

“Um, a very nice lady took me to a room,” he says. “I told her what I told you. I was ready for the kingsguard. I had my calling. I was finally going to matter. My friend had helped me and I couldn’t let him down.”

“And what did she say?”

“She just… listened,” he says, looking a bit fond in his recollection.

You find yourself feeling a little jealous, not so much because he is thinking of someone affectionately, but because you have no one to think of that way. The closest is a previous betrothal that fell through, but there was no intimacy in that arrangement either, only a single kiss that was more cordial than romantic. You have done your duty and reserved yourself and your affections for marriage, only to be given a very unaffectionate man.

You can only watch as Jisung reflects and says, “She said she knew a lot of men like me which, personally, I don’t think is true, I’m one of a kind, thank you. But she said, um… she asked if I wanted to, um, watch her. Touch herself, I mean. And, um, I, uh, did. Just to, you know, make sure. It didn’t count anyway because I didn’t touch her. It, um. Yes. Yes. That happened. So now I know ways and things.”

You blink at him. His awkward story-telling coupled with the twisting narrative leaves you more than a little perplexed.

“Touch herself,” you finally say. “Touch herself how? What does that mean?”

Jisung squeaks. He looks at you pleadingly, as if you can rescue him from the conversation he started.

“You don’t…” he says. It starts desperate but turns a little morose, his shoulders flattening with a sorrowful defeat. “No,” he says softly. “You don’t know anything, do you?”

He does not say it offensively but you bristle at the accusation regardless. You sit straight and lift your chin.

“I know exactly what we are talking about, thank you,” you say. “I am not a child, Jisung. I was raised to know my duty as a wife. I am very aware of what copulation entails.”

He raises his hands in surrender. You sit there, maintaining an air of haughty disinterest while he takes his seat again. He rubs his bare arms, absent-mindedly squeezing a bicep as he massages himself.

Watching her touch herself, repeats in your head, your eyes on his hands as they move up his arm, rubbing his own shoulder.

Your wild heart gets the better of you.

“Do you mean… it doesn’t always hurt?” you ask in a slurred rush. You look away when he looks at you, ashamed as you say, “I still don’t know what you mean by ways and things.”

“Well...” His tone is kind and patient. He waves a hand through the air. “I just mean… No. No, it doesn’t always hurt. Or it shouldn’t hurt, at least. So I’m told. I’m, uh, chaste. Obviously.”

“But you’ve seen a woman touch herself.”

“Yes.” The tips of his ears go red, or maybe it is the firelight. He scratches the back of his neck.

“And that… helps,” you say. “So it doesn’t hurt?”

“Yes, I think so,” he says, rubbing his hands together in a nervous fidget. “Again, I don’t really know for sure because I’m chaste.”

Yes, you know, especially with his constant reiteration of that fact. He has given you much to think about, though. Everyone always told you that a wife’s nightly duty was a painful, unpleasant thing, something to be endured to keep a husband content and create children.

You feel very foolish, much like you did last night when you tried and failed to run away. You have always considered yourself very intellectual and pragmatic, but lately you are feeling so many foreign things, encountering the world for the first time. It makes you feel younger than your age.

That anxiety twists in you again, its tangles and knots familiar by now. It is the nervous kind of adrenaline as you consider your next words carefully.

“Could you…” You cannot look at him, staring at the fire while you speak. “Could you… instruct me?”

“In-instruct you.” His voice breaks again. It feels as though you are both pubescent fools, falling over each other as you dart around this perilous subject.

Your eyes meet and that twisting anxiety becomes something else entirely. It burns hot as the fire, coiling inside you like some impossible, holy flame.

“Just… just so I know,” you say. “I don’t expect you to do anything like – oh, Jisung, I would never ask that, you know I would never! You’re a kingsguard!”

“I’m a kingsguard,” he repeats, like for a second he wasn’t sure.

“Yes, of course,” you say. “I’m sorry. It was a foolish question. I just – I trust you. And I hoped—” Hope. Something you should stop doing. The gods have made their decision and there are no prayers that will move them. You must resign yourself to your fate, whatever that is. “Forget it,” you say. “I know my place. Whatever happens, whatever he does – I will bear it. I will.”

You smile a forced smile, but it is bright and encouraging. It usually fools people.

Jisung does not smile back. He runs his hand through his hair again. He takes a deep breath and releases it as slowly. It is as loud as the flames, louder than the thunderous heart in your chest.

Despite it all, you keep smiling, determined to mask your emotions.

Then he looks at you and your mask immediately crumbles. Why do his eyes have this effect?

“Come here,” he says.

When the king commanded you, your body felt weak, terror coursing through your veins. It felt like an injury, so discombobulating that it incapacitated you long after.

Your body feels weak now but the terror is not the same, not that dark, cold dread. It courses hotly, like the water on your skin, like the heat in this room, like the look in his eyes. You try to convince yourself that your body is just sore from so much riding and running, so of course your legs feel shaky as you stand and approach him.

But you know. You know. Well before you reach him, well before he guides you towards the floor-length mirror, you know.

You look at your reflection. You almost do not recognize the woman looking back at you, so undone when she has always been so meticulously composed. No emotions got in, no feelings got out, no wants were had, and no disappointments either. Now your eyes burn too, meeting his through the reflection.

He gently gathers the hair that is loose around your shoulders. You shiver, fingers twitching, that coiled heat unravelling. He draws your hair back, guiding it over your shoulders and down your back. He briefly runs his fingers through the half-damp curls. He stares at his hands, eyes wide like he is holding some much more precious than hair.

He swallows. With a final pat, he lets go. His hands fall to his sides where they curl into tightly bound fists.

“I can’t touch you,” he says. “That’s not – I’m not – I mean.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “This is not that. But you’re the queen and you shouldn’t suffer. It’s just not right, okay?” He looks at you again through the mirror, eyes shiny and sad. “I’m a kingsguard. It’s my duty to protect you. From everything.” He smiles weakly. “Let me show you how to protect yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, surprised by the rasp of your voice.

“Okay,” he says, rasping too. He clasps his hands behind his back, standing straight as if preparing for a military inspection. “I’m a kingsguard,” he repeats. You know that, so you are not sure who he keeps reassuring. “I’m not – I’m not looking at you like that, okay?”

“I trust you.”

“Right. Right. Um.”

His hands are restless. At his sides, behind his back, now crossed protectively over his chest. You find yourself looking at the subtle curve of his bicep.

“Lower your robe,” he says. Your startled eyes dart up the mirrored reflection. “Just as much as you want,” he adds.

You stare through the mirror. You never imagined your own eyes could look so heated, but they are twin to his, and you see a sort of beauty in yourself because of what you see in him.

You shrug the robe down your shoulders. He pointedly does not look down, keeping his eyes on yours. That is for the best. That is for the best?

You let it fall a little more. You feel the flickering heat of the nearby fire, warming your skin as it is revealed. Your heart jumps at the sensation, the feeling of exposure.

You forget how to breathe. In that held breath, you let the whole thing spill to the floor in a soft puddle of fabric.

He blinks, once, twice. On the third, his eyes dart down, but just as quickly up. He swallows. His voice shakes as he says, “Close your eyes.”

You look at those warm brown eyes one more time before obeying. You slip into the dreamy darkness, acutely aware of the world around you. Everything feels more pronounced. You feel every touch of heat like a burning mark, his breath like a kiss on the back of your neck. That coiling heat tightens again.

“What now?” you ask.

“Bring your fingers to your lips. Yes, like that.”

You raise your hand, resting two fingertips on your bottom lip. You feel his slow exhale.

“Kiss them,” he says. The word kiss feels like a touch. “On your tongue.”

It feels a little ridiculous but you do as he says, wetting the tips of your fingers. It does not garner any particular sensation. No, that comes from knowing he is watching. You cannot see him, but you know his gaze is fixated on you, rivetted to every movement to ensure you comply with his instructions. It makes that heat turn molten.

“Okay,” he says, his voice a much lower rasp than before. He clears his throat but it still comes out rough when he says, “Touch your neck – on your pulse, right there – slowly. Slowly. Bring your fingers down your throat.”

You do so, shivering a little at the wet trail it leaves as you trace your fingers from your jaw to your collarbone.

“Does it feel like a kiss?” he asks.

At his suggestion, the touch no longer feels like yours. You imagine him in front of you, his open mouth, his tongue darting past his lips. Your whole body tightens and heat rushes inside you. You imagine him taking his time, his tongue travelling from your jaw to your chest.

“Oh,” you say, a musical note of a sound. You hear his breath catch. “Yes.”

“Good.” He clears his throat again. “Keep – keep doing – that. Bring your hand – yes.” His voice gets softer, barely more than a whisper as you bring your fingers down the curve of your breast. “Yes. Like that.”

“Like this,” you repeat. It is easier to follow instinct with your eyes closed, listening to the beat of your own heart, the call of your own skin. You trace your fingers around the tip of your breast, where the peak is already stiff. You breathe harder, your heart faster, as it sends a shock of sensation firing through your body. “Oh. Is this what you meant?” The small touch feels torturous. You cup your whole breast and squeeze. The pleasure leaves you trembling.

“Yes,” he says. “But there’s, um. There’s more.”

“More?” You already feel dizzy. You never knew so many sensations were hidden under the surface of your skin. You cannot imagine what else is waiting.

“Lower,” he says.

There is a leap in your bloodstream as you obey. You chase it to no conclusion as the caress of your waist does not feel like much.

“No, um.” He moves. Maybe his hands are making gestures or maybe he is running his fingers through his hair. His voice is still rough so he clears his throat again. “To—towards the – the centre. The centre of your – body.”

Your hand hovers above your middle. You feel flushed, suddenly understanding his direction. Your tension must show, because he says softly, “You don’t have to. You can just—”

“I want to,” you say. The truth spills out of you in a desperate rush. You have never wanted so much. It has never been so clear in your voice.

“You do?” he repeats.

You answer by following the call of desire and touching the only place that makes sense. You make a noise when you do, surprised when you find evidence of all that coiling heat, wet on your fingertips.

“Are you – are you wet?” he asks.

You nod. “Is that good?”

“Yes,” he says. “That’s – that’s good. Very good.”

You soak in the praise, humming a sweet little sound as you move your fingers inexpertly. You brush somewhere sensitive, feeling like you struck every nerve at once, and your gasping cry gives it away.

“There,” he says. “Right there. Touch yourself. Don’t stop.”

You shuffle your feet apart, just a little. A jolt of pleasure shoots down your body when he nudges your bare foot with his booted one, easing your legs further apart. He does not address it so neither do you, accepting it as a simple gesture of help.

“You can use your other hand,” he says, because one is between your legs and the other just curled at your side.

You take his advice and cup a sensitive breast with your free hand. The noise you make will embarrass you later as it echoes in your mind, but right now you let it carry you away.

You cannot use both hands for long. One stays between your thighs and the other moves through the air, grasping at nothing. You need an anchor. Your legs are shaking and you are swimming in the darkness of your closed eyes. Spots of colour begin to dance across your shielded vision, twirling in dizzying motions. Your core feels tight.

“Oh – Jisung. Jisung, I—”

“It’s okay,” he says, his voice more strained than ever. “Trust me. Don’t stop.”

“Trust you,” you murmur. It sends another wave of heat rolling through you. The dizziness gets too much, your legs buckling. You reach back instinctively, blindly grasping for him.

He catches you, his soldier instincts fast. Your eyes fly open as you crash into his chest, so much of your weight supported in the clasp of his arms. His eyes look so dark, almost a solid black, his whole face flushed as if he was the one exerting himself. You whimper at the sight of him, at the sight of yourself in his arms, all sloping curves and fire-hot skin, soft and naked against his firm, darkly-clothed body.

“It’s okay,” he says, holding your trembling body.

You feel his hands on your sides, clutching you tightly, his front slotted alongside your backside. His clothes brush your too-sensitive skin, his hands hot on your body. You move just a little, rearing up under your own hand. You feel him behind you, undeniably hard, straining at the material of his uniform. He sucks in a breath, makes a rasping, hungry groan, but does nothing about his own desire, even while it makes you gasp.

He does not dare move his hands. He does not dare look away from your eyes in the mirror.

“Come to me,” he rasps. “I got you.”

All that coiling tension gives way. It feels like the moment the cosmos shifted, when the world disappeared under you, when you crashed through the surface of the water and felt as though you entered another world. Your body throbs under your fingers. Your mind is gone, your body in animalistic pursuit, needing him, pressing against him.

“Shhh,” he says gently.

You are gasping, every breath a watery sound. He exhales roughly, even his breath shaking, his nose pressed to your temple as he holds you another second.

“Shhh,” he says again. “Good. You’re okay.”

“Oh.” It is all you can say. You slowly withdraw your hand, your fingers embarrassingly wet.

You are not sure what possesses you. Perhaps it is the same instinct that compels you to clean blood off a finger pricked from needlework. You bring those fingers to your lips to suck the evidence away.

“Good fucking gods,” he says, his eyes wide.

He abruptly lets go and steps back. Fortunately, you have your footing so you do not fall, but it leaves a chill along your exposed backside. You shiver.

He looks around the floor then dives down to gather your discarded robe. He is on his knees when you turn around.

For a long moment, he stays down there, staring at the fabric in his hands. His knuckles whiten with the intense strength of his grip.

“Jisung?” you say softly. With your adrenaline dwindling, you feel shy. Even so, your heart is still an erratic thing. It seems physical release cannot temper whatever has taken hold of that creature. It continues to pound and stomp as Jisung lifts his head.

“My Queen,” he says, his voice so shot that it is barely above a breath.

You feel a jolt inside you, some trembling aftershock, intensified because he looks at you. Oh, he looks at you, forgetting himself at that vantage, his eyes everywhere from the curve of your knee to the slope of your thighs. His shiny brown eyes roam slower than a lover’s touch to the place between your legs, up the curve of your waist, your heaving breasts, and meeting your eyes with a near-crazed desperation.

“Jisung,” you say, a whisper as well.

He drops his head again, cursing under his breath as he closes his eyes. He shifts to one knee then finally rises, stumbling a little once upright. He wraps the robe around you without any delay, then he throws his hands out to his sides like he is issuing surrender.

“Good,” he says, avoiding your face, avoiding everything as he stumbles towards the fireplace and his discarded sword.

You close the robe around yourself. You do not know what to say. Words seem woefully insufficient, especially with his frantic energy as he fumbles with his sword belt, fighting to get it secured around his waist.

“Thank you,” you finally say. You sit on the end of the bed, holding the neck of the robe closed, looking at him with nothing but raw and open emotion. “I – I don’t know what else to say.”

He stares back at you, a hand on the hilt of his sword. The other sits over his midsection, curls around his belt. He looks like he might burst into flames with all that white and gold flashing behind him.

“If I can ever repay you…” you say.

You don’t mean it like that, but his eyes flash with unmistakable desire, then terror.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he says, bowing low. “You owe me nothing. You’re my – you’re my queen.”

He moves so quickly, it makes you jump, raising from his bow and striding across the room. He is at the door in a matter of seconds, his hand practically crashing onto the lock. There, it freezes, his fingers curled around the iron.

You stare at him. His shoulders are tense. Your lips part though you have no idea what to say. There is a feeling inside you but you cannot name it, cannot catch it with your voice. You can only take another breath.

He whips back around. You jump again.

Before you can even think to move or speak, he is in front of you. He slams down onto his knees and bows again, more frantic than before, the top of his head hitting your legs. You reach for him instinctively, the curve of his neck looking so desolate and desperate. He seizes your hands before they can touch them, bringing them together then to his lips. He kisses your knuckles, though it such a hard and needy press that it feels more like a collision. You feel his lips and the bump of his teeth. He hisses on an exhale and drops your hands.

Without another word, he stands. He marches to the door. This time he does not hesitate, flicking open the locks. He steps into the hall without looking back. The door closes between you.

You hear his body hit the door, the drag of it as he sinks to the ground. He is sitting on the floor outside.

You move towards that door without thinking. You sink to your knees as well, pressing your ear to the wood. You can hear him breathing on the other side – heaving, frantic breaths that sound like crying.

Perhaps it is all the sensation catching up to you, but your own eyes fill with tears as you slump against the door. You remain a long time, listening to each other with the divider between you.

#han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #jisung x reader #jisung smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #han jisung x you #skz x you #stray kids x you #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfiction

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mydearesthrry · 2 years ago

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honeyed bliss - h.s.

a/n: hi! here’s another one. post hslot harry, and dadrry, which should be a warning in itself. enjoy!

🎀 warnings/cw: nothing, fluff, ITALYRRY AND DADRRY. im a wreck.

🐇 pairing: husband!dad!harry styles x fem!reader

💐 wc: 800

“Babe, can you come here? I need to tan, but I can't get the tanning lotion on my back.” Y/N shouted sweetly to her husband, voice soft as she turned on her tummy.

“Yeah m’love, give me two seconds. ‘M cutting up some watermelon for Daisy.” He called back, standing at the drink bar, a knife in his hand as he watched his daughter toddle around in the small area that he stood in. Daisy knocked on the doors that were in the square, knocking on the door to exit as she babbled quietly to herself.

“Mumma, want mama,” Daisy pouted, perking up when she heard her moms voice. She stumbled a bit when she turned around to look at her dad with pleading puppy dog eyes, her axis of gravity not perfect quite yet.

“Oh, y’want mama, baby? Okay, let’s get y’to mama.” Harry plucked her up off the ground and hiked her up onto his hip, scooping a couple blocks of watermelon into a yellow bowl. Harry pushed open the door to the drink bar, walking over to his wife who was laying down on a beach chair. His wife turned onto her side, reaching out for her baby who was already squirming in her dads arms.

“Hi baby! You wanna come lay down with mama? Wanna sunbathe?” Y/N turned on her mom voice, babying her daughter.

“Mama, mama, mama,” Daisy giggled, patting her mom’s face, a wide smile on her face, looking almost identical to Harry down to the dimples.

“God, H. I can’t believe I birthed her, held her in my stomach for months, the whole nine yards, and she just looks exactly like you. Like, not even an inch of me in here. She’s got her Daddy’s curly hair, pretty green eyes, and cute little dimples… Don’t you, Dais?” She smiled, turning onto her back to place her baby on her thighs, Daisy’s head coming up to rest on her knees, her legs laying on her torso.

“Guess so, m’love, but don’t worry, she still loves her Mumma waaaay more than her Daddy.” Harry comments, munching on watermelon on the beach chair next to you. She turns her head to him and raises an eyebrow, and he smiles sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he scratches his nose awkwardly. “I didn't mean that.”

“Good, y’know she loves you just as much as she loves me.” She gave him a stern look, and he could see her eyes through her sunglasses.

“Yeah, I know. Bad joke, didn’t land. Tough crowd, eh?” He smiled sheepishly.

“Mmm, guess comedy isn’t for you, hm? Better stick to singing, pretty boy.” Y/N muttered before bringing her baby up to her chest, pressing small butterfly kisses to her head.

“M’sweet girls, prettiest girls ever,” Harry grins, pulling your phone from underneath the throw pillow your head was resting on, snapping a few precious pictures. “Can’t believe ‘M so lucky.”

Twisting his back to look behind him, he reached out to switch the bowl of watermelon for the camcorder, turning it on and recording his wife and daughter, a wide grin plastered on his face. “Today is July 26, 2023, a couple of days after the final Love On Tour show, and we’ve just gotten home to the Styles Villa in the Amalfi Coast of Italy. Here we have Mama and baby bunny in their most rawest forms,” Harry narrated, a grin on his face when he heard a sweet giggle emit from his wife’s chest. “Baby bunny’s sporting a cute swim set gifted to her from her favorite uncle, Uncle Alessandro, and Mama’s wearing a Gucci swim set as well, looking as beautiful as ever with the most beautiful and glowy skin-”

“H, shut up!” She guffaws, placing an embarrassed hand on her face. “Dais is gonna watch these one day and be scarred by the way you’re talking about me.”

Harry turns the camera so it’s on his face, “Little Daisy, if you’re watching these right now in the future, never settle for less than how I treat Mama. Y’deserve to be treated like a queen, m’soul, never ever settle for less.”

He flips the camera around again to face his girls, catching a tail end of YN’s eyeroll on camera. “Yes, sweet girl. I agree with Daddy, never settle for less.” She places more sweet kisses on Daisy’s head, cooing with Harry when a soft snore leaves their baby’s lips.

“Well, since y’asleep now, I think that’s a good place to leave it. We love you, Daisy. Byeeeee!” Harry waves, turning in his seat to have the camera face him and his small family. YN giggles and blows kisses, waving until Harry turns off the camera.

“We’ve got it good, Lovie.” He smiles, leaning forward to peck a kiss to her cheek, her temple, and then one on her lips, being cautious of the sleeping baby on her chest.

“Yes, we do.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry <3 #harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurb #harry edward styles

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enviedear · 2 years ago

Text

holy terrain ⟶ anakin skywalker

description ⌙ anakin can't deny the pull his bratty princess has over him, or rather, has always had over him.

pairing ⌙ anakin x f!princess!reader

warnings ⌙ nsfw, 18+ mdni i will block you. mean(ish)!anakin, equally mean(ish)!reader, they're toxic 'friends', an unreciprocated childhood kiss, also an unexpected kiss, mention of alcohol, brief mention of anidala (they're not tg), a flashback (it's not long dw), improper acts in a royal garden, fingering f!receiving, use of the nicknames petnames princess and jedi, no use of y/n.

word count ⌙ 4.1k

— request | masterlist

ur gonna have to pry anakin & princess!reader fics from my cold dead hands

loosely based off of mother's song.

to the untrained eye, the elaborate ball around you would seem perfect, flawless even. a truly divine display of political power and proceeds all around, but all you're able to take note of is the glaring absence of a certain jedi knight.

it's not your place to ask for his whereabouts, and the idea of anyone knowing that you're looking for him has your head throbbing.

you'd grown up with him, running around the halls of both the jedi temple and your castle respectively.

while your mother, the queen, would discuss and debate with the senior jedi and pompous planetary delegates— you were off getting the young padawan into trouble.

you've never been the most considerate to him— rather, you liked to tease and push him around. anakin was your first and only acquaintance to allow you to deter from the rigid nature of your regality.

he'd take your witticisms and throw some back at you with even more vigor, and when you'd roughhouse with him he never drew back his hits.

he was anakin, and to him, you were just you.

but since the war, and its recent end— you've seen little of him. the most, if only, of him you've seen has been on your holopad.

'hero without fear', the words most always surrounding his likeness.

you're half inclined to think that the boy you grew up with may now be too substantial for you.

you fiddle with your dress' skirt, trying to keep your eyes from drifting back to the jedi and their apprentices who are present, lined in an almost perfect row against a wall. one more glance and you fear you may be drawn into a long conversation about the force, and you'd rather brood in your corner than deal with that.

your body goes stiff at the feeling of two hands coming from behind to clutch your shoulders, "princess, don't tell me you're sulking."

the voice that hits your ears is familiar and warm, and you fight back a grin as you turn to face the young man, "no. but i will now you're here."

his lips upturn in a simper, "oh, then shall i leave you? all alone?"

you hum, in faux thought, "never! i always need a jester at my side. what could be better than your funny face?"

you take him in while he laughs off your quip. his hair is neatly out of his face, longer and more curly than you've ever seen, and his long arms have become fuller, muscles apparent even with his tunics and robe.

his black and flowing garments starkly contrast your fitted and fair-shaded gown, and you take it as a reminder of your evident differences. anakin is a warrior now, while you're left to relegate menial court duty. in a strange way, you envy him.

his path has standards and steps to prove to him and everyone else that he is growing, learning, and becoming more. in your case, you come up lacking.

most people look and speak to you as though you're an idea. a sheltered royal with little to no concept of the galaxy around her.

you like to believe their whispers weren't true, but as you look upon your jedi companion, you feel a deep sense of ineptitude. how could you compete or compare to someone who has seen more planets than you could even name?

you put a small smile on your face, trying to block out your thoughts, "how have you been? i heard a certain senator has been keeping a close eye on you."

anakin's eyes narrow, "royal gossip? may i be privy to such information, your highness?"

he's being coy and you know it, you bring your voice to a whisper, "amidala. i hear you've been seen fleeing her chambers."

he hums, hands coming to rest at his hips, "well, princess, are you asking if the whispers are true," he pauses, head dipping closer to you and whispering, "or are you confused as to what goes on behind closed doors?"

you roll your eyes, "i most certainly do not need any aid in understanding such matters. i have my fair share of suitors. i just wonder how long until such information finds itself back to your council."

he gives you a contemptuous look, "you think too highly of my affection toward her. besides, i've heard she's found someone new to engage with."

"you've heard, or you were told?" you can't help the smugness in your words. truthfully, you've known of anakin's obsession with the young senator for years, and when you learned of her shared interest in him at the beginning of the war you had a strange aggression towards the idea.

the knowledge of the endeavor finally coming to an end relieves an unidentified weight on your chest.

anakin waves you off, "the specifics aren't important, however..." he trails off, looking you up and down.

his words and look pique your interest, "yes, anakin?"

you watch as his eyes leave your form to scan the ballroom. guests are everywhere, leaving the room crowded— and the walls seem to reek of whiskey and nectar wine— usual amongst 'high status' officials.

anakin leans down to you to whisper into your ear, "follow me."

your eyebrows knit together but you do as you're instructed, slipping away from the noisy ball and out into the night air.

there are a few stragglers outside, either intoxicated, engaging in less than pure actions, or a mix of the two.

you look away from a couple touching each other hungrily to glower at anakin, "why are we out here?"

his head turns to look back at you before he continues forward, "patience, dear princess."

your face scrunches in confusion but you continue on, hands pulling your skirts off the ground as you enter into the royal gardens.

you've walked the path beneath you countless times, and one of your earliest memories of the footpaths was shared with anakin. his boyish face covered in dirt after you had convinced him to unearth a large plot of soil for a lake— in your honor of course.

he had spent hours on his assignment, promising that you'd get what you desired.

in truth, a twelve year old you desired no lake, you simply wished to see how far you could get him to go for you.

it was you who held the power then, and he was a faithful devotee— albeit to his masters' chagrin. no one was able to really understand the hold you held over him.

not even the pair of you.

the incident landed both of you in a great deal of trouble, and you were forced to spend the next morning filling said hole. little you was apt to make anakin do most of that chore himself.

not that he had complained.

after a few quiet minutes of walking, anakin stops at one of the smaller fountains in the green. one of the oldest landmarks in this garden, predating the lavish castle on its horizon. it sits surrounded by tall fruit trees, leaving the area sweetly scented and mostly hidden.

"do you remember when i pushed you into this fountain?" anakin asks, voice deviant and deep.

you ponder up at him, "yes, and i also remember how i pulled you in with me."

he hums, a light chuckle falling out of his lips, "hm, and what did i do right after?"

you think back to the day, you, fourteen, and he fifteen. your defensive action had made him so outraged at you. his teenage face had been vibrant pink and his knuckles white.

"maker, you're such a brat!" anakin's voice was riddled with annoyance as he pushed himself out of the fountain, "look at me! i'm all wet and master obi-wan is never going to let me hear the end of this."

you had simply laughed, following him out of the chilly water, "i'm not a brat, and you pushed me first! goodness anakin, you're so boring now."

he turned to glare at you, "don't say that— i am not!"

you rolled your eyes, "are too."

in one quick movement, he had your back pressed hard into one of the trees, "i'm not boring. and if you say it again i'll make you regret it, princess."

you weren't scared of him, you could never be scared of anakin, "well, skywalker, if you're not boring, why don't you prove it."

it had been a silly and childish remark, and you weren't exactly sure how you wanted him to showcase opposition to your teasing. you weren't sure if even he knew how, but his thumbs traced along the veins at your wrists. his touch had left the air around you soft and hushed.

his blue eyes met your own for a split second before he leaned down to you, flushed lips parting ever so gently. he let his hands drop from your wrists down to your hips, and you stiffened at the touch. he had never behaved in such a way before, and the contact had your heart racing.

with little time to think, you watched him erase the space between the two of you, pausing for a short instant, before closing the gap between you. your eyes had gone wide at the feeling of his lips on yours. those perfect lips, full and chapped, lamented at your own— so foreign and new to you.

there wasn't much to the exchange, very little movement on your end and your eyes had stayed open in shock the entire time. just as you thought to kiss him back— he had pulled away.

he had then wiped his lips with the back of his hand before speaking, voice higher than normal, "there. i'm not so boring." and with that, he ran away, back to the castle, and you didn't see him again until months later.

you'd never brought it up and neither had he, so his question had you reigning yourself in, eerily motionless. he had taken your first kiss and never mentioned it again, why would he bring it up now?

you can't shame him much for it, as you had replayed the memory back in your mind thousands of times. commonly going so far as to try and remember what he had tasted like, to memorize the feel of his hands on you.

your mind often wondered what your reaction would be now, you hoped you'd at least be able to kiss him back now. but anakin didn't need to know that.

with a sharp look at him, you reply, "you robbed me of my first kiss, jedi." you inflect when you mention his title, reminding him of his virtuous position.

his left hand finds a place on your waist, drawing you into him, "i've never been considered a thief before— is that really how you recall it, princess?"

you fight your fluster, refusing to cower down to whatever game he's playing at, "oh? what would you call it?"

he quirks an eyebrow, "unfinished."

your stare up at him, body turning to fully mirror his own, "excuse me?"

"incomplete, insufficient," you watch as his other hand, metal, and cool comes to a rest at your shoulder, tugging you even more so to him, "i'd hate to think that was as good as you could do, sweet princess. you couldn't even rally the courage to kiss me back."

you look at him and decide that the jedi knight before you has changed. no longer was he the boy who followed along with your every whim with silent invocation, no longer the young man who engaged in your childish games— instead, the man before you had a presence that alone could send your mind rushing into quite debauched places.

"who said i ever thought about kissing you back in the first place." your voice is barely a mutter, despite the teasing intention.

anakin gives you a smug look, head tipping to the left, "you've grown to be quite the liar, princess."

your words go pointed, "you've grown overconfident."

in truth, he hadn't. his assumptions were correct, but how could you give in to him so easily? anakin is almost entirely overpowering, but you can see the soft pink tint on his cheeks. and you know you have an equal, if not greater, effect on him.

his metal arm is stern against you, and you feel his grasp growing stronger, almost evidence of your words.

lips upturned, he speaks, "overconfidence isn't what this is, i only wish to be useful, princess. how cruel it is to have my dedication be met with apprehension."

his words inflict a firey sensation deep within you, and the atmosphere between you seems to build, fizzling around. you feel as though your sanity has become severed— evolving into an amalgamation entirely made of him.

"and how remiss would i be if i didn't let you fulfill your favor?" your voice feels shakey, but you allow your own hands to find his shoulders, digging in ever so gently and forcing him closer.

he chuckles, eyebrows darting up in surprise, "horribly remiss i'm afraid."

your lips curve, "and this favor," you pause, narrowing your eyes, "you think it should be a kiss? that seems self-seeking."

the knight looks down to your lips, mirth clouding his features, "this is purely for your benefit, princess. don't you deserve the practice?"

in the back of your mind, you could find a tactful solution to this situation. perhaps something that involves stepping farther away from the man peering down at you, but strangely, you've never wanted to be closer to him than you do now.

"as if i need it, jedi." your voice is low when you speak, and you catch anakin's adam's apple hitch up.

you feel like your body is humming as you slide your hands from his shoulders— grazing over his clavicle, up, and towards his neck. you watch his eyes widen slightly, and you can hear his little intake of breath— you got him right where you wanted.

you look up at him once more, silently looking for approval, gratitude, need— something. the blue eyes peering down at you fail to disappoint.

you let yourself stand a bit taller and pull him down to you, inching up until your lips graze his own. you feel his smile when your lips brush, and you bite your tongue before kissing him.

your kiss is deliberate and delicate, but you're fully in control.

he gives into you so easily. he waits for you to pull him closer before he follows suit, nose pressing into the side of your own. he tastes of fruit, and you let your tongue slide into his mouth, greedy for him.

he exhales at that, palming your hips and pressing himself into you ever so slightly. you let out a lewd breath at that, and anakin breaks the kiss to lean his forehead on your own.

you wait a second before looking up at him, and he stares back down at you. his lips part again, but this time you expect them to be followed by words. possibly an apology or a rejection.

he surprises you instead, by dipping down to you once more. his hands trail up from your hips, stopping just below your breasts. you groan when you feel his lips begin to leave kisses along your jaw, trailing down toward your neck.

your shared behavior is absolutely improper for both of you, but you can't seem to care while he's leaving lingering kisses upon your neck, sending goosebumps along your flesh.

your hands push upward, fingers knotting themselves in his hair. you let yourself give his locks a little tug just as he begins to suck on your skin.

you catch your breath from his raw and desperate action. your heart pounds harder, the sensation overcoming you, sending a swell of pleasure through you. he takes every signal you give him, pulling himself closer to you until you can feel the flutter of his heartbeat against your chest.

his lips graze your ear before he speaks, voice barely a whisper, "i'd say we're even now, princess."

your eyes remain closed at his words, enjoying the feeling of his breath against you, "i'm not so sure, jedi."

his hands find a home at both sides of your face, and you look up at him, "and how does my crime of stealing your first kiss continue to go unpunished?"

you're not sure of what to say for a second, shocked still by the look of conviction caught in his eyes, "i never said i wanted to punish you for it."

he moves one hand from the side of your face, tracing it back down towards your hips. he smiles at your words, and looks up at the sky before answering in a low voice," then how else should i show my appreciation?"

you take a step back, leaning against the tree for support. you can feel his gaze on you, but before he can say anything your own bravery speaks up, "appreciation?"

he lifts an eyebrow at your remark and tilts his head inquisitively in response, "yes princess, don't you want me to show you how grateful i am?"

you grin devilishly in response and answer him confidently, “i think i could come up with something."

he grins back lazily, humming a response, and moves closer, hands still firmly positioned on either side of your face. his lips meet the corner of your smile. he leaves a gentle kiss there before meeting your lips with so much passion that your body feels faint.

each trace of his lips sends electric sparks through your body as his kisses fall down your neck towards your collarbone. you shiver at the touch, as he brushes across each sensitive spot. you feel as if he's satirizing you in some way until his lips finally meet the delicate area around your shoulders— leaving soft nipping kisses that cause an uncontrollable moan to escape from you.

you feel his hands drop to your dress' skirt, bunching up the tight fabric and inching it up. when his skin makes contact with the flesh of your thighs, you let your forehead drop to his shoulder.

anakin seems to like this motion, breath hitting against your ear again, "do you want me to touch you, princess?"

you feel overwhelmed, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. you manage a slight nod before finally croaking out, "yes."

anakin's hands immediately respond, brushing up the side of your thighs until they find their way near your pulsing cunt. you feel obscene and exposed by your own need, but anakin seems to grow more confident the closer his fingers dance to you. you hear him laugh lightly as you press yourself into him, silently begging for more.

he abides by your wish, nimble fingers beginning to stroke your clothed slit. you moan at the contact, voice somewhat muffled as your head remains at his shoulder. anakin however chooses this moment to speak, tone falsely saccharine, "sweet princess, aren't you going to tell me what you want? use your words."

for a brief second, you feel impossibly hot and annoyed. you'd rather not voice your desperation for him. you'd be reckless to follow his orders so blindly.

"you're the one with your hands under my dress. what is it you're wanting, jedi?" you finally draw your head back from him, eyes catching his.

anakin lets himself grin, haphazardly letting his thumb brush your needy nub. he watches as you attempt to hide the roll of your hips, "i want you."

he doesn't continue with words, no, he slides your underwear to the side and feels your wetness against his fingers. he lets out a low groan when you grip him tighter.

your back is pressed into the tree behind you and anakin's body seems to lock you in place, not that you'd move away from him now. not when he's teasing your opening and causing your mind to go wild.

"tell me what you want," he smirks, one digit dipping ever so slightly into your heat, "and i'll obey."

you screw your eyes shut, trying to calm yourself. your voice is uneven when you respond, "touch me, please."

he doesn't neglect your demand and he lets his finger slide into you, slow. you clench around the digit, hands snaking into his hair and forehead pressing against his own.

he lets you feel him, as deep inside you as he can possibly get, before sliding out and back in again. you want to scream at the way his digit barely hits the spongey part inside of you, but instead, you let your hands grasp him harder.

he takes pleasure in your whiney noises, pushing further into you before sliding out once more. you whine at his teasing, and you catch the softest grin on his lips as he presses into you, two fingers this time.

you feel more full of him, and the notion has you reeling.

"maker, anakin." you barely hear yourself when you speak, voice so low.

he arches his fingers inside you, hitting the spot that sends your weight fully into his being, "yeah? am i doing a good job princess?"

you hum in assurance, blissful and teetering the edge. you feel drunk with how good he feels, how good he's making you feel.

"good," you moan. "so good."

you cry out his name in praise, only to be met by a lament. the rumble that answers you sounds like distant thunder colliding with sand and stone. a rolling sensation races through your body at the sound of it. your heart thuds in your chest and he watches its movements in delight.

he seems to like the way you're falling apart for him, eyes unwavering in their view of you. slowly but surely, you feel him putting pressure right where you need it until you can hardly handle it anymore. anakin thrusts his digits faster and faster, and you can't help but pull quite firmly at his curls.

his throat elicits a wanton groan at the feeling, and you feel yourself rock your hips to meet his hand. you're so close to the brink.

"do you want to come? hm, want me to make you feel good?" you can hear the strain in his voice.

"please, ani." your voice begging, warm at your own words.

his thumb finds your clit again, this time though, his touch isn't feather-light. no, instead he's cruel in the way he massages the bundle of nerves, leaving you a moaning mess beneath his body. he knows exactly how much pressure to use as he presses down on your bud repeatedly. making it impossible to form a coherent thought inside your head.

instead, all you can focus on is the thumb on your clit and the two digits in your core—driving into you relentlessly and the other pressing into you until your eyes shine white, you can feel yourself blanking.

his digits continue to pump in and out of you, humming his approval at your vulgar display— your eyes are heavy, legs unsteady, and lip slightly raw from biting it.

"i'm so close, anakin." you pant, fingers stiffening in his hair.

he whines, "yeah? let go, princess, i've got you."

and with one final plunge of his digits in and out of your warmth you feel a rather sudden wave overcoming your body, jolting everything inside and outside too. the sensation is a pure high, and you claw at anakin's shoulders until the feeling begins to subside. the night air suddenly feels so chilly, but you nuzzle closer into anakin. with you face hidden, you allow yourself a satisfied smile upon your, as well as anakin's, lips.

anakin grins down at you and kisses the top of your head in adulation before slowly removing his hands from you. you feel him trail his fingertips up your spine before speaking in a raspy tone, "how was that, princess?"

your body feels as if it could quaver at the sight of this man before you— a strong and assertive jedi warrior— so taken with you, eyes brimming down with a mixture of pride and adoration.

he pushes himself back slightly, still hovering above you, and looks down into your eyes with an unmistakable warmth in his gaze. you'e sure no one had ever looked at you like that before—like they wanted to consume every fiber of your being, of your soul.

anakin's eyes search yours for a moment before he presses his lips gently against yours in a temperate kiss.

as he moves away again, this time, drawing away enough to extend his arm above your head, fingers now clutching the tree's trunk.

you both remain still there for some time, taking comfort in each other's presence, until finally, anakin speaks softly again,"i thank the force to have met you, to know you. i've missed you, princess." his voice sounds brazen yet gentle.

his free hand lifts, raising your chin up to look into his eyes once more.

you hum, "you've grown better with apologies."

anakin huffs, lips upturned, "maybe, or perhaps solely for my benefit regarding you."

you roll your eyes, "is that what this was? some self-aggrandizing ruse?"

he smirks, eyes widening in faux horror, "never, princess. i only mean to say that i seem to behave best in your company. you wield a tight reign."

you can't help but smile at the compliment, unabashed. "i have no hold over you, jedi."

anakin's lips quirk into a fiendish grin as he reaches up to gently brush his thumb along your chin, "of course you do, princess," he murmurs softly. "of course you do."

#anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin skywalker smut #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin x reader smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin fluff #anakin skywalker x reader fluff #anakin x you #darth vader #vader x reader

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camthecatchameleon · 1 year ago

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cranking the image description out for this one boys

lineups of the Crews from the two Legends of Avantris campaigns I’ve actually listened to with consistency (still not finished with EoM but I’m on 21 so I’m getting there dont worry) + artists notes

Highly suggested that you scroll below the cut for this. (my handwriting is not the best + its small + some hidden design notes too :eyes: )

Image 1: Carnivalé LeCroux (not drawn to scale lmao)

(from left to right)

Hootsie: least fun to draw (Boring shapes) (draw the least). Typically I imagine her as a horned owl owlbear so her canon “eyebrows” flatten out and connect to her neck. I just think it gives her a nice silhouette. Frost: least fun to draw (cat). I’ve been drawing him with Chinese/vaguely East Asian-inspired robes because he’s from the mountail of Yulong and you can’t just give me a place called “Yulong” and expect me NOT to go ham on the east asian inspiriation. (east asian artist here.) Gricko: don’t draw nearly enough, most fun to draw (hair). I gave him a permanent cowlick on his bangs and I think the shapes are nice. Chunks ripped out of his ears are from Hootsie when she was younger and couldn’t control her strength. Kremy: most fun to draw (lizord), draw the most, did the most reference study for. I may love to draw lizards but crocodylidae are so uniquely shaped. Scrolling back through my ouaw posts and you can see I am still getting used to it. Torbek: most inconsistent, stupid machinery doesn’t make sense. The shape of his canisters and the collar with a keyhole both are from the first time I drew him, which was without a reference, and they just. Stuck. Gideon: Big boob indulgence, stupid machinery doesn’t make sense. Drawing him with awkwardly long hair, post-trauma fat, and smile lines is my favorite passtime. His marriage rings are on a necklace because they get in the way of punching clowns. Twig (pre-death): draw the least (can’t figure out her shapes). Drawing her fractured glasses and refracted eye is my favorite time.

Image 2: Witchhunters!! (I think my headcanon height difference is funny)

Shortest to tallest (briggsy and farryn are the same height):

Briggsy: Still figuring out how to depict distinction from Kremy (gator). So far i’ve got more spikes and a thicker neck and thats about it. I’m working on it. Farryn: fun shapes! skinny L. Ever since learning how to draw body fat I’ve never gone back its actually so hard to draw skin-and-bones skinny people now. Marius: least consistent (can’t decide how curly her hair is), armor L. Yes I headcanon he/she marius do you have a problem with that? Bat-like ears because heehoo. I just realized the symbol I drew on his chestplate looks like the Horde symbol from she-ra FUCK can you tell I don’t look at references? Jericho: most fun to draw!!! (draw the most). I like to draw virgil!jericho with four-pointed-star slits instead of just orbs with pupils because I think shapes are fun. Lethica: drew her wrong for WAY too long. I hadn’t paid enough attention to her actual ref and covered up her chest initially I’m so sorry queen. shes so pretty though. Although I do think its infinitely funny to headcanon that she actually looks pretty average. Tall women my beloved. Yorgrim: least drawn, Beard + Big indulgence. No seriously I’ve only drawn him twice. Hes awesome though soft rectangular shapes ftw.

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sweetbonniebel · 9 months ago

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Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

Eleven

Daemon x reader

Synopsis: Laenor’s funereal, politics. Alicent being a bad mom, Viserys being a idiot. Talk of Rhaenyra having more power.

Note: If you wish to be added to the taglist, comment. Greatly appreciate it.

Masterlist <-previous , next->

122 AC Driftmark

Five dragons left Bloodstone for Driftmark. Another funureal of a Velaryon. Baelon sat in front of Daemon, strapped by leather belts. Vhaenor was in Aegon's saddle and Aerion was held by you.

Vermithor the largest of the beasts flew ahead. Your youngest slept soundly strapped to your chest with cotton wraps. Occasionally involuntary moving in the swaddle.

You felt sorry for Rhaenyra, not only did she loose Harwin not long ago now her husband has perished. And what of Jace, Luke and Joffrey.

You heard the familiar screeches of Caraxes and the warmth of dragon fire, you glanced upwards to see the blood wyrm, Sunfyre and Moondancer chasing each other.

Rhaenys and Corlys looked awful, they lost all of their children in the span of four years.

Your favourite cousin looks bad clad in black, but that colour seemed to follow her. You wrapped your arms around Rhaenys, offering her your comforts.

"I am so sorry, Rhaenys, Corlys." You said taking Rhaenys's hands in yours.

"Thank you, cousin." The Queen who never was answered.

"We are glad you could make it." She forced a facade of confidence.

"It is all right, you do not need to fake being nice. You just lost your son, I would except you to scream, cry and rage."

"I have done my fair share of mourning already, Laena and now Laenor." She whispered, tears prickling her waterline.

"Whatever you need we and the Stepstones are at your disposal." You offered.

"Thank you, y/n." Corlys answered placing his palm on your shoulder, squeezing thankfully.

You returned to your family at the side of the cliffs, on the other side closer to the casket stood Rhaenyra and her three boys.

"Mama." Vhaenor tugged at your black mourning skirt.

"What is it?" You questioned leaning to his level.

"I'm sad." He muttered shyly, you smiled sadly at him. "I don't like it."

"Oh sweet boy, it is normal to feel sad sometimes. Especially when a member of your family passed. But soon you will feel better, the feeling will pass." You tried to console the two year old

"It will?" He hopefully asked.

"I'm sure of it."

Laenor's sea stone casket was being wrapped with ropes, soldiers of house Velaryon prepared to lower it into the salty sea.

You saw tears escape Rhaenya's and Laenor's children, the three boys wore teal doublets adorned with silver seahorses and black trousers. Jacaerys looked the most like his grandmother, Rhaenys with dark hair and indigo eyes.

Lucerys was most like his mother, silver-gold hair and blue eyes, while Joffrey named by Laenor was most like his father, curly dark hair with silver streaks and violet eyes but his face was entirely Laenor.

Your children with Daemon on the other hand were of typical Valyrian beauty. Baelon had silver hair and bright violet eyes, his eye and nose shape were just like Daemon's. Vhaenor was your spitting image with your red eyes and face shape.

Aerion was most like his grandmother Alyssa, Daemon said so. You never met your father's first wife but from what your brothers said, Aerion was very much like Alyssa.

You wondered what will Rhaenyra do now, her husband has perished, she has three children but she is still young. The realm will expect her to marry again.

You took your children by their hands and walked over to where the realm’s delight was standing. You stared solemnly at Rhaenyra, you placed a hand on her cheek and brought the princess into a warm embrace. No words exchanged but that was fine, none were needed.

The three boys standing around Rhaenyra on the other hand, looked at you with muted curiosity.

„Jace, Luke, Joff this is your aunt Princess y/n.” Rhaenyra introduced, you kneeled next to the boys.

„I’m sure you do not remember me, but we have met a few times before.” You said placing your palm on Jace’s rosy cheek.

„Good morrow, princess.” Jace shyly answered.

„You can call me aunt, Jace.” The dark haired boy nodded his head sheepishly.

„I would like to introduce your cousins to you.” You slightly pushed Baelon and Vhaenor in front of the three Velaryons.

The eldest of your princelings slightly bowed his head at them.

„I’m Baelon.” He introduced himself „This is my brother Vhaenor, and the babe is Aerion.”

„I’m Jacaerys this is Lucerys and Joffrey.” You watched as the two boys interacted.

„How are you faring?” You questioned Rhaenyra leaving your sons to themselves.

„It is not as hard as I thought it will be. I did love him, but it was more of a brotherly love. I’m thankful for the children we have…” She told you her thoughts and you listened intently. „I’m glad we left for Dragonstone when we did, I do not think I could have endured more of that vipers den. And Laenor, gods save him. He was a good father but not much more than that.”

You slightly chuckled as you talked in a secluded area.

„Do you think you’ll remarry?” You suddenly questioned.

„I have a lover I am very close to… But I do not want to marry so soon. I wish to experience more freedom.” She answered smoothing her black gown with teal accents.

„A lover you say?” You curiously asked, you saw as a blush spread on Rhaenyra’s pale face.

„He is a noble man from Lys.”

„Lys?”

„Darys Ormollen.” She said without beating around the bush.

„You do not mean… Aunt Saera’s son.” You remembered the name you heard in passing conversation. The heir only nodded. „How did you come to meet our cousin?”

„It is a long story.”

„I would love to hear it some day, and meet him. Perhaps we could even invite aunt Saera to the Stepstones.”

„I don’t think she will accept but you can always try.”

„It is important for our family to be together. Besides I didn’t even know she was married for a long time, Jaehaerys told me of Saera a few times but nothing of her life outside of the Seven Kingdoms.”

The funereal procession started. The heads of house Celtigar, Massey, Darklyn and Bar Emmom were present. Corlys’s brother Aethan, delivered the eulogy. You watched with Rhaenyra your children and Daemon as Laenor’s casket was lowered into the sea. The same way Laena’s was four years ago. Baelon and Vhaenor were standing next to their cousins. Aerion was in your arms and Joffrey was in Rhaenyra’s.

„May the winds guide into the the afterlife, nephew.” Aethan recited „For our words are the old, the true, the brave. You may not have been old, but you were true and brave.”

You saw tears stain Jacaerys’s and Lucerys’s cheeks, your palms rested on their shoulders. With the back of your palm you wiped their tears.

…

You watched as Viserys stumbled down the cliffs with Alicent and Otto by his side. Helaena and Aemond following after them. You approached his grace with Daemon and your children.

„Your grace.” You bowed before your sickly brother.

„Oh, y/n.” He wheezed „You certainly are a sight for sore eyes.” He placed his boney palm on your cheek.

„Brother, you do not look well. Are the maesters treating you well? If you wish I can call upon my healers from Essos.” You offered putting your hand over his.

„The maesters are taking great care of his grace. They do best they can.” Alicent butted in.

„Perhaps their best isn’t enough.” Your husband snipped staring with wide eyes at his brother’s worsening condition.

„Hush now husband I am sure the maesters are… healing our brother to the best of their abilities. Even if they are not enough.”

„And your children, your highness?” Otto muttered chanting the subject „Happy news reached King’s Ladning that new dragons hatched.”

„Yes, lord hand. Five dragons indeed hatched.”

„And since when are you interested in dragon, Otto? I remember you said they are an abomination to your gods.” Daemon carelessly said. You tried to surpress a chuckle. Viserys through his hazines glanced disappointed at Otto.

„Speaking of children, your graces we must return to them.”

„And where is Aegon? He has not come greet me or his lord father.” Alicent questioned accusatory.

„Aegon is with his cousins.” Your brother answered for you.

„So you saddle him with taking care of babes, now?” The green Queen made a snide comment.

„Oh not at all, your grace. He is simply offering his comforts to Baela and Rhaena. After all they just lost and uncle.” You intertwined your arm with Daemon.

„I see.” She only muttered and the two of you left, returning to your children’s side.

„Have you seen him? He looks like the stranger is eating him alive.” You whispered to Daemon, he nodded and squeezed you hand reassuringly.

„The greens are ordering the maesters to be worsening his condition.”

„We need our healers to take a look at him.”

„And what if they don’t do anything?”

You stayed quiet, consumed by thoughts on how to turn this situation in your favor.

„What are you thinking of?”

„Do you remember when our grandsire named father his hand when he was too sick to rule?”

„You do not think..?”

You nodded at your brother.

„Viserys is sick, the greens control the throne. Rhaenyra is his heir, she should become her fathers regent and wear his crown.”

The two children of Baelon the brave stared at Rhaenyra from afar. She and her children stood alone amongs the cliffs and salty sea.

„It could work, but Otto is still hand. He will go against this, the council will side with him.” Daemon noticed, caressing your hand affectionately.

„Then we have to think of a way to find new members of the small council, those who will be unwaveringly loyal to ’Nyra. And us of course. Still we have to get rid of Otto somehow, name a new hand.”

„Corlys…He hates the greens as much as we do. His house is the richest in the seven kingdoms. He is old and experienced.”

Your eyes widened surprised.

„You would not want to be hand? I know you pestered Viserys for that position.”

„I used to, but we would have to move to King’s Landing. I do not want to leave the Stepstones, I do not want our children to be raised there. At least on Bloodstone we are the rulers of our own lives, Baela and Rhaena are happy there and so is Aegon.”

„You have changed.” You stated, a warm feeling spread in your insides.

„Does my wife, enjoy it?” He teasingly questioned placing his large palms on your waist.

„Very much so.” You smiled leaning into his warm embrace.

„Your highness.” Annora approached the two of you with Aerion in her arms. He was fussing, you could see tears stain his chubby cheeks. „I’m sorry but he could not stop crying.”

„It is fine, thank you.” You answered taking Aerion, he will be turning one soon.

„You coddle him.” Daemon stated taking him from your arms and into his. You could see that he started to wiggle in discomfort.

„Maybe he’s hungry.” You said feeling your sore breasts.

„No, he is spoilt. You always hold him, you didn’t do that with Baelon or Vhaenor.”

„It’s just… he’s so small.”

„He’s healthy, my love. He’ll be fine without your embrace for a while.” Your husband answered keeping Aerion in his arms.

You walked with Daemon through castle Driftmark. A dreary seat, even more than Dragonstone. Your children were taken to a spare nursery, that left you and Daemon in your temporary chambers.

You sighed and begun to unlace the black mourning dress with silver accents.

„Do you need help?” Daemon approached you from behind, without and answer he began to unlace the bodice and dress.

„I need to change into something more comfortable.” You announced „This dress squeezes my breasts and I cannot take it anymore.”

„Perhaps you are due to a visit to the tailor?” Daemon muttered sliding the fabric off your body. You raised your silver eyebrow.

„Are you saying I’m too fat for my dresses?”

„No, your tits are too big to fit in that dress. Although I do like to see them spill out of your cleavage. Perhaps I was wrong to mention a tailor.” Your husband teased caressing the side of your breast with his thumb.

„I wasn’t so big after Vhaenor…” You stated staring at yourself in the mirror.

„You aren’t big, y/n.”

„Do you want more children?” You questioned turning to face Daemon, dressed in cotton underdress.

„I want as many children as you will give me.” He leaned against your forehead.

„A girl, then.”

„A girl?” Daemon pressed a kiss to your neck, his hands roamed over your body. „As you wish, wife.”

…

You slept comfortably tangled in Daemon’s arms, the bed was not as comfortable as the one you shared on Bloodstone. A knock stirred you out of sleep, you tried to ignore the sound but it was persistent. You groaned and wrapped your body in a silver robe and opened the door.

„Aegon? What has happened so early?” You questioned leaning on the door frame.

„His grace invited you and your family to break fast together.” He nervously said.

„Now?”

„In an hour or so.”

„Why are you telling me this? You are not a servant.”

„I’m… What if they order me to return with them?” You sighed at his broken heart expression, you wrapped him in your arms and caressed his messy silver gold hair.

„I will fight to keep you with me.” You answers pressing a kiss to his temple.

„Promise?”

„I promise. Now go back to your chambers and dress, preferably in black it is a funeral after all.”

He nodded and skipped off to your chambers, you sighed and pressed your hand against your forehead. It was too early for political warfare, you felt tired and a bit sore from the strenuous activities of the night before.

You walked over to the bed where your husband laid, his naked back spread comfortably over the bed.

„Daemon.” You nudged him, he groaned and turned away from you, you chuckled and sat on his abdomen keeping him in place. „Daemon.” You whispered into his ear.

„hmm?” He murmured waking from sleep.

„We are invited to break fast with our brother.”

„How do you expect me to leave when I have you on top of me?” He cheekily said, your cheeks warmed and you felt him growing hard under you.

„We do not have time…” You whispered.

…

Your black dress with embroidered red dragon’s breath swayed with your movement. The long sleeves of the dress were in Baelon’s clutches as he walked next to you unsure. He did not like castle Driftmark nor did he like the sea.

„Your highness.” Ser Erryk and Arryk Cargyll bowed as they guarded the King’s chambers.

„Sers.” You answered and entered your brothers room with your family.

Viserys barely lucid sat at a round table in the corner of the room, a weird smelling incense was burning in the chambers.

You kissed his healthier cheek and took a place on his right, Daemon to his left.

„Where is Alicent and the children?” You questioned.

„It will be just us, my siblings.” He wheezed back, motioning for the servant to bring the food.

„What is that smell?” Daemon asked sniffing the air.

„Oh it is- it is an ailment the maesters prescribed.” Your brother answered breathlessly, you nodded at Daemon to put out the poison and open the windows.

„I’m afraid it’s making the children a bit queasy, you do not mind if we open the windows?” You took Viserys’s hand in yours. He simply nodded and glanced at your eldest, Baelon.

„And how are you, my nephew?” Viserys asked, the two boys looked at him unsure. Aerion stayed in the nursery.

„I’m well, your grace.” The four year old answered playing with the hem of his doublet under the table.

„There is…no need to call me your grace. I am your uncle you may adres me as such.” Your brother said, you smiled seeing the love he held for his family. „I heard you have a dragon.”

„Yes! I call him Aegarax, he’s brave like Darren!” Baelon exclaimed happy to talk about his hatchling, simply forgetting the uneasiness he felt before.

„You named him right, Baelon a strong name.” He turned to you.

„Thank you, I do not remember our father but the stories grandsire told me of him makes me feel as if I did get to know him.”

„And where is the babe?” He questioned.

„In his nursery.” Daemon answered.

„Viserys… do you think it well to name a regent?” You gently coaxed him into the new topic.

„Regent? Otto is my hand, he does well in my absence.” His grace wheezed.

„And how often does he rule in your absence. I’ve been hearing that he sits the throne every day.” Daemon a bit more harsh added.

„My sickness keeps me abed most days, yes.”

„Even the greatest Kings get sick or old and they need help. Their family’s help. Remember Jaehaerys? He named Baelon his hand and regent.”

„Yes, father was an excellent hand despite his short time serving the role.” Viserys agreed. You noticed that once the incense cleared your brother seemed to get a bit better. More lucid.

„Rhaenyra is your heir, you should let her take more responsibility. She is after all the future Queen.”

Viserys pondered for a moment, he glanced at you then at Daemon.

„Perhaps you are right…” He admitted. „I will have to talk with the council of this change.”

You sent a small smile in your husbands direction, he returned the gesture smugly. The Hightowers have controlled the throne far too long, as true dragons it was your duty to stop their rule.

The bigger problem however was Alicent Hightower, you couldn't dismiss a Queen as easily as a Hand. You knew Viserys never loved her, he may hold some affection for her but it couldn't compare to the feelings he held for Aemma.

"Have you thought of Aegon returning to King's Landing?" You suddenly asked, your brother raised his eyebrow. It is as if he just remembered he has a son.

"Oh yes... Aegon."

"He's turning into a man soon, brother." Daemon added.

"I suppose he is... what is the issue then?"

"Aegon doesn't want to return to the Red Keep." You stated matter of factly.

"Why wouldn't he? His siblings and mother are there." He said unaware.

"That castle is a viper's den, it is no surprise a boy of only five and ten wouldn't want to stay there. After he was raised for over a decade in a loving home."

"Alicent is his mother it is her choice in the end."

"You are the King, Viserys. I'm sure it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for you to have the last say. I'm sure Aegon would be thankful." You stated

"I..." He wheezed "Bring him." He ordered.

Aegon dressed in a black doublet and trousers, the cape on his shoulders was of a deep crimson.

"Your grace." He bowed his head slightly at his sitting father "Aunt, Uncle."

"Aegon, sit." He ordered, the boy took a seat next to his little cousins. You smiled symphatically at Aegon as he uncomfortably cowered under Viserys's gaze. "I have heard you wish to stay with your aunt and uncle, is this true?"

"...Yes, father." He nodded unsure.

"I see no reason to-" Viserys was cut off in the middle of the sentence, the doors opened and Alicent stepped in the chambers. Her dark green dress flowing after he movements.

"Husband, son. Princess y/n, Prince Daemon." She was out of breath as she acknowledged your presence.

"Alicent." Viserys wheezed "What are you doing here? I... I didn't call for you."

"I came to see my son." Aegon tensed at his mothers words.

"We have just been talking of extending his wardship." Viserys answered and in that moment you wanted to commit treason and strangle your brother for his idiocy.

"What?" She asked in disbelief.

"I wish to stay with my aunt and uncle, your grace." Aegon meekly said.

"That is out of the question. Your wardship has come to an end, there is no reason for you to stay on that rock any longer."

"Lady Mother-" He wanted to speak but Alicent silenced him with a flick of her wrist.

"And you would allow this?" She glared at Viserys "For them to take away my son from me? Again?"

"I am not taken away anywhere, I want to remain with my cousins and aunt." Aegon explained but Alicent ignored his pleas.

"Aegon..." You whispered to the boy who had tears in his eyes.

"Don't you see Viserys! She has raised my son! Poisoned him against me, and his family!"

"Alicent! Mind your tongue. My sister has done and admirable job at raising Aegon, you should be thanking her instead of spitting such vile accusations." Viserys said angrily glaring at his Hightower wife. "If it is Aegon's wish to remain in the stepsons he may do so until his eight and tenth birthday when he shall return to King's Landing."

"My King-" Alicent tried to speak.

"My decision is final, Alicent."

King Viserys's health has deteriorated over the years making him incapable of sitting the throne. He named his heir Princess Rhaenyra regent until he would be able to rule once more. Many believe that is is Princess y/n and Prince Daemon's doing for the realm delight to sit the throne. - From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.

Taglist:

@nessjo

#aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #alicent hightower #house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd x reader #hotd #daemon targeryan #viserys targaryen #daemon x reader #rhaenyra targeryan #rhaenyra x reader

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ashblooddragons · 6 months ago

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My Heart, My Ruin (Chapter 2/?)

(sorry if this chapter is on the shorter side, I got back on a med I hadn't had in a while because my doctors weren't refilling it, and one of the side effects of this med is making me tired and fatigued. I honestly didn't even know if I would get chapter 8 of The Red Queen so I'm really sorry if this is short, or not written well or anywhere near as well as I try usually, I'm just trying to stay awake to get this out. sorry for the rant I'm gonna let you read now lol)

28 ac

Rhaellas Pov

I try not to fidget as Papa makes a speech, it's my sixth nameday which means I'm officially a big girl.

“I warn you all, our little girl is a curious one. She will ask about the gift you have given her and want all the details. There is a reason we call her our curious dragon.” Papa says making all the lords laugh and making me blush and hide my face in my hands.

“So let us feast on this great day as we celebrate my sweet little girl, my firstborn, for her sixth nameday!” Papa finishes making everyone cheer as they take sips of their wine.

He bends down and kisses my forehead and whispers. “Happy nameday my curious dragon.”

“Thank you, Papa.” I say making him smile before he and Mama walk down the steps of the high table to talk to some of the lords.

“When will you get to open your presents?” Rhaena asks picking at the food on her plate.

“Yeah, we're bored!” Aegon my little brother exclaims. He's only two but he's very smart, Mama calls him her little genius.

“I'm sure Papa or Grandsire will announce when I can open them.” I say grabbing Aegon's arm before he runs off. Have I mentioned he also never stops running! How he can run into a tree head first and laugh before running again is beyond me. I hope the baby in Mama's belly is a girl, I can't handle another brother.

“I want to see the dragons!” Aegon demands stomping his feet.

He always throws tantrums if he doesn't get his way so I try and find Mama or Papa in the crowd of lords and ladies.

“Don't speak to your sister that way boy.” I hear the deep and cold voice of Kepus.

Aegon stops and turns to look up at him just when I do too. I know Kepus must be mad from the scowl on his face.

“I just wanted to say hi to Quicksilver.” Aegon says sheepishly already turning to hide in the shirts of my dress.

Kepus only hums before taking a sip of wine from his chalice. Thankfully for Aegon and Rhaena Papa and Mama seem to have had their nursemaids come to get them as it's time for them to go to sleep.

Once my siblings are taken away Kepus sits in the chair next to me that was previously taken by Rhaena.

“Happy nameday, ñuha prūmia. I got you something.” He says as he reaches into his jerkin pocket. He holds something in his fist holding it out to me. “Hold your hands out, ñuha prūmia.”

I do as he told me, holding my hands out under his. When he opens it I'm ready to catch something but nothing falls into my hands, but when I look at his hand I see he's dangling a beautiful necklace from his pointer finger. It has purple stones that appear almost like tear drops, and the metal looks like a darker silver.

“Happy nameday, ñuha prūmia.”

“It's wonderful, where did you get it?” I ask, reaching out to feel the cool metal against the skin of my palms.

“It was in our family archives, supposedly it was Daenys the Dreamers. It's made of Valyrian steel and is encrusted with amethysts. Daenys was always said to love amethysts.” He says with a soft smile.

“Daenys? she wore this?” I ask excitedly, he knows how much I adore Daenys the Dreamer. I've probably made him read me the story of her more than a hundred times by now.

“That's what the Maester said, now turn around let me help put it on you.” He says in that tone that I know means he's not asking, he's telling.

So I do as he says turning in my seat so my back is to him and grab my curly hair hoping I got it all. I feel the chill of the metal against my throat as I feel Kepus clip it.

“There, now let me see.” I hear him say as he gently takes my hair out of my hands so it can fall down my back once more

I turn and look up at him watching as he smiles fondly. “Lovely, it matches your dress wonderfully, but it matches those eyes much better.”

I smile touching the pink velvet dress Mama gave me for my Nameday. It has gold dragon embroidered along the skirt and at the neckline. But for some reason his words about my eyes is what makes me blush. But my joy is soon cut off my none other than Ceryse Hightower.

“I see you've given her the present you chose.” She says resting her hand on Kepus's shoulder.

I watch as he tense something dark, something cruel flashes in his eyes before they become the stoney ones he lets the world see.

I like the ones he has with me much better. I think before turning to his wife.

“Yes, it's a wonderful gift.” I say trying to stay kind even though I don't like her.

I never knew why I didn't like her, she's kind, gentle, sweet, but she's so boring. Her idea of fun is sitting and sewing, my idea of fun is running in the fields or flying with Papa or Grandsire.

“That's wonderful, I'm glad you like it. Maegor worked very hard to find it. Had to be the perfect one, he said.” She says smiling at Kepus but he only seems to be getting more and more upset.

Cersye seems to catch the tense atmosphere and hands me a black leather journal with red ribbon to tie it. It seems to be imprinted with the Targaryen symbol on the front and back.

“As you are six namedays you'll start your studies with a Septa. I found having a journal helped me to remember my lessons and to take notes. I hope it helps you as much as having one helped me.”

I can't deny that it's a thoughtful gift, and one she seems to have commissioned just for me. She obviously didn't just pick this up at some random book store in a rush. I think, feeling the soft leather against my palms.

“Thank you, it's a lovely gift. I'm sure it will get much use.” I say setting it back on the table.

I'm about to ask if Kepus will dance with me when I hear the music start but his wife beats me to it.

“Dance with me, darling? You know this is my favorite.” She asks, already pulling him out of his chair.

I watch as he walks away with her to dance, I don't know why it hurts my heart seeing him with her, but it does. I hear a dragon roar from outside, it gives a pull at my soul like always.

“Come to me! I'm waiting!” it's starting to sound desperate, if only I could find out where it is. No, where she is.

This is the necklace Maegor gies Rhaella, or at least what I see lol

Series Masterlist

Special thanks to @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I'd be lost without you girly!

TAGLIST @sugutoad @ilikefelines @sachaa-ff @classicsimpforaaronwarner @mmogurl

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aryxchse · 1 year ago

Note

hey pookie!!

firstly, CONGRATULATIONS 🥳🥳🥳 SO PROUD

secondly, could i get some love talk with my fav boy, leo??🤭🤭🤭

cabin three girly 🫡 who who just wants like silly goofy kisses, ya know?? like i just want to have a silly goofy time with my bf 🫶😖😖😖 (hopefully that’s enough info, if not, reach out, honey!!)

ANYWAYS I LOVE YA AND YOURE SO AMAZING AND DESERVE ALL THAOE LITTLE FOLLOWERS 😘😘

"leo, you're literally dying my forehead!" you whined.

"sorry!" leo said, quickly wiping the hair dye from your forehead.

for the past 30 minutes, you and leo were trying to dye your bangs blue. you already finished dying leo's hair, so it was your turn. and since he insisted on dying your hair because you did his, it all lead to here.

"you look so cute," leo giggled like he was making fun of you, placing a soft kiss on your nose. "i think it's done."

"yeah? you didn't left any places right?" you asked, looking at your hair from the bathroom mirror. leo carefully twisted your bangs on your forehead, which is the sight made him laugh loudly.

it was funny for you too, a twisted blue hair just staying on your forehead. you laughed with him as he kissed your neck between his giggles, keeping his hands away to not get any hair dye on your camp shirt.

the idea came from percy and annabeth, since they had matching grey strands in their hair. the reason it's being blue is because you love blue. and leo loves you, so he's down to anything you ask.

"we should wait like, around what?" he asked, lifting you up with his arms, careful enough to not touch you with his dyed hands. you sat on top of the counter, looking at your watch.

"40 minutes should be enough." you said, wrapping your arms around his neck lazyly. leo kissed the inside of your arms, leading his lips to your cheek. you giggled because his kisses made you tickle.

you guys chatted until the 40 minutes passed. you two almost forget it and start to make out, but leo suddenly burst into laughter when your bangs stick up to his forehead. you wiped his forehead then washed his hair, then he started to wash your bangs.

"people are gonna be sooo jealous lemme tell ya," he said, carefully applying shampoo on your bangs. "you look even hotter."

"i could say the same." you giggled. "blue really is your color."

the light blue strands shined in his dark curly hair, but he didn't mind. as long as it made you happy.

"alright, all done." he said, drying your bangs with the same towel he used.

"it's time to style it!" you cheered, chuckling.

you started to style your bangs with hair straightener. you smiled at leo and shaked your head a little bit to make your bangs move. "so?" you asked.

"very cute," he said, pinching your cheek. "how is mine look?" you looked at his blue curl that you did your best to style it like the rest of his hair. and to be honest, it looked so cute!

"aww, you're so pretty valdez," you said, holding his chin and kissing his nose. "look at you, like a barbie doll."

leo smirked and blinked a couple of times like a girl showing her mascara. "i know right?" he joked, you laughed and kissed his lips.

"let's show percy and annabeth who's the cutest with the matching strands."

a / n ; the queen wants the queen gets! and hopefully she likes!!

#arya's 400 follower event #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #percy jackson series #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson imagine #all da ladies luv leo !#leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez x you #leo valdez headcanons #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez imagines #leo valdez

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mirkwoodshewolf · 8 months ago

Text

Fallen angel; Dean Winchester x reader

*Author's note*

Well this request was really starting to collect dust in my inbox but I finally got around to doing it so I'd like to thank @topstory21 for being so patient with me for their request and hope that you enjoy it.

Warnings: Swearing, violence (this is SPN after all), mentions of family death, some angst and fluff.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@queen-paladin

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@remussl0vers

__________________________________________________________

I awoke to find myself out in a field and the sound of mooing next to me. I turned with a groan to see a few cows staring at me as they continued their grazing, their deep brown eyes staring deep into my very soul. Slowly I got up feeling nothing but aches and pains in my body which I found strange.

Normally my body heals on its own pretty fast being an angel and all that but now my powers weren’t working. Wait, how did I even get down to earth in the first place? Dean didn’t pray for me and Cas wasn’t in trouble nor was big brother Gabriel causing any trouble.

After composing myself I walked out of the field and followed the road to the nearest town where I managed to find a convenient store. I walked in and saw on the tv above about a meteor shower the like of which these humans had never seen before. It was then I remembered what had happened.

I—I had fallen. And not just me but—every angel in heaven had been cast out and fallen to earth. I tried to tap into the angel radio but I came up with nothing, not even static. No, no, no, no this couldn’t be happening.

“Miss? Miss? Are you alright?” I turned to see a young man in his young teen years and I asked him.

“Where am I?”

“Miles City, Montana.” He answered. “Do you uhh—need me to call someone?”

“No, no I….thank you. Forget I was here.” I then walked out of the store and felt a sudden overwhelming feeling after realizing that I had now become a fallen angel, I wasn’t in Kansas, I can’t communicate with any of my brothers and sisters, and I had no access to my powers. “Why didn’t I accept that cellphone that Dean offered me? I just had to follow the rules. No human technology in heaven. I could’ve played off like big brother Cas but nooo.”

Okay (Y/n) just calm down and think about this. You’ve got a location, now all you need to do is find a way to get in contact with either Dean, Sam or Cas. Surely someone will let me use their phone for just a moment or two to make a call. I saw a group of skater teens gathered by another convenient store and I walked up to them and asked.

“Excuse me, could I use one of your cellphones to call someone?”

“Why can’t you just use your own lady?” asked a rude boy with face acne.

“I—seemed to have misplaced it. Please it’d just be for a minute or two.”

“Sorry lady. We don’t even carry our own phones. Parents tracking us and all that shit. That’s why we just have our go-pros.” Said another boy with long brown hair.

“Your parents only worry for your safety.”

“Jesus Christ another Karen comin to tell us to what to do. Let’s get out of here.” The teens then got on their skateboards and bikes and soon left me in the dust (quite literally as they purposefully kicked up the rocks and debris nearby).

“I swear children today have no respect for anyone. And why do they keep using that term Karen?”

“The rise of social media and technology raising them and careless parents not fit to discipline them.” I jumped at the voice and saw a woman with curly blonde hair. She appeared to be around her early to mid-40’s but she still held someone of a youthful glow about her. Her hypnotic green eyes glared out towards the teenagers that had just left me in the dust.

“They do seem to think they’re above authority nowadays don’t they?” I vocalized my thoughts.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to intrude or anything but I had heard you were in a bit of a bind and just thought I’d offer my help.” She said turning toward me.

“I’d greatly appreciate it, thank you Miss…..”

“Agatha. Agatha Dubois.” She extended her hand out and I greatly took it as we shook hands.

“Thank you Miss DuBois, really I do appreciate it. You would not believe that I’ve been through today.”

“From what I heard about those meteor showers, I’d say it was quite an event. Some people have lost their homes due to collateral damage from the explosions that had been happening.” Oh my….I hope I didn’t cause anyone any harm when I had landed. “If you don’t mind helping me load up some stuff into my truck, I’d be more than willing to allow you to use my telephone. Maybe even get you a nice home-cooked meal. Lord knows you look like you need it.”

Being an angel I’ve never really had the taste for food. But now with my grace potentially gone and now feeling 100% human, I could feel the extreme hunger that was now knowing at the edges of my stomach.

“Are you sure about all that? All I’d really need is just to use a phone.”

“Ahhh don’t worry about it. Besides, my mama always taught me to help out a stranger in need.”

“Well, thank you Ms. DuBois.”

“Oh you can call me Agatha. Now c’mon, these gas tanks can get pretty heavy and you’d be a life savior if I didn’t have to make more than two trips.” I walked over towards her truck and helped her load up the gas tanks that I’ve seen be used to grills for barbecuing. Once we were done, I got up in the passenger seat and she drove us towards her cabin out in the woods.

We unloaded her truck and after storing away the last gas tank in her shed, I wiped my forehead of the sweat that now clamped onto my brow. Whew, who would’ve thought this is what humans feel like after every work day?

“I greatly appreciate you helping me out (Y/n).” Agatha thanked me.

“I’m glad I could help out. Now may I ask where you’re phones at?”

“Come with me to the kitchen and it’ll be right by the sink. Sometimes cell reception gets a little funky so I keep a landline just in case.” She escorted me towards her house and it was like any other home I had seen.

Decent cabin with various trinkets, knick-knacks, furniture and pictures. Some by herself and others with what appeared to be either friends or family. We got into the kitchen and she pointed the phone out to me. And boy I hadn’t seen phones like that since the 1970’s. I walked over to it, picked it up and began dialing Dean’s number but just as I started to press the last two numbers, I felt something hit the back of my neck and I was knocked out like a light.

*Dean’s POV*

Now we’ve had crazy things happen to us before, hell we started the freakin apocalypse for crying out loud. But this shit…..this was way beyond anything we’ve come across. To be told that the trials for sealing off Hell for good was nothing but a rouse, a filthy lie. And now hundreds maybe thousands of angels, including my girl are scattered throughout the world.

“Anything coming up yet?” I asked Sam who was on his laptop typing away.

“Nothing other than the news talking about the supposed ‘Great meteor shower of 2013’.”

“How bout Cas, heard anything from him?”

“No.” I let out a growl as I paced through the motel room.

“I told that girl to keep the damn phone, why doesn’t she ever listen to me?”

“You can’t blame (Y/n) for this.”

“I’m not! She’s not the one who casted the angels out of heaven. And don’t go thinking I’m blaming you either, we both believed that those trials would be for the demons of Hell. If I ever see Metatron again…..”

“You won’t be able to do anything Dean.” We both jumped at the sudden voice of Cas appearing behind us.

“The hell have you been?! We’ve been calling and praying to you and you just ghost us!”

“In case you hadn’t noticed Dean, I’ve been a bit busy as of late.” Cas sneered sarcastically.

“Cas, what exactly is going on out there?” Sam asked him.

“The angel radio has been blaring nonstop of angels in a state of panic. However it’s about half the normal voices I usually hear. I fear that most of the angels that had fallen had also lost their grace. Including (Y/n).” oh fuck no! If she’s lost her grace then…..she’s practically useless out there.

Unlike most angels, she’s more of a diplomat than a soldier, hardly ever really fought unless her life depended on it. She’s confessed that the only real wars she’s participated in was the 100 years War with Joan of Arc and some battle during the Civil war. But she’s had her powers to use to take down any demon or monster that came at her, without it she’ll—NO!!

“Do you know where she might be?” I asked.

“I’ve tried everything in whatever power I have left since my own casting out and I’ve come up with….how you guys say, squat.” My breathing sharpened, “However, there might be someone we could see in order to find her.”

“What do you mean Cas?” I asked.

“In her secret visits down here to Earth back during the Civil war, I’m told she once connected with someone who was able to see and know all of the past and the future.”

“What you’re saying she met with a fortune teller?” asked Sam.

“No, not people who claim to know your fortunes I literally mean a deity that can see the past and the future. An oracle.” Said Cas.

“You—you serious? Like an actual oracle?”

“We’ve come across dragons before Dean, oracles don’t seem so farfetched.” Said Sam with a shrug.

“Alright well, how do we get in touch with this oracle?”

“If I recall, their last known location was deep in bayou of New Orleans.”

“Then Louisiana it is. We’re wasting time let’s go!” I ordered as the two of them followed me outside to the car and I floored it till we got to Louisiana.

We reached the city within a day and a half and managed to book a ferry ride down the bayou to where Cas would guide us. He said the oracle lived on a small island on the bayou known as Moonscar isle. I leaned up against the railings of the ferry staring out into the murky waters and creepy swamps. Normally I’d be saying we’re living out an actual Scooby doo location but all my mind was thinking about was (Y/n).

“Dean.” Cas voice called out to me. I felt his hand on my shoulder, “We’ll find her. She might not be the strongest fighter of my sisters but she is clever. If she does run into trouble, she’ll find a way out of it.”

“You better be right Cas. Cause I don’t know what I’ll do if we find her too late.” We soon reached the dock of Moonscar isle and I drove us through the bumpy roads. I know you ain’t used to these roads Baby but I promise you, we’ll be back on the smooth road soon.

“Okay Cas did (Y/n) say anything specific on how to find this oracle’s location?” Sam questioned.

“It should be the only thing living on this island. No one has lived here since the days of the Civil War.”

“Seems easy enough.” I floored Baby a bit faster until we hit a hump which caused all of us to hit our heads on the roof.

“Dean I know you want to save (Y/n) but maybe try to go easy on the gas. At least until we hit smoother terrain.” Suggested Sam. As we drove through the thick mist, we soon caught sight of what appeared to be torches lighting the way. We followed the light until we came upon a small cabin.

I turned the engine off and the three of us got out of Baby and closed the doors.

“Typical, witchy and spooky. Remind me to question her friends when we find her.” I told them both before trudging through the wet mud and marshes towards the cabin. I climbed up the ladder which lead to the cabin above and I opened the door only to be greeted by a hissing snake. “JESUS…..”

“No Jesus Christ be ‘ere. Only the one who speaks between the realms of gods and mortals.” A female Cajun voice spoke up. The snake retreated backward but kept its unblinking eyes on me as hand reached out and stroked it’s head.

Soon a woman in an old, and when I say old I meant like past century or two old, dress. Long and elegant yet battered and weathered by time. Her hair was styled in dreads and styled much like Eddie Van Halen’s hair. But what had me unsettled was the snake-like eyes that she had. Give me black, red, yellow, or even white eyes but not snake eyes.

“Calypso.” Cas greeted.

“Castiel.” Her wicked and rotten smile greeted. Seriously I’ve seen vampires with better dental hygiene than this woman. “And de Winchester brothers. Calypso ‘erd many tings about you two. Destiny and fate twists around you both like puppets on a string.” Calypso said as the snake that scared me now began wrapping itself around her neck.

“Yeah we uhh—get that a lot. Listen we’ve come to…..”

“I know what it is that you come for cher.” Calypso interrupted my brother. “Enter but be weary of your step.” Oh yeah sure that’s comforting. We entered inside the cabin and saw that the entire place was filled with jars, voodoo stuff, jars with the most randomness, weird, freaky and creepy stuff I had only seen be put in movies. Snakes, bats, and rats also made their home in this cabin. “Sit down.”

We were lead to a table that held scrolls, maps and books that would make even Bobby’s library seem like the kid’s section at the library.

“You ‘ave come to seek ma Cherie (Y/n).”

“Yeah, do you know where she is?”

“To answer such a question must be bound. For her heart may soon be in de ground.” I soon felt my chin being tilted upward as I was now forced to look up at her. “You above the two share that bond with ma cher.” I forced my way out of her strong grip.

“I may have failed Spanish but I know what that endearment means so don’t be trying to call her any of that when she’s already spoken for.”

“Angels ave lived many lives. To stick to one partner is never just enough.” She said with me with a seductive smirk. Okay so did she mean that she and (Y/n) once…..okay not that I don’t think it’s hot but c’mon Dean now’s really not the time to be thinking about things like that right now.

“Calypso. We’re worried about her, Cas has said she’s lost touch with angel radio. And if that’s true then that means she’s lost her grace when she fell from Heaven.”

“When de angels fell from the sky, Hell itself shook. More demons seep out now to destroy their lifelong foes. The balance between them has now shifted to Hell’s favor, and if not set straight, all will be lost.” Calypso said as she walked over towards one of her bookshelves and allowed the snake to slither down her arm and track down a rat.

As she spoke, just seeing the snake hunt down the rat and catch it before wrapping itself around it and squeezing it to death made me feel uncomfortable.

“Calypso, you and (Y/n) were close with one another. If you still care for her at all, will you help us find her?” the oracle remained silent before she said.

“I ave wha you seek, but I demand special payment before I can give this precious gift away.”

“What is it that you want?” I demanded. A slow, wicked smirk came across her face.

*My POV*

I woke up feeling groggy and with a massive headache but I also felt my hands and feet were strapped down. I struggled to get up but I heard Agatha’s voice.

“There’s no point in struggling.” I turned my head to see her cleaning up an angel blade. “That there is angel blades mixed with the strongest iron melted and forged into handcuffs.”

“You know what I am?” I asked her.

“Trust me sweetheart, you’re not the first angel we came across.”

“We?” I then thought back to the photo’s I saw in her cabin. “Your family.”

“Yeah. My husband Frank, and my two boys Nathan and Jake. My husband and I had left the hunter’s life behind in order to raise our two boys. But when word got out that the apocalypse and the end of the world was happening, well…..let’s just say the Winchester’s weren’t the only ones on the demons radar. Soon the angels started coming after us, all because we refused to be their pawns.”

“I take it that the angel that came to you was called Zachariah?”

“Yeah.” She sneered.

“Figures. I hated that douchebag so much. Out of all my brothers, I hated him more than Lucifer and Michael combined.”

“Just because you claim that, doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you.” She said as she stood over me and placed the angel blade right to my neck.

“Listen Agatha, even if you do kill me it won’t change anything.”

“I’m not gonna kill you. At least not yet. First you’re gonna tell me where I can find that rat bastard, and then once I’m through with him then I’ll kill you. And finally be rid of you angels.”

“I don’t think the angels will be the least of your concern these days. If any hunter out there knows all lore, then they’d know that what they witnessed wasn’t a meteor shower.”

“They were fallen angels yeah, yeah I read up more on the lore once we kept running into Zachariah and after he had killed my boys. That’s why I’ve been hunting down you angels that came here. And you dearie, make number three.”

“Who were the other two?”

“Didn’t care to ask them. But they proved useless to me in the end. But oh do I remember seeing your name in some of the lore books. The Angel of Mercy. So any angel that’s out there, you would know where they are.”

“That was before I had fallen. Now I’m as mortal as you are. I’m of no use to you Agatha. And even if you were to kill me, no angel is going to tell you where to find Zachariah.”

“Then I guess I’ll keep killing your kind until someone screams.” Gunshots suddenly fired just a few feet away from her and I heard Dean’s voice roar out.

“THE HELL YOU WILL!” we looked up to see Dean with his revolver pointed right at Agatha.

“The infamous Dean Winchester.” Agatha mocked in praise. “Should I be honored by your presence?”

“Cut the small talk you psychotic bitch, I ain’t here to make friends.”

“From one hunter to another, I thought the job was to kill any monster that got in our way? That includes these so called ‘angels’.”

“Look, I’ll admit that most of them were douchebags with wings but the one you’ve got right there. She’s about as harmless as a kitten. So I’m only gonna say this one last time, let her go or I pump you full of lead.” It was then I saw Castiel and Sam sneaking in from the back, when I caught my brother’s eye, he pressed his finger to his lips as I withdrew his own angel blade while Sam took out his own pistol.

“Not until I get what I want. And I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way.” It was then Sam came up and grabbed Agatha in a headlock with the gun placed at her back.

“First rule you should’ve remembered. Never bring a knife to a gun fight.” Sam sneered in her ear. Castiel then came up and freed me of my bonds and cupped my face checking me for injuries.

“Are you hurt?”

“Besides the ache in my head and the aftermath of falling from heaven, I’m fine.” I brushed his hands away from my face and stood up and walked over to Dean. I placed my hand over his gun and gave him the look to lower his gun. He stared at me wide eyed in anger but I gave him a harsh look which got him to obey my order. “You misunderstood me what I had said earlier.”

“What do you mean?” Agatha snarled as she tried to struggle but Sam kept a firm hold of her.

“When I told you that no angel was going to tell you where Zachariah was. It’s because he’s no longer with us. This man here,” I gestured to Dean. “My boyfriend, he’s the one who killed Zachariah and ended his endless lies and deceit. So your vengeance is wasted.”

The harsh look in Agatha’s eyes slowly began to soften as her struggling ceased.

“He’s…..”

“Yes. He’s dead. And no one is bringing him back, but nor would killing him bring your family back. Ask yourself this Agatha, if your husband and boys could see you now, would they want this from you? To be so consumed by hatred and vengeance that you’d lose yourself to it?”

“So you’re telling me all of this was an Inigo Montoya scenario?” Dean asked incredulously.

“Not now babe.” I hushed him. “You’ve been consumed by your hate for long enough Agatha, it’s time to let it go.” I then gave Sam a nod and he released Agatha who just fell to her knees.

“Three years felt like an eternity. Everytime I close my eyes I can still see how he did it. He snapped my youngest boys bones like twigs, I can still see his limbs all twisted and contorted. My eldest boy, he stabbed him right through the back. I still can’t get the blood off my face from it spurting out. And Fr—Frank he……” Agatha wept into her hands.

The guys’ anger soon turned to sympathy as they stared at their potential enemy they were so adamant on killing now break down in tears. I walked over to Agatha and knelt down beside her. I placed my hand to her head and she looked up at me, tears slipping down past her lashes.

“Know that didn’t blame you. And they’ll always be watching over you until you are all together again.” Agatha crumbled once more as she wept into the floor and I chose to walk out with the guys following behind me.

There was a moment of silence as we walked away from Agatha’s property until Sam spoke up.

“I still sometimes can’t get over how you can still find the mercy and compassion in situations (Y/n).”

“That is who my sister is Sam. As the Angel of Mercy, she knows when force is needed, or when someone needs a compassionate hand. Agatha Morrison was just a grieving wife and mother, not a monster.” Cas explained.

“Doesn’t mean I’ll forgive her for what she did to you.” Dean said to me.

“That is up to you. But if you choose to continuously live with hate in your heart Dean, that’s all your life will ever be. You already carry such a weight of regret on you already Dean. Don’t add hatred to the mix.” I said stopping him as I placed my hand over his heart. He looked me in the eye and said.

“How is it that you always have to get the last word in whenever we argue?”

“Cause you know I’m always right. Even when I’m wrong, I’m right.”

“But now will this show you to at least carry a phone with you? Not every human is like Agatha. Be thankful she was mourning as you said she was. Next person could’ve been a John Wayne Gacey or Ted Bundy copy-cat.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“No, no thinking about it. I’ll give you one of my old burner phones. You don’t have to upgrade to a smartphone.”

“Fine, I’ll take one of the burners.”

“Thank you.” Dean then brought me into his arms and kissed the top of my head. “I was so worried about you. And you’re sure you don’t got a concussion or something?”

“I’m fine Dean, really. But question though, how did you guys find me so quickly?”

“We called in a favor from your old…..uhh—lover.” Dean groaned out the last part.

“My old lover? Dean what are you talking about?”

“The Oracle, Calypso.” Sam said. I bit back my laughter but it soon escaped me as Dean demanded.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh you guys are a riot! Hahahaha! Calypso and me lovers! Hahaha!”

“Again not to say there’s anything wrong, especially now with people more accepting….”

“Sam, Calypso is just a friend. Nothing more. Being the child of Eros they’re a natural minx and will flirt with just about anyone, including me. But they never take it further than that cause they know I’m straight.”

“So you—you guys weren’t ever…..”

“Dean Winchester were you jealous?” I teased with a raised brow.

“What? No! No! No I’m completely comfortable with my masculinity and won’t be like those insecure bastards that feel the need to be possessive over their girls.”

“Tink again Winchester!” a portal soon opened up to Calypso’s cabin and there stood the old minx themself holding Juju, their albino python around their neck. “You really got dis one wound up cher! Him really thought he was de only partner you ever had.” They laughed as they stroked Juju’s head with their index and tall fingers.

“Cally you are a card.” I shook my head as I entered through the portal and stood beside them.

“You know I can never resist a good joke mon cher.” I walked through the portal followed by Sam, Cas and Dean who was still flabbergasted.

After finding a motel in New Orleans, Dean lay down on the bed while I brushed through my hair.

“So you had us be sent out while you and Calypso talked. What did she—I mean they want? I mean the way they had it made, it sounded like they wanted something else like…..you know.”

“As I told you, being the child of a God of Love and lust, they can’t help but be attracted to anyone they see. But Calypso and I have no romantic feelings for one another. They merely demanded a poker game rematch.”

“Seriously? A poker game?”

“Yep. Our last poker game I had beaten her 10 games out of 12 and got 20lbs of their weight in gold they had collected. I’m gonna play against them in three days’ time to see if they’ve improved their skill to win back the gold.”

“And that’s all they want?”

“Yes Dean, now will you let this whole thing go?” I walked over to him and lay down beside him cupping the side of his face. “The only one meant for me is you.”

“Your damn right I am.”

“Whatever happened to ‘not being the possessive boyfriend’ and ‘completely secure about my masculinity’?”

“I swear if you ever tell Sam this, I’ll deny every word of it.”

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to say it. And like I just told you, you don’t have to worry about anything.” I leaned in and gave him a soft kiss which he soon deepened before we proceeded to make love all night long after that.

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